Loud and Dry

Hunting Hoppers in Dry Grass

Dry Under the Apple Tree

Noisy Neighbors

It's crisp enough to crack grass like bones. Bobo hunts for grasshoppers in the thicket of browning knapweed and grass, yet Elmira pond remains blue as ever.

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.

Wings of Change

Setting Off Bird Alarms

New King of the Pond--Kingbird

Barn Swallow Among the Knapweed

Evolution in Progress

Sporty Red Dragon Fly

Eating A Rabbit at My Garden Gate

The alarm wakes me. Not an alarm clock, but the persistent whistles of the tree birds, alarming the presence of a predator. The predator is a red-tailed hawk. Todd and I debate his age. I say he's newly fledged and lonely, hungry and harassed by pine siskins and a crazy cat bird that used to attack my window.

What remains constant on Elmira Pond are the wings of change. Migratory birds come and go like guests of a bed and breakfast. Like an inn-keeper I have my favorite guests--Blue Heron, the trio of osprey and now a red-tailed hawk.

But he is not the only new set of wings to show up. A kingbird has taken to circling the pond, and pausing on the fence or dead tree limb long enough to pose for my camera. As official pond paparazzi, I like the new arrival decked in black, gray and white. But I  notice a decline in tree swallows. Since fledging their nest boxes around my berries and garden, I see fewer hitting the pond in the evenings, leaving a wake of ferrie rings. Barn swallows have taken up residence among the knapweed I've been digging to no avail. Their nests are in the barns.

Damsel flies and dragon flies scurry in flight with such a sense of purpose like commuters on a subway. I almost expect to see them carrying little briefcases. They are too speedy for my lens, defying documentation until I glance a mating couple dangling from the leafy canopy of the apple tree. I have no idea how sexually combative these winged creatures are until I read the fascinating Dragonfly Mating Game. Evidently, winged evolution is unfolding all around me.

A brilliant red dragon fly with black iridescent wings pauses on a spent dandelion long enough for me to snap a shot. His wings seem mythical, something out of an elaborate storybook for children. I can understand why artists over the years have continued to capture these winged creatures in oils and stained glass. I feel surrounded by living art.

So the red-tailed hawk returns and I cannot worry that he is a hungry fledgling any more. He's sitting on the garden fencepost eating a rabbit. Turns out he is a garden guard. If only he could nab the buck eating my strawberry plants.

Another day, another drama as wings of change unfurl over Elmira Pond.

Super Moon Salsa

Moonrise Over Elmira Ranch

What to Do With Left Over Produce

Make Super Moon Salsa!

Red-tailed Hawk Just Sittin' in a Tree

I Think he's a Red-Tailed Hawk...

Might Be Crazy Cat Bird Upper Left

Sparrow, Cat Bird, or Siskin Harassing Hawk

You Should Hear the Bird Alarms Whistling!

Super Moon

Like a Big Pizza Pie

Or Albino Navel Orange

Raspberry Peach-Man Jam!

Moonrise over Elmira Pond is a success since we lack the normal cloud cover of the region. A lingering hawk greets the moon, harassed by pine siskins or perhaps chipping sparrows, maybe cat bird. They flit too fast for proper identification. The hawk watches as I harvest tarragon  for an inspired batch of Super Moon Salsa. Basically, it's a way to use up refrigerator produce and ripe peaches from the Peach Man. This is what the recipe turns out to be:

Super Moon Salsa

4 small white onions, finely chopped
3 vine ripened tomatoes, finely chopped
2 limes, juiced
9 tree ripened peaches, finely chopped
1 orange bell-pepper, finely chopped
2 sprigs of fresh tarragon, finely chopped
Heavy sprinkling of dried Aleppo pepper
Salt to taste (Real or Himalayan)

Chop, juice, mix and pour into jars. Refrigerate and serve within two weeks with corn chips or gluten-free Nut Thins (try smearing a tad of cream cheese on the Nut Thins first).

Enjoy the photos of the moon, the hawk and raspberry-peach-man jam!

Under Siege

Porch Real Estate Not for Rent!

Homeland Security...Cat and Hose

Plenty of Rooms for Rent

Glaring Tree Swallow

Ah, Basking in the Sun

Ah, Sitting Under the Apple Tree

Resident Blue Heron

Just Flying By

Robin with a Snack on the Go

Let's Help Him Eat Organic

Osprey Visit

Chatter From a Tree

Chatter in Flight

Swallow House Above Blackberries

Possible Pine Siskin

Feeding Babies

Report from the War Zone:

Birds bombard my house.

Crazy-catbird attacks the west porch window with such ferocity that he drops poop bombs all over my camp chair--the one Todd hauled back to the porch so "birds wouldn't poop on it" under the apple tree. How ironic. It worked, pulling the blinds on Todd's gun room, but now catbird assails different windows. As Todd says from the safety of Moses Lake, WA 195 miles away, "It was cute, at first."

The second wave of attacks come from the tree swallows. They want my south porch for mud-nesting. Are you kidding me? Hey, tree swallows, we have co-existed peaceably since late March. You have 10, count them--10, bird houses plus no less than four outbuildings with all sorts of rafters. Not to mention...you are TREE swallows and we live in a forest of TREES.

My weapon of choice? The hose. With the sprayer set to "jet" I blast the mud foundation of five tree swallow nests. My justification is that they have plenty of other real estate and I'm not actually harming baby birds. But the parents are furious and dive at my head with pursed beaks as if I were a red-tailed hawk. Next, I rinse catbird poop off my chair, and catbird sulks in the pine tree. If birds sulk. I'm sulking. A bird nerd attacked Alfred Hitchcock-style is unnerving. I'm unmanned by birds. Like a cowboy trampled by his own beef herd.

My uninvited second weapon? Bootsy. One reason I'm not fond of barn cats is that they hunt birds. But today...here kitty, kitty, kitty. Bootsy shows up mid-spraying and she and the hose settle in like Homeland Security on (and under) my south porch. Catbird has returned to his tree by the gun room, in retreat. The swallows circle ominously overhead, and one glares from a birdhouse. Bird Nerd Central is under siege.

July 5 Pond Report:

It is blissfully peaceful beneath the apple tree. With a mug of coffee swilling with whipped cream (because no one else is here to finish it off) and a handful of fresh-picked cherries, I settle in under the tree leaving the dogs to guard the war zone. The ring-necked duck hens are sun-bathing on the log. It is almost chilly today and I did not have to cool off with the hose after turning it from the birds to my garden.

Blue Heron flies low over the pond, the log, the ducks. The log is double-booked, it seems. at first Blue Heron lifts up as if to fly elsewhere, then cuts back and descends right on top of the hens, sending both splashing into the water. King of the log, he proceeds to preen, contorting his neck and employing his beak. His feathers are sooty-gray in the sunshine, like the clouds building behind the mountains.  Another great blue heron flies overhead, just passing by.

A robin lands on a fence post with some great green bug in his mouth. Birds, for all their annoyance today, are great at cleaning up insects. It makes me wonder about pesticides. A friend and fellow writer has developed a keen interest in investigating bee deaths this year. Pesticides are the supposed link. I watch these birds day after day eat bugs that pesticides are meant to kill. Responsible means can be used. For instance, wasp traps collect and drown wasps instead of spraying them dead where a bird can pick it up and ingest the poison, too. We are not in some Monsanto corn zone up here in northern Idaho, and most people keep natural yards and organic gardens.

Weeds don't bother me; unnatural swaths of green grass and GMO-corn does. Nature is under siege.

Osprey Update:

The mere sound of osprey chirrups excites me. I can hear them before I see them. There are two today, sweet-talking one another. One sits in the old snag as the other flies high, circling, chirping. It sounds like loving conversation, but who knows. Maybe one is nagging the other about dirty socks in the nest. And that's no joke. The Hellgate osprey have brought odd objects into the stick nest Iris and Stanley call home in Missoula, MT. This year its a tube of Synsodene toothpaste; last year it was a blue velvet Crown Royal bag. Rumor has it, they even collected a dirty magazine, just in time for the school children's field trip.

Talk about corrupting nature...a chemical beauty enhancement, alcohol and porn. All in one osprey nest. Cherry pits and stems are all the trace I leave out here with the Idaho osprey.

Like an eager child waiting for the Disney movie to start,  I sit at the edge of my chair and watch the osprey show. Neither hunts. It's a casual visit and one flies off, north and the other follows. Chirps fade into the distant clouds. I dream of having an osprey nest platform on Elmira Pond, of building a bed and breakfast over the garage with rooms facing the pond, of a pond cam that captures this incredible daily interaction, of leading nature writing classes on pond. Yes, I dream.

Tree Swallows:

Until todays battle for the south porch, the tree swallows have been great neighbors. They fill all the birdhouses, including the two over the blackberry brambles. Those occupants seem to have babies as I watch parents come in go in succession, each bringing an offering of fast-food insects. I see some tiny little pine dweller as I sit next to my garden and watch with my back to Elmira Pond. I think it might be a pine siskin. It's so quick, darting in and out of the pine trees, I can't be certain.

For now, all is peaceful.

Creeper on the 4th of July

Dawn Arrives, Cooler

Cool Enough for 5 a.m. Mist

Patriotic Breakfast

The Ring-necked Female Shows Up

Blue Heron Puffing Wings

Nibbling Wings From Underneath

Who's That Peeking in the Window?

After Insects or Bullets?

July 4 Early Morning Pond Report:

Mist rises from the pond; the heat-wave has broken. When it got so hot this past week, it also turned dry. Shopping at Safeway in Sandpoint on Tuesday, the cashier says, "It nearly broke 100." The average summer high for this part of norther Idaho is 82. And mist says we have cooled off.

With a sigh of relief, I hop back in bed for a few more hours of cool sleep. No need to be up at 5 a.m. on the 4th of July. Ah, there is even a breeze, a cold breeze.

Morning Pond Report:

It's Independence Day and I'm celebrating with breakfast on the pond. My favorite light-hearted 4th of July quote is by Erma Bombeck. She writes:

"You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism."

Read more here: http://allisonkennedy.blogspot.com/2010/07/erma-bombeck-4th-of-july-quote.html#storylink=cpy

I've enhanced the patriotism level of breakfast by adding blueberries to strawberry short-cake and invoke my patriotic right to have potato salad in the morning, served with fried slices of ham. I pour Flathead cherry coffee into my reddest cup and haul it all out to my new spot under the apple tree.

The usual suspects are hanging out along the pond, too--the ring-neck ducks dive, the tree swallows swoop, the horses munch and Blue Heron is preening in the reeds. Over Independence Day breakfast I learn that Blue Heron is a contortionist. It must be that neck coiled above his body. He lifts his wing up and slightly out. Instead of flying off, he stretches his neck back and beaks beneath his feathers from underneath. It makes me think that this is a good spot to practice yoga, or not.

Todd and the two GSPs find me in the pasture. He tells me to load up, that we are finally going to take the Blue Goose into the mountains. We call our truck the Blue Goose because we once owned the Red Rooster. I guess we name our trucks according to avian color, although I admit to never seeing a goose this color of blue. Quickly I go inside to grab a few things, like iced cran-water and emergency t.p.

Before we leave Todd calls me to his gun room. I inhale a groan. It means he want to show me something, and that something is usually a gun for sale or a video of guys shooting long-range. The gun room is contained chaos; bullets, brass and gun-powder cover every inch of shelves, tables and even his desk. Books tumble from stacks--I'm the one who keeps re-stacking them--and boxes line the walls filled with stuff beyond my comprehension.

Red-Shafted Northern Flicker? No...

Western Kingbird? No...

HOURS Later and Look Who's Looking at Me

4th of July Creeper is a Catbird

Instead of looking at his computer monitor, he reclines in his chair and looks at the window across the room. With the cool breeze, he has the window blinds raised and the window open. We look at the thick pine just outside. "Watch," he says. Suddenly, a bird hovers at the window, pecking, dipping and flitting off. I run out and grab my camera, taking a seat on the floor.

"Is he after insects?" I ask. We agree that that's the most likely explanation. The bird returns--snap, snap, and I have captured slate gray blurs.

"Did you get a shot?" Todd asks, as if we were out shooting grouse. I show him my blurs. He hands me his camera and I see several shots of the bird. They'd be clear if the windows weren't so dirty. There's a definite red-color to the bird's rump and I say that it looks like a red-shafted northern flicker. We watch a few more times, then decide to hit the dirt roads.

In conclusion of today's blog, I'll post photos from the trip we took into the mountains behind Elmira Pond. We had trouble finding access to public lands, frustrating when wealthy home-owners build their mountain estates and cut off people who just want to go bang around in the hills, looking at wild-flowers, maybe fishing or picking berries. It doesn't feel like Independence Day, but we do find a road up and even over, but it abruptly ends before dropping down into the Pack River.

But there's more to this bird at the window story. We return late in the afternoon and I go into Todd's gun room to retrieve his camera. There in the tree is the bird, peering back at me. Then he hits the window. I don't think he's a northern flicker, eating insects from the window, he's a creeper. Suddenly, I realize this bird wants in. Five more times he hits the window and since this morning he's learned to hold onto the screen with his bird-toes. Definitely a creeper.

Turns out he is a catbird and he might be attacking the window if he sees his reflection. Or maybe he's another local gun nut. The best advice via Cornell Bird Lab is to simply draw the blinds. That's what I do anyways, to hide this male domain from the rest of the female-approved house. I think it's funny that our creeper is a catbird, because Todd also has Bootsy coming in to meow for him at night.

Here's a parting shot of our drive into the Selkirks behind our house.

How 4WD Adventures Begin

Hot-Wiring Our Own Truck

Indian Paintbrush

Mountain Raspberries & Ferns Cover the Forest Floor

Tiger Lilies

4th of July and Snow Remains

The Blue Goose

Brown GSP

Evidence of a Fire 80 or more Years Ago

Across the Bridge is th End of the Road

Unidentified Yellow Flowers

American Dipper (Nest in Mountain Streams)

View of the Valley Below (Elmira Pond is South)

Near the Tops