Elmira Pond Spotter: Pack River

Home Sweet Home

Easy Chairs

Who Knew?

He's a Hot Bird

Taking the Plunge

Looking Coy

Tail Feathers Like a Bustle

Final peep Show

Big-screen television at home is the west-facing window that Todd and I often watch while eating dinner. It's not unlike an old married couple dining with Jeopardy turned up loud enough to hear the wheel crank. Instead of guessing at vowels, we guess at birds and bugs.

Welcome to life on Elmira Pond; home sweet home.

What we lack in cable entertainment, we make up for with live performances viewed from our easy chairs under the old apple tree. You might be surprised at the sophistication Elmira Pond attracts. Already this year, we've had A Day at the Opera and New Drama on the Pond.

We also get some bawdy shows; our very own outdoor HBO.

Like someone's Gram accidentally tuning into Game of Thrones, I found myself muttering, "Oh, my!" I had no idea that my knight in blue feathers, Blue Heron, had a different kind of act, a full body burlesque.

It all began with a bowl of popcorn and me staring at the big bird who was standing on his preening log. Preening is as risque as the birds get on Elmira Pond, and you see a fluffed feather here and an under-wing flash there. In mating season, the male hooded merganser pops a hood on his head, but that's as exciting as it gets.

Today, Blue Heron is hot, hot, hot!

I don't mean sexy, I mean, the poor bird is panting. The heat has been unusual this summer and the sun beating down on his blue-grey feathers got him ruffled. He opens his frog-impaling beak, thrusts out a long tongue and pants heavily.

He seeks relief, striding down the log that remains under water. He gets to his belly and does something I've never seen him do before -- he sits in the water like a chicken on a nest. He splashes and dunks, getting soaked. I'm reminded of the scene from Flashdance when Alex releases the water on her hot stage dance.

And dancing is next. If only we had a hurdy-gurdy for accompaniment!

Blue Heron sashays up the log and shakes like a dog (or like Alex, in Flashdance). He fluffs his tail feathers like a bustle and boa, shaking his booty. No feather is left unshaken. He dances on legs as spindly as spiked high-heels and believe me, I'm thoroughly entertained.

Or maybe, I'm easily entertained. Anyhow, pond burlesque tops anything I've seen lately on TV.

Blue Heron's final act is a peep show. With wings slung low, like a woman's gown draping off her shoulders, he stands on the log to face me. He reminds me of a flasher except this is one long flash. He stands fully exposed, daring me to turn away. I blush...snap a photo...and leave.

Linking up with Abracabadra for photo-story-telling fun on Wordless Wednesday. Dirty bird photos by Charli Mills. Rated F for feathers shown.

BREAKING NEWS: Blue Heron returns in My Private Dancer!

Dandelions

Feeding Mason Bees

Making Wishes

Makes Me Grumpy, Sometimes

Small Acts

Celebrations

Not a Road for the Car

Dandelions in the Valley, Snow in the Mountains

Eyes on the Pack River

Rushing Snow Melt

Cavorting Dogs

Watching the River...Moose...What Moose?

Danger Lurks in Mossy Trees

The Man Cares for His Dogs & Wife

Watching Dandelions & Mason Bees

Commit Acts that Nurture the Heart

#1000Speak

Mason bees flit from dandelion to dandelion. Their golden wings and small bodies are easy to overlook. Sitting in the grass affords me a closer inspection

I can't understand why anyone would consider dandelions weeds. The blossoms scatter across meadows and lawns like tiny returning summer suns. Often, these blossoms provide the first food for pollinators, like these silent mason bees. Pluck the flowers and you can make dandelion wine. Pluck the feathery globe of dandelion blossoms gone to seed and you hold the power of making wishes in your hand.

The leaves are slightly bitter and edible. Salad season is nearing and already I have greens to add to the mix. Those who do not understand the gift that is a dandelion curse the tap root. Home improvement stores even sell a special tool to dig the roots, not to mention dangerous chemicals to kill the plant. Yet the root and leaves are most beneficial; they detox the liver, prevent diabetes, boost iron and strengthen the heart.

I'm sitting in grass surrounded by mason bees and heart-toners. If not by dandelions, then how do we nurture our hearts?

I've been grumpy with my husband lately. As we approach 28 years of marriage, I recognize a dip. The path to longevity in relationships includes highs and lows. Couples who want to forever be in love are shocked the first time they hit a dip. The heart might recognize love, but we have to do the nurturing. We have to keep our relationships heart-healthy.

Dandelions don't bloom every day of the year and neither does our heartfelt love for one another.

The grumpiness will pass if I practice patience and loving acts. My loving acts are simple and constant, mostly. I cook his breakfast before he goes to work, and most days I cook his dinner, including fabulous BBQs now that the weather is sunny for such outdoor cooking. If I withhold these simple acts, I can almost feel my heart shrink. Yet, I want to experience something other than grumpiness with my spouse.

Some couples renew their wedding vows. I've known people to take elaborate renewal vacations to Hawaii or on cruise lines. Other couples have thrown big shindigs with gaudy party favors and elaborate invites. And some have paired up for high-risk adventure such as zip-lining through the Amazon jungle to re-spark the heart.

For us, the moment simply happened, unplanned without invites or plane tickets. We renewed our vows of commitment through a shared near-death, heart-stopping experience.

With the return of dandelions and mason bees, the roads to the upper Pack River are free of snow. Well, almost. It started out with me feeling grumpy toward him because he was driving our car up what was more or less a muddy two-track winding higher and muddier into the mountains. We reached a spot rutted by 4-wheel drive trucks and I said, "We can't go through that."

He grinned and shifted the car -- a car, not a truck -- and said, "Yes we can."

Gripping my seat, grumpiness flared into full marital fury. Why had I married a three-year-old? When would he grow up?

We made it through only to get high enough up the road where the snow was yet drifting and melting. Beneath a tall span of pines was a clear patch where we could get turned around. I could see the roaring Pack River coursing with spring snow melt and I wanted photos. Once turned around, we stopped and I headed to the river.

The silts in the Selkirk mountains are blue-gray. When the snow melts and silts churn, the water doesn't look muddy, it appears glacial blue. With huge frothing rapid over boulders that range in size from pumpkins to smart-cars, the river echoed down the forested canyon. With eyes only for the river, I didn't heed my surroundings.

Our dogs -- his dogs -- cavorted like children and stepped into the churning waters. They galloped upstream and I snapped my camera doing a full circle and when I saw my spouse coming at me he looked grim and determined. Had he grown heart-weary of our relationship, too? He seemed on course to push me into the river.

In a low and calm voice he said two words, "Charli...moose.."

How I missed walking right past a moose, which is as large as a horse, is beyond me. Even the dogs zipped past her. Her. The worst gender to meet on the trail when dandelions are in full bloom in the valleys below. A female moose is deadly.

Just then, my husband did an incredible thing; he stepped between me and her. That one act was greater than 28 years of cooking breakfasts. That one act renewed our vows of love, commitment. That one act nurtured both our hearts. He took on til death do us part. And we were looking at it.

Incredibly, our dogs returned from up river and saw the moose and gave her chase. His dogs -- our dogs -- stepped between us and her. What happened next is unheard of; the moose turned and ran. Moose do not turn and run. Moose kick, charge and stomp. They hold their ground. This one did not, and Todd told me to run to the car. He went after the dogs.

Once at the car, which is not necessarily safe as moose are capable of destroying a car, I called for those dogs like a desperate mother calling for a lost child. Todd trailed them for almost a mile before they turned back miraculously unscathed. It was a miracle that none of us were injured.

My husband knows he has hero status now. I don't doubt his love. Nurturing is vital, big or small acts. We have to nurture our own hearts to be able to love another. We have to practice that love when it is difficult.

Those dogs mean the world to my husband. I know that without a doubt. But I know that I mean the world to him, too and he to me. So when I feel stuck with a special needs dog, I remember what we all mean to one another.

So here I sit among the dandelions and mason bees holding my dog -- our dog -- in the throes of a full seizure. It's a little act, one he knows I'll do because I love him and these two dogs. The other dog waits patiently by the door understanding that his sister is helpless but being helped. He'll lick her face when we return inside.

Nurturing the heart is never easy, but we can't mistake dandelions for weeds. Sometimes the very things that annoy us, feed us. Embrace a life full of dandelions and live the big and small moments fully.

This post is part of a #1000Speak movement happening every month. Learn more at 1000Speak for Compassion.