Helping to ensure there will be bluebirds for our tomorrows!

It was mid-May of last year when a neighborhood bear attacked one of our bluebird houses. That house has now been reinstalled on a sturdier 4" X 4" post. We'll add a predator baffle soon. Or, perhaps further research may indicate a preferred solution. It's possible that waiting until a hot mid-day during one of the hottest days of the year so far may indicate that my judgement is further diminishing with age. Or, it may just be a signal that I'm as stubborn as I've ever been. With any luck, the reinstalled house may attract a bluebird pair set on raising a second brood this Summer. If not, it certainly will be ready come next Spring, barring lightning strikes.

bluebird perched on bird feeder hanger

Photo by J. Harrington

I haven't taken a peek to see if anyone is nesting in the box we have in front  of the house. That might be a fun thing to do tomorrow. We have had some other cavity-nesting bird use the front house, but I'm not sure what nondescript, brownish bird it was. I'm pretty sure it wasn't any kind of sparrow. Meanwhile, today I still have to finish putting away some tools, add the left over dirt to the compost tumbler, and mow where the tumbler used to sit before the bear knocked it over a couple of days ago. With luck, I'll get these chores finished without being harassed by any more insects like the green bottle fly, or was it a sweat bee, that landed on my hand and behind my ear while walking SiSi earlier today.

Then, I think it may be time to do some pleasurable work in the air-conditioned house, like organizing fly rods and reels and putting a new fly line on a rod we haven't fished nearly enough since we got it. It's once again breezy enough that accurately casting a fly to a trout would be aggravating, so we prepare for better days.

The Call of the Wild 

Alexander Posey - 1873-1908

I’m tired of the gloom  
In a four-walled room;  
Heart-weary, I sigh  
For the open sky,  
And the solitude  
Of the greening wood;  
Where the bluebirds call,  
And the sunbeams fall,  
And the daisies lure 
The soul to be pure.  

I’m tired of the life 
In the ways of strife;  
Heart-weary, I long  
For the river’s song,  
And the murmur of rills  
In the breezy hills;  
Where the pipe of Pan— 
The hairy half-man— 
The bright silence breaks  
By the sleeping lakes.   

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