Talented Bird

Tufted Titmouse

Standing on the deck in the sunshine, I kept hearing a bird go, "deeter-deeter-deeter." I looked that call up online, and turns out it was a tufted titmouse. When the Oak Trail apartments were new, Bob and I lived in the highest building in the community. A pair of these birds would sit on my balcony, and one of them would sing a beautiful call that sounded like Maria Callas.  I think they can make most any sound they like. Sometimes they sound like a cat mewing.

I can't find a photo of Bob, but this is a sketch I made of him about 1982. His spots were ginger-colored.

Bob

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I have felt so good today. Thank you, Jesus!

". . . Under a Cabbage-head"

Sometimes when something makes me sad, it starts some old sad song ringing in my head. Yesterday it was "Go tell Aint Rhody, her old gray goose is dead." The juxtaposition of the pitiful song with my situation strikes me funny, and then I'm not sad any more. At least not as sad.

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Another "Wish I'd Had My Camera"
One day I was driving down that little street from Montevallo Road to the Parkway, and a young black man was walking on the left side of the road. Close behind him walked two geese (or maybe they were ducks), one that looked much like the picture above. The one walking closest to the young man, almost on his heels, was the scariest-looking animate object that I've ever seen in my life.

It looked sort of like this, but looked as if it had been starved and run over by a truck several times. One of its eyes was off to the side, and the feathers on top of its head stood up as if it had been plucked. I paused the car, staring at that entourage, and the young man looked at me questioningly. I said, "Look behind you," and he turned around and shooed the geese. I drove on.

"When there's not any ordinary heroes around, just anybody can jump up and be one!"

That will be the last line of the play about Moonlight Ridge. This morning I finished the outline and summary; now Ramey and I just have to get together and flesh it out. Or maybe I'll do that myself, then let her fix it or mess it up according to her wishes.

As usual, when I've been writing, I'm so excited I can't think what to do next. Maybe eat some more yogurt and applesauce. The day before yesterday, or maybe the day before the day before yesterday, I threw some ground beef, a can of celery soup, a can of Veg-All, a can of diced tomatoes, a can of water, a chopped onion, and lots of salt, garlic salt, celery salt and 3 kinds of pepper in the crock-pot and made beef stew. Then I made cornbread. I wish I had saved some of it.

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If my alarm clock didn't wake me up, the woodpecker would. He/she starts drumming on my house about good daylight almost every day. Hope he's not making a hole in the roof or wall.

White Birds

Today I saw a small flock of white birds flying (south), pretty low over Montevallo Road, maybe a couple of dozen of them. They didn't look big enough to be geese, and anyway, I didn't think wild geese were white. I thought they might be pigeons, but I've never seen a pure white pigeon, just those pretty brown-and-white ones on the Southside. It was a lovely sight.

Favorite Sites/Sights

These are some things around my house that make me feel good.

Cats and Birds



The Dollhouse

The Dining Room



Outside

Kitchen Curtains



The Chinese screen

The Front Door

And the videos: "The Education of Little Tree;" "Searching for Bobby Fischer;" and "Charlotte's Web." Not to mention all the books, including my two poetry volumes and the other publications with samples of my writing.

I was just thinking how much alike we three sisters turned out to be. Eccentric, each in her own way. Our houses are full of things we made, wrote, painted, inherited, collected--we could almost be called hoarders. Even our joys and sorrows are similar.

I hope that we draw even closer.

Big Bird

Yesterday there was a pileated woodpecker in one of my trees. He differs from the much larger, and probably extinct, Ivory-billed Woodpecker. His bill is black instead of ivory, and the pattern of his underside when he flies is a bit different. I didn't get a photo of him, of course; this one is from the internet, but that's how he looked.

Once my husband and I got lost while walking in the woods in North Carolina. While hunting for our car, we heard a loud, sort of unearthly bird call, looked up and saw an ivory-bill fly over, hooting as it went.

The woodpeckers I've seen (identified) while living here are the flicker or yellowhammer, red-headed woodpecker (the prettiest bird), pileated, and a tee-ninesy little downy woodpecker. I've probably seen a middle-sized hairy woodpecker but didn't know it.

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While I was discarding books and cleaning up my office, my friend Joe W. made a profound observation that made me feel much better about the crowded mess in my house. He said, "I'm going to wait and let my survivors worry about all my stuff, when I kick the bucket." I thought, "Yeah, I can do that," for the remainder of my junk.

*

 

1:30 p.m.: Today I fixed a real lunch: a big pork loin chop, mashed potatoes, field peas and cornbread, and a cucumber and tomato salad.

New Neighbors

An old pine with a knot-hole halfway up
may break and hit the house someday; but that's
for me to contemplate. This pair of hawks,
new to the neighborhood, shun the old nest
in the flawed pine, and choose to build a new
apartment in a taller, stouter tree.

They call out to each other as they work,
and warn me to look out for falling timber;
but all that drifts down from their carpentry
is one bright feather, like a calling card.

by jrc 4/11/14

No news,

just a pleasant sunny day. This morning I watched a hawk sitting on a limb grooming its feathers. With the binoculars I watched it out the kitchen window.

Yesterday the whole park was flooded by the little Cahaba-type stream running through it, as well as a good deal more of the landscape. My basement floor was wet and the yard had lots of puddles, but nothing too bad.

Last Wednesday I had a major event--the plumbers and drain cleaners had to be called and were here into the late evening cleaning things up. Of course, that plunged my psyche into the depths, and I still haven't got my head rearranged from it.

Jed came over Thursday and helped me prepare for the book signing, which I couldn't have done without him, and stayed until Sunday afternoon. Time marches so fast, I recognize the need to fill every moment with something meaningful. However, that's easier said than done. But I will try harder.

LAC hosted Bham Arts Journal

LAC table decorations

Pretty Stacey at the Birmingham Arts Journal meeting

Mr. Marchant chowing down

It was a good gathering Thursday evening at the Leeds Arts Council. There were several artists and writers there whose works were published in the current issue of Liz and Jim Reed's Birmingham Arts Journal. Some of the writers read from their works. Then Frank and Stacey and I read; I think we were the only readers who weren't in the current Journal. I read my witch poem.

Stacey is a new member of our Leeds poetry group which we have named "The Open Circle."

The picture of Spurgeon won't sit up straight. His right arm has a rolled shirtsleeve, and his left arm looks like it has a buttoned cuff and a jacket. I don't know how that happened. But that's okay. Spurgeon would approve of the photo.

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Re: Spurgeon's shirt: I think both his cuffs were buttoned. The left wrist is just sticking out from behind the black vest he had on.

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One day this week while I was driving up Montevallo Road, there was a hawk with outspread wings sort of hovering over the street, just above treetop height. The sun shining on him showed all the colors, and it took my breath away, and took my feet up off the floor. Fortunately, there was only one car behind me, going slow. I started waving my arms and pointing up at the bird.

Then yesterday, coming home from somewhere, I saw what might have been the same hawk above Rowan Road. Wings spread out, just sort of hanging there. "The heavens declare the glory of God," for sure. Especially when there's a hawk in the sunshine.

Three Notes and a Falling Trill

I dreamed we had bought or rented a house in England. By "we," I mean Mama, Daddy, the girls and me. It was an ugly house but very big and square, sort of rusty-looking brick, and it sat in a field facing banks that looked as if they had been flooded many times. But I was thrilled that we had a real house. I kept hearing this bird call, and I said to Mama, "That's a meadowlark!."

Then I thought to myself something like, "You don't know a meadowlark call from a fog horn. The only bird call you can identify is a crow."

 

*

A tranquil day in the neighborhood:

 

Gretchen with her head jammed against the arm of the sofa;

 

Mo curled up in the litter pan. He has a blanket and a beach towel to sleep on, but this is his choice, clean or dirty.

Home Again

I brought Mo home yesterday, and he had to inspect every room and learn his way around by touch and smell.

There's a beautiful cardinal on the windowsill. Must be a young bird, because its back and tail are very dark instead of bright red. One of these days, I'm going to make a cardinal quilt.

***

Beautiful weather today. I've walked all around and around outside, accompanied by the stray black cat. I was afraid the hydrangeas would die, after we removed the enormous hedge at the side of the house. But I guess the house itself shades them until noon, and the trees at the west side of the yard shade them in the late afternoon. The plants look healthy, and the blooms that have come out range from dark pink to dark purple.

 

This is the "bird-feeding station" from the outside:

Right now it's the squirrel-feeding station. I can't see a nest in that big bush, but towhees don't make very neat nests, so it may be well camouflaged. If it's there.

 

The pink oxalis grows in the lawn between mowings. I'm thinking about trying to make a big patch of it on the sunny side of the house.

This is another kind of oxalis. It grows wild all over the yard. Oxalis is also known as sorrel. I remember chewing the leaves of the yellow-blooming kind when I was a kid, and it has a very sour, but very delicious, taste. I called it "sour grass."

 

I suspect Mr. Reed's crew of dumping dry leaves under the trees on the west side of the house. When you try to walk over there, you feel like you're falling for a few seconds, the leaves are so deep. The lower end of this patch is covered with wild violets, which of course have already bloomed.



Sometimes They Come Back

A year later, the fleas have invaded again. This has happened just in the last few days, while Mo has been out of the house. So I'll spend today spraying and vacuuming every inch I can reach.

Maybe it was a mistake to feed the birds. The towhee seems to have forgot about feeding, he just wants to get through that window. He has tried both sides, top and bottom, and must have some bruises from collisions with the glass. What can you do? You try to be nice, and there alway, alway, something backfires.

I'm done with Facebook.

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The quilt top is coming along. The angel-print fabric I wanted to use for a border is too dark, and more brown-and-yellow than orange. I tried bleaching swatches of it, but it just leaves various shades of yellow.

But I love the angels. I'll figure something out.

***

I've figured out one thing the towhee is doing: He flies over and gets a seed, then flies back into the bush. I think the nest must be in that bush, and he's feeding the setting bird. Do I have to worry about the baby birds when they hatch?

Loving couple

Both Towhees are on the windowsills. The little mama bird is in front of the sunny window, and papa bird keeps going over to the shaded side, getting a sunflower seed and cracking it, then coming back and feeding it to the female bird. Most amazing animal thing I've ever seen, I think.

Jed's coming over this afternoon, and we plan to take some fried chicken or something over to Susan's, and everybody get together for game night.

Mama Towhee

Passeridae

Little gray-brown bird who looks like this, only not so colorful, keeps scooting over to get one sunflower seed, then flying away. I guess it's some kind of sparrow, but looks like one of Peterson's "confusing fall warblers," too.

The towhees just sit there and keep cheeping and eating. Right now the female towhee is visiting. She's brown all over her back and head, where the male is black, and she's smaller. Here comes Big Daddy Towhee. Cute couple.

I keep hoping the flicker will come back.

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If I'm lying, I'm dying--A tufted titmouse came and got a seed! I've got to get a photo of that bird.

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A little gray-brown bird who looks like this

keeps scooting over to get one sunflower seed,

then flying away. I guess it's a kind of sparrow,

but looks like one of Peterson's fall warblers.

 A prose poem? Or blank verse.

My Mistake

I threw out a handful of black oil sunflower seeds for the towhee. But next time I looked, Guess Who was chomping them up. Have to get a squirrel-proof bird feeder.

***

More than 50 of my poems have won money prizes, and 50-odd more have won honorable mentions or special mentions. A lot of both have been published. I've written poems about at least 50 people I've known, other than myself, and about 40 or so that I didn't know.

Blessings

A woodpecker is eating my house.

*

What would I do without the birds, squirrels, chipmunks, stray cats and dogs, Mo, and Gretchen? It would get lonesome around here. But I might get more useful stuff done, if that's important.

I've got to pack a book, then go to the P.O.

If I Had a (Yellow) Hammer

A big old flicker (yellowhammer) tried to join the towhee on the window sill, but both of them flew away before I could get a picture. The woodpecker hammered awhile somewhere and then stopped. I've seen a flicker around here before; someday I may be able to photograph it.

Tenants?

Now both towhees are on the window sill. I think they're probably nesting in the hedge bush outside these office windows. Or maybe he's just showing her this strange glass wall that whistles when he pecks on it.

Old Red-Eye Returns

I proclaim the rufous-sided towhee (Jo-Ree) as my official house bird. He's back on my window sill, pecking at the glass when I whistle to him. Jed was here Thursday night and yesterday morning, and the bird frequented the guest-room window.

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I missed Joe W.'s book signing in Leeds today, because I didn't wake up until one o'clock, and by the time I'd brewed and drunk three cups of coffee, it was too late. He'll have another one soon in Odenville, and I'll try to make that one.

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The first picture is from Wikipedia. The second photo is the one I took last year through the dirty window.