|4:45 a.m. sunrise|
The pond is misty again, and so are my eyes. Yet I can see a pond visitor close to the garage. Dogs and I step outside and a wood duck flies off the pond to the trees southwest. I hear turkeys in the trees across the road where they roost. I've not seen them near the pond. Mergansers keep post on their log, and I go back to bed. After all, it is a day of rest.
June 9 Afternoon Pond Report:
|Mergansers in the Mist|
|Where Ospreys Converse|
They fly away south and I continue to rest, sipping cranberry-water. Today I am just the watcher.
June 9 Garden Report:
|Whistling to Ospreys|
I'm not watching the dogs and a tug on Grendel's leash makes me realize he has gone under the pasture fence. He stands between two horses. Turning, I spray Pistol full in the face, not meaning to. He doesn't spook, but he gives me the horse eye. I untangle Grendel's leash and open the gate to get him back on the dog-side. Horses continue to munch.
The watcher is watched.
|Sunset Comes Early for Summer|
An old memory pushes into recall. When I was a kid, riding my horse in the pastures and slopes of northern California, I would whistle at the red-tail hawks and they would whistle back. Just as the osprey disappears from my view behind tall pines, I whistle. I hear him chirp, and I smile.
|Horses Hit the Hay Early|
For a terrified moment I wonder if osprey attack people. When osprey hover, they are preparing to plunge. What did I whistle? "Yo mama wears combat boots!" Or, "Hey guys, I have fish in my hands!" I stop whistling, they chirp and break back into glides, lifting higher and soon are across the valley west to the hills.
My heart is pounding. I'm an osprey whisperer!
|Sleepy Pistol Comes to Say Goodnight|
Wind has died down and sun is bursting brightly before dipping behind the valley's western hills. I'm on the south porch scoping the pond with binoculars. Ducks land and take off in skittish flight. It's hard for me to figure out what they are. Several females appear in and out of the reeds, but they are harder to identify. The pond is hatching some sort of insect, calling the fish to rise and the tree swallows to dip and splash. Both make water rings. This would be the perfect time to hunt fish (note to osprey).
No longer restless, the horses hit the hay early, sleep-standing in the wood shed. I snap a photo and Pistol raises a sleepy head and walks across the pasture to kiss me goodnight.
It's been a good day of rest.