I think that this weekend we’ll reinstall the bird feeders. We’ve read the advice from the Raptor Center and also from the Cornell Ornithology Lab. As of the most recent data, our county has identified only domestic birds as being infected. We have no reason to suspect misinformation or disinformation from any of the organizations cited, but there are, we suspect, different priorities. The Raptor Center is focused on raptors. Cornell appears to place more emphasis on song birds. Raptors appear to be more susceptible, possibly from eating waterfowl?
We have no domestic poultry nor, to the best of our knowledge, do nearby neighbors. Although it appears to be a fairly limited risk, feeding birds on our deck is not without risk, but then life itself is not without risk, n'est-ce pas?
an occasional May visitor at the feeder
Photo by J. Harrington
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We’ll probably ponder this question over the weekend and see if we can gain any additional insight or information. We’d be less inclined to think about this if the storms of this week hadn’t also brought about a notable rise in local trout streams we’re familiar with, thereby presenting us with additional risks to ourselves if we were to go wading. All told, we seem to have done a remarkably good job of screwing up both the climate and what used to be normal spring weather. The advice and guidance available about bird flu and feeders is less confusing than that from federal and state governmental entities regarding cautions to be followed to protect US from COVID. All in all, we seem to have created a number of systems that don’t function as well as they should and, what’s at least as bad, we seem as a society unable and unwilling to consider alternatives for fear it may give someone with whom we don’t fully agree and advantage. I don’t think this is a sustainable culture / society / political system, do you? I think what we have now is strictly “for the birds.” Aren’t we supposed to be a different taxonomic class (Mammalia vs. Aves)?
Constantly Risking Absurdity (#15)
Constantly risking absurdityand deathwhenever he performsabove the headsof his audiencethe poet like an acrobatclimbs on rimeto a high wire of his own makingand balancing on eyebeamsabove a sea of facespaces his wayto the other side of dayperforming entrechatsand sleight-of-foot tricksand other high theatricsand all without mistakingany thingfor what it may not beFor he's the super realistwho must perforce perceivetaut truthbefore the taking of each stance or stepin his supposed advancetoward that still higher perchwhere Beauty stands and waitswith gravityto start her death-defying leapAnd hea little charleychaplin manwho may or may not catchher fair eternal formspreadeagled in the empty airof existence
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Please be kind to each other while you can.
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