Old Friends

Good to Be Home

Old Blue

Scoping Something

Merg Babes

Blackbird & Horse

Robin Taking a Break

A King Fisher!

Making a Dive

Another Great Blue Heron

Osprey on a Mission Home

Like a relationship coming to an end, I've tried to distance myself from Elmira Pond. I've loved this place and celebrated creation here. We say we'll call or write, but time and distance soon fade those old friendships.

My promise to Elmira Pond was to find a way to create something meaningful from all the stories it's given me.

That's what writers do.

Thinking of Elmira Pond Spotter as "material" felt like I could continue to write about the pond even from arid, southern Idaho. I did not plant a garden so I could dig into my writing and travel as needed to look for a new place to live. I have loosened my grip.

But I can't do suburbs. Not ever again. Boise is a darling city, but I'm companion to two high-needs dogs. Being stuck in a suburban home with them is my worst nighmare; even worse than being stuck with them at the Boise HoJo for 10 days. I write--I need inspiration not a dose of depression.

Not to mention the Hub. He's a wandering stone; always will be. He doesn't know if his company will stay in Boise; he doesn't know if he will. Then our landlords called while we were in southern Idaho, wanting to know our plans. Todd agreed to another lease. And I returned to Elmira Pond signing happy songs to see old friends.

Not only have I come home; I'm staying.

With great jubilation, I rose early this weekend to savor the morning sights on Elmira. It was as if each and every old friend came out to greet me.

Dearest, of course, was Blue Heron. He hid at first, mimicking a stick in the reeds. As soon as I glanced with the binos, he fluttered out from his hiding place and gronked three times. That's the most he's ever said to me.

Breeze fluttered his feathers as he hunched on the basking long. I laughed as he extended his neck and beak downward, nearly touching the water. Like a type-writer he motioned back and forth. Maybe watching fish, maybe turtles.

The merganser triplets are fishing on their own. After Blue Heron departed they rushed the log to take their turn bathing. Lady Merganser floated nearby her adolescents with wispy baby feathers on full-grown bodies.

The blackbirds sang a few new whistles for me. I think they are finally relaxing, having hatched and reared babies in the grassy shoreline nests. The colony still parades with the horses, fluttering behind wisping tales.

Robins have fledged, too. A few skinny younglings follow fat, orange parents around, swquaking. One parent escaped, taking a breather on the fence post. Cat birds have returned, but none are yet attacking the house this year.

As I watched the mergansers, I'd catch flashes of white. At first I thought it was a swallow as swift as it flew. Then I saw something fluttering at the height of the power lines. It was a kingfisher.

Definitely, the blackbirds have gone chill because they didn't harass his hover. He dove numerous times. They are so hard to capture in pixels when they flutter like big hummingbirds with big heads.

Before Blue Heron left another great blue heron flapped overhead. He was just looking, so it seems.

Then, with my eyes to the sky I saw an osprey! I think he had a fish in his clutches. They fly and odd way when toting a meal, and he seemed determined to fly homeward without pausing.

That was definitely all the old friends who seemed to say, welcome home.