December 20: Crows and donut

The other day I broke up a stale doughnut, tossed it into the snow outside my office window, and forgot about it. Until today, when the neighborhood crow family found it. I heard them making a racket, and looked out to see what all the fuss was about. Three crows were perched in the bushes right outside my window. They flew off when they saw me so near, despite the glass between us, but quickly returned for their prize. It didn't take them long to dispatch the frozen doughnut chunks, and the next I heard, they were haranguing something upriver.

Raucous spirits

attracted to my offering:

crows and crumbs. 

December 19: Cake

My co-workers and I enjoyed a staff holiday lunch today at our director's house, and his wife made us not only a delicious lunch but also the most wonderful dessert: dense dark chocolate cake with dark chocolate frosting, multi-layers of gooey caramel filling on the inside, and pecans on top. I don't even really like cake, and I ate a huge wedge of this rich, chocolate-y goodness. This cake was so over-the-top amazing that simply eating my piece made me feel more festive, more in the holiday mood. By mid-afternoon we were all in a food coma, but it was a jolly food coma.

Snow falling. Inside
we feast on decadent wedges
of chocolate cake.

December 18: Counting ravens

I spent all my daylight hours today with two friends, Derek and Jeannette, doing a Christmas Bird Count in Jefferson, Maine. Time spent birding with friends is always good, even when it rains all day and there are few birds to be found. Before lunch, our most exciting find was four bluebirds on a utility wire. During lunch, our most exciting find was excellent grilled cheese on homemade bread at Ollie's in Jefferson village.

After lunch, despite some setbacks that limited our walking time--like a chilly wind added to the continuing rain--we had some of our best (non-food) discoveries. At a bison and red deer farm, of all places, we followed a public trail to a small covered bridge where Derek had noticed what looked like a possible raven nest when scouting the area last week. When a pair of ravens flew out upon our arrival today, his theory was confirmed.

The pair flew a short distance as we continued on. We could hear them vocalizing in their odd, quorky way nearby. Seeing ravens always thrills me--they've long been one of my favorite birds--but seeing that pair today was especially meaningful because they were the theme of my husband's and my wedding almost ten years ago; this Winter Solstice, we celebrate the non-wedding anniversary of the day on which we first considered ourselves a couple.

(For other highlights of the afternoon, we also found a flicker at the bison/deer farm, and on Damariscotta Lake, a lingering loon and a small raft of Lesser Scaups.)

Winter rain: ravens
shelter in a covered bridge.
Thinking about pair bonds.

December 17: Green man in snow

All day long the flakes have been drifting down, accumulating into a thin white blanket of snow so light that sweeping the walk has been all that's needed to keep it clear. Tonight it's supposed to rain and wash it all away, so we tried to enjoy this snow today--perhaps as close as we'll get to a white Christmas.

This afternoon, inspired by the snow perhaps, a man dressed all in green wandered along the river behind our office playing a flute. My co-workers and I stopped what we were doing to look out the window as this elfin figure went by, his dog frolicking before him.

Flute music, dancing snow:
the whimsical world
interrupts our work.

December 16: In focus

We bought a new bird spotting scope on Saturday and were anxious to try it out today. So on a drive south, we made a quick stop at Chickawaukie Lake. A few weeks ago on a birding outing I'd tried scanning the lake with only my binoculars. I could see many ducks out on the lake, but couldn't identify any species except the near-tame Mallards pecking around my feet onshore. With our new scope, we picked out seven duck species (Bufflehead, Greater and Lesser Scaup, Ring-necked Duck, Ruddy Duck, Common Goldeneye, and Mallard) and a loon, and got great looks at a raft of over 100 coots. Amazing what a difference it makes to bring those bobbing black specks into focus.

Scanning the lake for ducks,
it all becomes clear.
Time shared with my husband.

December 15: Grooming cat

Our cat--sweet but, like Winnie-the-Pooh, an animal "of very little brain"--likes to curl up on a faux fur throw on our couch. She's a typical brownish-grey, shorthaired tabby cat, raccoon-ish, the kind of cat that would blend in with other wild animals if she went feral. (Given that she was found as a stray about this time last year by a friend of ours, that could've even happened--except that she was declawed, so probably wouldn't have lasted long in the wilds of downtown Camden.)

The thing is, the faux fur throw is quite realistic, like a giant wolf pelt. When the cat lies on it, she's virtually camouflaged. This is entertaining for us, but what's less entertaining is that when she grooms herself, she doesn't seem able to tell when she's licking her fur and when she's licking the blanket. So there's always a ring of wet blanket all around her to surprise the unwitting person who wants to share the blanket.

Eat, play, groom, sleep:
life of a house cat.
To attain such simplicity!

December 14: Tree

I have no words with which to appropriately address today's tragic shooting at an elementary school in Connecticut, yet that's what was on my mind most of the afternoon. Distracted ourselves this evening by getting our Christmas tree, now standing in our living room waiting to be decorated.

Christmas tree up
but boughs still bare,
waiting for lights.

December 13: Stars again

Late last night I was out star-gazing before going to bed. I was thinking of that as I scraped the delicately needled stars of frost off my windshield early today. Stars at night, stars first thing in the morning. And driving to an early meeting, one big star (the sun) rising brightly over Camden Harbor, casting its rays over the bay and the awakening town...

Constellations of frost
recall late-night college conversations
about fractals, nature's patterns.

December 12: Night sky

In the backyard tonight braving the cold for a few minutes in hope of seeing some of the Geminid meteor shower. Clear sky on a new moon night, perfect for star-gazing. This pattern of constellations is the same one I first learned as a child studying the stars with a well-thumbed Golden Book--for me, the night sky's most familiar face. Over the roof peak poise the two stars of Gemini, Castor and Pollux; Orion climbs the sky beyond my neighbor's garden; Auriga, the Charioteer, pauses high over Mount Battie; the V of Taurus the Bull sits just below the blurred cluster of the Pleiades. And almost inside that V, bright Jupiter.

With binoculars, I can see three of Jupiter's four Galilean moons--the largest and brightest satellites of our largest planet--as well as the true redness of Aldebaran, the alpha star of Taurus. I don't expect to last long enough to see an actual meteor. But as I shiver and the cloud of my breath rises to the heavens, a quick falling star flashes behind a net of birch branches. I say "Thank you!" to the sky before rushing back into the warm house.

No need to make a wish.
This sky, these stars--
all I want right now.

December 11: Hope

A friend sent me a link to a video today of a black cat playing with a Barn Owl. Fuma (the cat) and Gebra (the owl) apparently grew up together in Catalonia and often interact in a clearly playful way. The cat will gallop down a path to leap over the owl. The owl will fly low over the cat, inciting the cat to fling itself into the air after the bird. They'll simply stand near each other, like old friends. They even seem to help one another catch mice.

The owl was reared by a falconer but flies free without jesses, so it chooses to interact with the cat (and vice versa--because we all know that no one can make a cat do what it doesn't want to do). As we hear every day about the inability of Israelis and Palestinians to come any closer to peace in the Mideast, in addition to conflicts in Syria, Egypt and our own continuing war in Afghanistan (remember, we're still at war?), I was oddly heartened by this interspecies connection. Perhaps there's some small modicum of hope for Homo sapiens?

(I was also struck by one little detail shared about the cat. He apparently likes to roll in tarragon and thus has a unique scent. An herbal cat!)

On the radio, conflict.
On video, cat plays with owl.
We grasp at any small hope.

December 10: Snow and rain

Living only a mile from the ocean, we often experience rain here while just ten miles further inland they're getting snowed on. I was reminded of that this morning when I pulled in to work, windshield wipers sweeping away the rain pouring onto my windshield. The car of my co-worker from Hope had at least an inch of snow still piled on its roof. And another co-worker from Appleton, even further inland, was hosting his six-year-old daughter in his office for a few hours because of a delayed start to the school day. We each arrived from our own little microclimates.

Remnant of snow wash away.
All day long chickadees
mob the feeders.