Some sounds of Spring #phenology

If we get some cold, rainy weather, I'll spend some time replicating the bar graph in this linked animation: Northwoods Frog Call Phenology. For now, you can use it to better understand who's chirruping in  your nearby wetlands. I find it heartening that there's still a chorus of frogs to listen to in the evenings.

treefrog

Photo by J. Harrington

Mornings these days are more and more full of birdsong, which prompted an unfortunate comment from the usually tolerant Better Half about the "racket." (Her patience has no doubt been worn thin by the time she's been spending listening to my rants about the consequences of the terminal stupidity displayed by more than 60 million members of the electorate a few years ago.) Anyhow, rose-breasted grosbeaks are back. Today we hung a grape jelly feeder for orioles. With luck scarlet tanagers will soon  stop by as they pass through this year.

male rose-breasted grosbeak

Photo by J. Harrington

I assume you've seen, heard, or read the reports on the hog processing plant COVID-19 hotspots. My dislike for concentrated animal feeding operations [CAFOs], combined with the coronavirus outbreaks in meatpacking plants, have prompted me to start a search for a local source of heritage pork that's been humanely raised. The Better Half concurs in trying this option, which is very helpful and allows me to avoid having to threaten to hold my breath until I turn blue. We've tried local producers through an on-line food hub and found the quality to be very uneven. That same issue arose a few years back when  we were regularly getting Bourbon Red heritage turkeys for Thanksgiving. The first couple of years they were great. Then, one year the bird was tough, stringy, and the flavor was off. The tradeoff between volatility in quality and consistent but industrial may make for some interesting eating and, perhaps, writing. If you have any thoughts about or experiences with heritage meats, please share them in the comments. Relocalizing our  food supply isn't going to be a walk in the park through the pasture, but I'm betting it will be worth it.

Frogs Eat Butterflies. Snakes Eat Frogs.
Hogs Eat Snakes. Men Eat Hogs.

Wallace Stevens - 1879-1955

It is true that the rivers went nosing like swine,
Tugging at banks, until they seemed
Bland belly-sounds in somnolent troughs,

That the air was heavy with the breath of these swine,
The breath of turgid summer, and
Heavy with thunder’s rattapallax,

That the man who erected this cabin, planted
This field, and tended it awhile,
Knew not the quirks of imagery,

That the hours of his indolent, arid days,
Grotesque with this nosing in banks,
This somnolence and rattapallax,

Seemed to suckle themselves on his arid being,
As the swine-like rivers suckled themselves
While they went seaward to the sea-mouths.

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