One World

Listening to catastrophic events, both natural and man made, I can feel the Earth bleeding.  From the fires in California, to the floods in Colorado and from the killings in Anywhere, U.S.A. to the Monsanto massacre of our foods, this world we call home is dying.  Such events are happening all over this little blue dot and it is up to everyone to do something to salvage what we have left of this world.
I  watch a lot of nature shows and spend a good bit of time observing nature all around me.  One thing that I thought was amazing was the murmuration that starlings do.  If anyone does not know about murmuration, check out this video:

The fact that these small birds are able to fly in such formation as this is absolutely amazing.  If they sense a danger, such as a predator, a few birds will make the decision to fly in a different direction, then the 6 or 7 neighboring birds will follow suit, and then their neighbors will follow as well, causing this wondrous aerial display.  In a way, it is the bird's version of paying it forward.  In the end, the actions of a few directing the group to work in unison, saves the flock. 
It only takes one person to get the ball rolling... could it be you?


 The other day I took some donated supplies to the local humane society.  I was overwhelmed with the amount of kittens that were there.  Litters and litters waiting to find a place in someone's home and heart.  What I don't get is why they are even in the shelters to begin with?  In this day and age of convenient spay and neutering options, why do we still have this overpopulation of kittens?  Are people too ignorant to realize that wanting their kids to witness a birthing, only to dump the unwanted after the cuteness of it all wears off, is not only selfish, but inhumane?  What are they really teaching their kids?  That animals are just for show and are disposable once the novelty is over?  Don't get me started on pet store animals and puppy mills...
The sight of all these kittens and adult cats, without homes, makes me want to become a crazy cat lady, but thankfully, I am too sane and rational for that.   On the other hand, with the recent loss of our kitty, Orion, from a possible pulmonary embolism, the house seems so much emptier.  He was the clown, the mischievous elf, the trouble maker, the leader, the bread stealer, the dairy king.  I keep expecting him to climb on the dining room table to beg for food.  I wake up to look for stolen loaves of bread that get nabbed in the night, so I can snatch it up before our dog, Sagan, eats it all.  I look over at the little fig tree he used to torment to get our attention, and long to see his impish face again, smugly saying, "see, made you look!"

The quiet emptiness is begging to have some kitten energy back in the home.  Maybe we will have TWO new balls of energy to help distract from our grief, to keep the other pets and ourselves entertained, and to give them forever homes.   This is my moment of murmuration. So if anyone is considering buying a pet, check out the shelters first - and save a life. 

From Within

Sometime last week, I was reheating leftovers when I heard a pretty loud thump against the window.  Even with the reflectors on the window, I knew a bird flew right into it.  I immediately put on my shoes and ran out to search under all the overgrown catmint, wild strawberry plants and creeping charlie.  Finally I found this little guy:

What I am assuming is a baby White-breasted Nuthatch, appeared to be pretty stunned.  He (or she), kept closing its eyes  and there were moments when I thought he was not going to make it.  Every time that happened I made sure to pet him more on the head and talk to him.

 Once he was able to have his foot up under him, I attempted to introduce him to our pine tree, in the hopes that he would cling on the bark on his own.  As soon as I neared the tree, a pair of House Wrens swooped down and chattered disapprovingly at our presence.  I realized later that they had a clutch of babies in our sap bucket birdhouse that they were steering us from, much to our delight.  Needless to say the "fake nest" we thought they had made was the real thing. 

 To placate the wrens, I took the nuthatch to the neighboring maple tree.  He was still a little out of it.  Every now and then he would open his eyes and wrestle in my hand to be freed, but he was definitely still unstable and unable to grasp the bark of the tree.

 His grip was pretty good with his right foot, but the left was delayed.  He would eye me quietly, almost seeming to appreciate the bodyguard I became, since during this ordeal I had witnessed some type of raptor fly overhead a couple of times.  We would stare at each other and I would tell him he would be ok.

 At one point, while attempting to get him onto the tree, he fluttered onto my shoulder and seemed a little reluctant to leave.

I was finally able to get him to grab onto the tree.  I tried to grab a hold of him a few times, and he would fight a little and climb higher... I wanted to see if he was alright, alone, up in that tree.  I watched him for a good bit, forgetting all about my food in the oven, worried only for this little feathered friend.  I watched him climb a little higher and respond more to outside stimuli, so I let him be.  I hope he is well and that he visits our tree and feeders as he gets older.
Standing out there for an undetermined amount of time, it dawned upon me how connected I feel to animals and nature, and how much of an introvert I am.  Many times I feel like I am the black sheep of the human race, able to communicate more with other animal species than my own.  What does this mean for me?  Many times I am disgusted at what humanity has done to the Earth, let alone to each other, and I wonder, is it better to be that black sheep?  It is almost as if I feel confined when among people, but free and open to everything when I am out in nature.  Grounded, is what I feel, like the deep roots of the oldest trees.  Why change?

The Quickness of Life

It is winter in Vermont.  The snow has finally come to the delight of many and to the little kid in all of us.  The birds have been in a frenzy, snagging what they can to keep their preserves up during this cold, brutal, season.  Our feeders have been very active this winter.  To the delight of our fellow birders for the Christmas Bird Count, aside from the usual chickadees and Blue Jays,  Common Redpolls, a Brown Creeper, and a Grackle made their appearance at our feeder.  The shy, lonely Grackle came by almost daily to feed, and when the first snows came, he seemed to be unsure of this cold, wet stuff that was in the way of his ground feeding.

He would scamper from branch to branch in our lilac bush to get near our feeders.   Eventually he braved the snow, just like the rest of them, and we admired his solitary tenacity to our daily feedings.

His blue-black feathers shined in the light and was a nice contrast to the white snow that covered our island.  We looked forward to his visits, along with all our other feathered visitors.

This was the last picture I took of the Grackle.  The sky was a clear and crisp blue.  The picture doesn't give his feathers that nice sheen, but it does make him look like he is part of the shepherd's hook - iron and permanent.   Just a few short days later, my wife texts me to let me know that what appeared to be an immature Red-Tailed Hawk had possible killed the Grackle and had carried it off.

This is the picture my wife took through the screened window.  We know it is all part of the circle of life and everyone has to eat, but it won't make losing one of our daily feathered visitors any less sad. 
We all lose friends and loved ones, sometimes way too soon.  We start thinking of ways we could have been more a part of their lives, how we could have been a better friend.  Unfortunately it is sometimes too late to be able to do anything when we think these things.  We must make that effort to make sure no more time is lost between loved ones from this point on.  So write that letter, send that e-mail, pick up a phone, or plan a visit.  Cherish those moments you have and treasure them forever.