Grab a Lawn Chair

Early Morning Sun on the Slopes

Swatting Flies

It's Sunday. Grab a lawn chair and come sit with me until the rising sun drives us indoors to pull the curtains and seek shade from the heat. It's coming; summer that is. Time to eat cucumbers and cottage cheese for breakfast. Time for squeezed fresh limes in ice cran-water (as if pure cranberry is not tart enough). Time to cook without the oven. Time to watch the garden grow.

The horses shelter in their barn as the morning sun casts light against the trees of the western slopes. It's still dim enough that their eyeballs glow for the camera. A few hours later and they are still hanging by the barn. Last night Bootsy nearly caused a dog-riot, greeting me and two GSPs at midnight on our front porch. The dogs got so worked up they wouldn't pee. I tried to explain to

Chillin' on a Hot Day

Bootsy thay GSPs are hunters, but she just sat on the tree stump and purred loudly.

I seek out birds; the dogs long to chase cats and horses. But it's hot enough today that everyone with four legs is chilling. Pistol is swatting flies with his male horse part, long enough to deter belly-pests. The mare uses her tail, swish-swish.

Pelicans Flying South

Feathered Sky Diamonds

Pelicans on Display

Hole in the Clouds

High on the thermals a flock of white pelicans soar, heads tucked to their shoulders. As if they see me in the pasture far below, camera aimed at them, the pelicans tip their wings and perform aerial acrobatics. Tipping towards the sun in the east the flock glitters like white diamonds spilled upon blue velvet. Their black wing tips stand-out, as does their sheer size. I want to chase them, to see where they land.

Sitting on the south porch before the sun gets too hot, I call my Mom. Dad answers. What a treat. We talk of lawn chair birding and he tells me of the pelicans he's seen on Wild Horse Reservoir in northern Nevada. How he could get close enough to them in the boat to see their black top-notches that look like wigs. We laugh and call them bird toupees.

The idea of being a lawn chair writer occurred to me when I visited my parents at their Tonkin Springs camp near Eureka, Nevada. While my parents have always been hard workers, they never worked so hard as to miss the day's beauty. Dad is a mountain man and Mom is the only reason he's not a hermit. They've always noted birds, flowers, animals, trees, weather and history. From a lawn chair (or seat of an old 1960s open-top Jeep) you can watch the world unfold. And a gathering of lawn chairs is perfect for telling stories.

This appeals to a writer.

The pond is shut off from view for now, until evening after the sun dips behind the hills. I'm cooling the house the old-fashioned way--closing curtains. The lawn chair is now inside. But I leave you with a few parting shots.

Ring-necked Duck Sun-bathing

Blue Heron Impersonating Pond Reeds

Elongated Neck for Hunting Frogs

That is ALL Neck; Body Hidden in the Grass

May Your Day Be as Beautiful as a Butterfly on a Pink Rose