|Hunting Hoppers in Dry Grass|
|Dry Under the Apple Tree|
Someone told me, "You know, they used to mine peat there." There meaning the pond. Yes, I know. Cut edges, too square to be natural, are obvious in the spring before the grass and reeds hide the scars of harvesting.
Even the grass edging the pond is looking like locks of hair bleached in the summer sun. Summer blond, my Elmira Pond. Mergansers still dive and wing the surface. I think two of the young ones are males as their coloring is different and their heads looked hooded.
It's been dry under my apple tree and the wasps are many. Too long and they begin bouncing off my ankles and head. August is not turning out to be a good birding month.
Yet the fledging of barn swallows is a raucous success. They party on the light-post line for nearly five days, loud and squawking for parents to bring more chips and dip. The neighbors--cat birds and king birds alike--have also fledged their nests and the ranks of chirping rises.
It is loud and dry, so I water yet again.