Finally? spring? #phenology

We finally seem to have moved away from a persistent threat of overnight frost. Highs in the sunshine are now in the upper sixties. Yesterday we saw a large garter snake sunning in the roadside ditch (a much safer location than on the road itself). Today we noticed the first dandelion puffball of the year. There are still many, many, yellow flowers, but an early starter has already set seeds. Speaking of seeds, many of the local farm fields are in the midst of being planted. Tractors, harrows and planters are cluttering the local roads and slow-moving semis are hauling last year's grain someplace.

Today we observed, for the first time this year, a male ruby-throated hummingbird. It was at the front feeder. He may have been here before, but we couldn't see any ruby-red throat feathers until this morning. Late yesterday the downey woodpeckers kept startling hummingbirds away from the big nectar feeder hanging from the deck railing.

male rose-breasted grosbeak

Photo by J. Harrington

Male goldfinches have, for some time now, been wearing chrome yellow mating colors. When they share the feeders with male rose-breasted grosbeaks, it looks like someone spilled a box of bright-colored crayons on the perches.

The Farm

By Joyce Sutphen

My father’s farm is an apple blossomer.

He keeps his hills in dandelion carpet

and weaves a lane of lilacs between the rose

and the jack-in-the-pulpits.

His sleek cows ripple in the pastures.

The dog and purple iris

keep watch at the garden’s end.

His farm is rolling thunder,

a lightning bolt on the horizon.

His crops suck rain from the sky

and swallow the smoldering sun.

His fields are oceans of heat,

where waves of gold

beat the burning shore.

A red fox

pauses under the birch trees,

a shadow is in the river’s bend.

When the hawk circles the land,

my father’s grainfields whirl beneath it.

Owls gather together to sing in his woods,

and the deer run his golden meadow.

My father’s farm is an icicle,

a hillside of white powder.

He parts the snowy sea,

and smooths away the valleys.

He cultivates his rows of starlight

and drags the crescent moon

through dark unfurrowed fields.

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It doesn't seem like 10 years

We confess, we were overly optimistic yesterday when we though we might  have recovered enough to check out the local prairie smoke patch today. We barely survived walking the dogs at lunch time. Speaking of the dogs, it's time to acknowledge that it was about this time in May, ten years ago, that  Franco, the Better Half's border collie cross came to live in his forever home with us. We're glad he did. He definitely makes life more interesting, gives SiSi, my yellow lab cross, someone to play with, and persists in believing he can herd the wild turkeys that visit the back yard.

Franco, May 2011

Photo by J. Harrington

Mongrel Heart

By David Baker

Up the dog bounds to the window, baying

         like a basset his doleful, tearing sounds

             from the belly, as if mourning a dead king,

and now he’s howling like a beagle – yips, brays,

         gagging growls – and scratching the sill paintless,

              that’s how much he’s missed you, the two of you,

both of you, mother and daughter, my wife

         and child. All week he’s curled at my feet,

             warming himself and me watching more TV,

or wandered the lonely rooms, my dog shadow,

        who like a poodle now hops, amped-up windup

            maniac yo-yo with matted curls and snot nose

smearing the panes, having heard another car

           like yours taking its grinding turn down

               our block, or a school bus, or bird-squawk,

that’s how much he’s missed you, good dog,

         companion dog, dog-of-all-types, most excellent dog

             I told you once and for all we should never get. 

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.