Almost every day now, I can hear a Cooper’s hawk crying from inside the house. Other than that, once the hawk cries, it gets silent as a tomb. All the other little birds are frozen in place with their mouths and eyes closed (figuratively speaking), pretending to be invisible. You know how that works. When playing Hide And Seek, if you close your eyes and can’t see them, then they can’t see you. And every time, I want to say to the Cooper’s hawk…if your goal is to catch and eat a bird, why don’t you shut the hell up? I don’t see how they ever find food.
Not that I really want them to find and eat one of my beloved Cardinals, but it’s kind of like what I’ve said previously about watching the Discovery Channel. Hour One: Run, baby antelope, run! You can outrun that Cheetah! Hour Two: Go Cheetah! You can catch that antelope! It’s just a baby!
About an hour ago I went to the corner liquor store and bought a bottle of wine. All I could afford was a small bottle of Yellowtail Pinot Grigio, which tastes like I imagine Aardvark urine would taste. There’s your nature reference.
On the drive home, I noticed that one of my neighbors’ Sagos had seeds. This is a very pretty sight.
I rushed right home and took a look at mine. Alas, in my absence, Nature had not turned itself on its ear, and it’s still a male plant. It won’t be making any seeds. I do think it’s old enough now that it’s looking for a girlfriend, though. It wouldn’t really say. That’s how it is when you’re the parent. At a certain point, they stop telling you anything.
On the way back to the door, crossing the yard, I observed that my Oriental magnolia has three buds. Man! I thought…you are really stupid, even for a tree. I guess it has failed to notice that it’s the middle of January and it’s been in the 20’s every night for a week. And there will be more to come. Normally budding doesn’t take place until mid-February. If its little buds freeze off–or worse yet, if it flowers before mid-February–then it can’t say I didn’t tell it so.
Last week I watched a repeat of the now infamous episode of “Sarah Palin’s Alaska”, the one in which she shoots a caribou. Let’s not even go there about the current political brouhaha. But I saw a whole new side of her and thought, What is all the fuss about? She was having a ball, bonding with her Dad, and very proud of herself for bagging this caribou, which in my opinion, she had every right to be. She even made a joke (who knew she had a sense of humor?) At the end of that very successful day, she was sitting out there on the frozen tundra, talking about how much she loved the place, “And”, she said, “You can see Russia from here! (Pause) Almost.” I laughed myself silly. All I can say is, if you’re a Vegan, don’t watch this.
On the WordPress home page there is a post I’ve been intending to read. It’s called Adulthood: No One Told Me There Would Be Laundry. I can so relate to that! And there is your Other Stuff.
First of all, I want to know what that hawk is doing inside your house. Once you let it back out, you can encourage it to catch your squirrels. We regularly see squirrels with serious injuries that must be from our resident hawks or owls. Deep gashes at their withers, gashes across their sides, once a broken tail. That one I cheered on as it lived through the winter, never to be seen again.
You know, it’s Sunday. No buying Devil Alcohol on Sunday in these parts!
Will your mail sago set pups even though it doesn’t have ovaries and can’t make seeds?
Here, the tete a tete daffodils are sprouting like mad. This year I decided that they could freeze their little buds off – I was not making a nice blanket of fallen leaves for them again! Although the foot of snow makes a nice blanket, it won’t be here forever. Will it?
Now that the hot water heater is repaired (note to self, in your next life remember that marrying a mechanic has numerous advantages), I am deep into laundry myself.
Well, Fakesister, I knew there was something wrong about that phraseology, but couldn’t figure out how to correct it. I’m inside. The Cooper’s hawk is outside. But I can hear it crying outside, from inside 🙂
And no…the male sago cannot make pups (although it might help the neighbor’s across the street in that effort). This is your basic anatomy lesson 🙂
Perhaps by the time the snow melts, you’ll be more inclined to help out those daffodils. Or not. Meanwhile, as you know, I’ve developed a laissez faire attitude toward gardening. (Ever since the fire ant incident.) Sink or swim. If you live, good for you. If you die, well, it’s been nice knowing you.
Fakesister – remind me where you live?
FN, your sago reminds me just a little of the passion flower vines that grow here and there in these parts. But they bloom in August.
It’s still the depths of winter here – even a bit of snow on the ground. But the crocuses will start to appear in early February – the first sign of spring. That won’t be long.
Nature’s biggest excitement here this time of year is the visitation from the bald eagles. They are a common sight here during the winter, and always a thrill to see.
I know that I seem unAmerican to hunters, but I just don’t get the fun of killing a caribou just for the hell of it. I just don’t get it. But then there is a lot about Sarah Palin that I don’t get. At least deer hunters butcher the deer and treasure the meat.
Graychin…Sarah didn’t kill the caribou for fun. She killed it for the meat. They field dressed it then took it back to her kitchen for, shall we say, further processing. Which was a bit grisly, but that’s the way it goes when you kill your own food as opposed to getting it shrink-wrapped from the grocery store. And I’ll go out on a limb here and say that most hunters agree with me. It isn’t okay to kill something just for “fun”.
Fakesister lives in Buford, Georgia…just northeast of Atlanta. Bald eagles…wow. We have a nest on the lake near me, but it’s hard to distinguish them from the hawks when they’re flying, except the hawks fly lower. Fakesister and I once spent a few days in the Everglades and eagles were everywhere. She and I have shared a lot of Natioal Geographic Moments. The most memorable of which is the time we saw the snow geese on Assateague Island…
I’ve never eaten caribou. Deer meat is good. But I don’t hunt, except I shoot an occasional pesky squirrel with my pellet gun. And neither my wife nor I will even consider cleaning the scrawny things for stew.
The Lewis and Clark men would barely eat elk meat at all. They thought it was awful, and much preferred bison. I assumed that caribou was like elk. But what do I know? Maybe it’s good like deer.
We have lots of red-tailed hawks and turkey vultures here which could be mistaken for eagles in flight. But eagles are bigger, and that white head and tail are unmistakable.