I took my little hatchling for an afternoon walk on this lovely fall day. I wanted to test out his new fancy stroller on our suburban streets. He really liked lying in its bassinet and watching the sky, trees, and birds whiz by. And for a mile-and-a-half walk, we saw some great birds.
blue jay
cardinal
robin
catbird
turkey vulture
mockingbird
mourning dove
grackle
song sparrow
osprey
The osprey seemed out of place in our neighborhood, since we're nowhere near water. I'm so glad I looked up!
A few days ago in the early afternoon, we spotted three red-tails over Neutaconkanut Hill. A day before that I thought I spotted a peregrine falcon, but I didn't have my binocs with me to be sure. The one time I didn't toss them in the stroller basket!
I discovered this odd patch of meadow in the middle of our neighborhood. Unfortunately, it's surrounded by mounds of dirt that I can't get a stroller over. But the edges of the meadow are home to many types of trees and brush, and today I found this area is home to lots of birds. The hatchling and I will be visiting that place again tomorrow!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
a long time coming
My life has changed dramatically in the months I've been away from this blog. Here's a quick update:
1. moved from Brooklyn to live with family in Rhode Island
2. watched our car die an epic and triumphant death
3. am currently unemployed, but quite busy because we
3. had a baby! He's awesome and we're so happy he's here.
There's nothing like Prospect Park in our new neighborhood, so most of my sightings are in the backyard or in nearby wooded areas or meadows. What prompted me to write today was what I saw in our backyard as I returned from a walk with my baby and my mom. A family of turkeys a dozen or so strong popped into our yard through a hole in the hedgerow, pecked around for a few minutes, and made its way into a neighbor's yard. A few of them went through a hole in the fence, but most of them flew over the short chain-link fence separating the two yards. I'd never seen turkeys in flight before! They were beautiful. I especially liked seeing their tails spread wide as they lumbered over the fence.
I don't know how frequently I'll update this - I do have a two-week-old baby to take care of. But I take him out to look at nature every day, so if I see anything magical, you'll be the first to know!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
birds as signs
I believe some people are more in touch with the universe and its inhabitants than other people. I visited a spiritual intuitive (the real ones don't call themselves 'psychics') a few months ago, someone I had never met, and who knew absolutely nothing about me but my first name. It was an incredible session, and I won't go into it here. I just want to preface this entry by saying that she pegged me as someone the cosmos was sending birds to, that birds would be important to me, that birds would come as signs specifically for me. Basically, I should pay attention to the birds, she told me. I was stunned, thrilled, and deeply amused that the universe should be able to communicate so much that's already inherent in me to a complete stranger.
I had a harrowing five minutes earlier this week. It was the first time in my six or so years of nannying that I've lost a child. He ran off playing tag with a friend, and a crowd separated us. I was confident he would not cross the street, as he's a very rules-oriented kid, so I chatted for about 30 seconds with the mom of the friend he'd run off with. When I realized I could no longer see my charge, I grabbed girl-child's hand and we walked calmly in the direction he had gone. I looked up the block, down, and across, but he wasn't in sight. I thought asking the school crossing guard might yield information but she, instead of helping, went on a tirade about lazy babysitters. It was while she was talking to me and I was trying to keep girl-child calm ("this is not like him," she said, squeezing my hand) that I looked up. Far off and high in the distance, three great blue herons flew through a great blue sky, legs trailing behind. I understood instantly that things would work out fine and that boy-child was safe and would soon be returned to me. It was a split-second of utter calm when I realized the universe was sending me a sign, one I had forgotten to ask for. Moments later, with the crossing guard still jabbering, I heard someone calling my name - the friend's mom, right where I had left her, with both boys safely returned. Thank you, thank you, thank you, my heart cried to the universe, for their safe return, for a lesson learned, and for my first sign.
I had a harrowing five minutes earlier this week. It was the first time in my six or so years of nannying that I've lost a child. He ran off playing tag with a friend, and a crowd separated us. I was confident he would not cross the street, as he's a very rules-oriented kid, so I chatted for about 30 seconds with the mom of the friend he'd run off with. When I realized I could no longer see my charge, I grabbed girl-child's hand and we walked calmly in the direction he had gone. I looked up the block, down, and across, but he wasn't in sight. I thought asking the school crossing guard might yield information but she, instead of helping, went on a tirade about lazy babysitters. It was while she was talking to me and I was trying to keep girl-child calm ("this is not like him," she said, squeezing my hand) that I looked up. Far off and high in the distance, three great blue herons flew through a great blue sky, legs trailing behind. I understood instantly that things would work out fine and that boy-child was safe and would soon be returned to me. It was a split-second of utter calm when I realized the universe was sending me a sign, one I had forgotten to ask for. Moments later, with the crossing guard still jabbering, I heard someone calling my name - the friend's mom, right where I had left her, with both boys safely returned. Thank you, thank you, thank you, my heart cried to the universe, for their safe return, for a lesson learned, and for my first sign.
Friday, April 17, 2009
in nature's infinite book of secrecy, I can read a little
Yesterday I had work only from 6-9 p.m., so I made sure to get out into the sunshine for a few hours in the afternoon. Lots of the usual birds were about, creating an irregular but pleasant cacophony in the air all around. People were out in full force as well, lounging on the lawns, lobbing objects into the air to be retrieved by friends or canines, or just strolling joyfully into the green, like me.
I love the feeling I sometimes get of being in on Mother Nature's secrets, as if she puts her hand on my shoulder and whispers, "I made this just for you." Yesterday afternoon I had just come through the secluded Lullwater paths out to the bridge across from the Boathouse. I noticed a distinct shift in the feeling of peace in the air. It was a shift from my personal "reveling-in-nature's details" (fungi growing on fallen trees, robins buried in leaf litter in search of the perfect worm) sort of peace to a more communal "hey everyone, isn't this a great day to be alive" (let's throw sticks in the water and climb on rocks and soak in the sun) kind of feeling. It was just as I felt that kinship with all these human friends, in their separate lives joined by sunlit joy, that I felt Mother Nature's hand steer me to the water's edge. The gift she left for me that day was perched on a short branch sticking up from the water - an impossibly tiny eastern painted turtle. I looked around in disbelief that no one else had noticed or was marvelling at this tiny fellow, warming in the sun like the rest of us. I took some photos but they don't do justice to the smallitude of the creature. It's a hard lesson to learn, but some things are meant to be enjoyed in the moment of experience and only in fond memory thereafter.
Last night as I made my way to the train after work, I had a completely different experience. Two men had a powerful telescope set up outside Smiling Pizza, and I must have been smiling quizzically as I approached, because one of them asked if I'd like to look at Saturn. I jumped at the chance, of course, and saw that distant planet, its rings vertical, and two other heavenly bodies nearby, relatively speaking, and the blackness which holds them all. I saw something that's so impossibly far away that it makes everything we know to be past that point seem all the more unlikely. I love being reminded of just how small we are and how little we know, because it makes the journey to understanding that much longer and the drive to get somewhere that much more urgent. It's humbling yet challenging, and I think that's a good place for humanity to have to start over again and again. We're a curious and resilient species, and I hope we never find out all there is to know, because thenceforth there will be no place for hope in the world. And just as much as humans need love to survive, there's something to be said for the presence of hope in the individual and in society. I wondered briefly at the chances that any regular person would ever get to see something as magnificent and far-off as Saturn. Then I realized those men must love the sky and its contents as much as I love the Earth and its inhabitants. The wonders are waiting for us all around, hidden and giggling like guests at a surprise party. All we have to do as guests of honor is show up.
I love the feeling I sometimes get of being in on Mother Nature's secrets, as if she puts her hand on my shoulder and whispers, "I made this just for you." Yesterday afternoon I had just come through the secluded Lullwater paths out to the bridge across from the Boathouse. I noticed a distinct shift in the feeling of peace in the air. It was a shift from my personal "reveling-in-nature's details" (fungi growing on fallen trees, robins buried in leaf litter in search of the perfect worm) sort of peace to a more communal "hey everyone, isn't this a great day to be alive" (let's throw sticks in the water and climb on rocks and soak in the sun) kind of feeling. It was just as I felt that kinship with all these human friends, in their separate lives joined by sunlit joy, that I felt Mother Nature's hand steer me to the water's edge. The gift she left for me that day was perched on a short branch sticking up from the water - an impossibly tiny eastern painted turtle. I looked around in disbelief that no one else had noticed or was marvelling at this tiny fellow, warming in the sun like the rest of us. I took some photos but they don't do justice to the smallitude of the creature. It's a hard lesson to learn, but some things are meant to be enjoyed in the moment of experience and only in fond memory thereafter.
Last night as I made my way to the train after work, I had a completely different experience. Two men had a powerful telescope set up outside Smiling Pizza, and I must have been smiling quizzically as I approached, because one of them asked if I'd like to look at Saturn. I jumped at the chance, of course, and saw that distant planet, its rings vertical, and two other heavenly bodies nearby, relatively speaking, and the blackness which holds them all. I saw something that's so impossibly far away that it makes everything we know to be past that point seem all the more unlikely. I love being reminded of just how small we are and how little we know, because it makes the journey to understanding that much longer and the drive to get somewhere that much more urgent. It's humbling yet challenging, and I think that's a good place for humanity to have to start over again and again. We're a curious and resilient species, and I hope we never find out all there is to know, because thenceforth there will be no place for hope in the world. And just as much as humans need love to survive, there's something to be said for the presence of hope in the individual and in society. I wondered briefly at the chances that any regular person would ever get to see something as magnificent and far-off as Saturn. Then I realized those men must love the sky and its contents as much as I love the Earth and its inhabitants. The wonders are waiting for us all around, hidden and giggling like guests at a surprise party. All we have to do as guests of honor is show up.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
what is it with ducks these days?
I've been doing 9-10 hour days with the kids all week, so my nature-time has been limited. But last night I got out of work at 7:15 and the daylight promised to float me home, so I traipsed through the park, following the whims of my feet. I didn't have my binoculars (I had planned to work until 8 and the forecast said rain anyway) but I have eyes. How often I have wished for a superpower! If I could choose, I'd pick binocular vision, so I could see wonders all the time, not just if I lug equipment along. I'm afraid of heights anyway, so I'd struggle to enjoy flying. I'm fine in airplanes though.
Over Easter weekend, while driving from Chrissy's family home to mine, I had my eyes on the grassy median between north- and southbound lanes of the highway. The median was a shallow valley that collected the rain into big puddles. We also saw some serious flurries. But twice on that short drive I laughed out loud to see pairs of ducks quite at home in the shallow puddles! I'd never seen an ordinary puddle put to such good use. Also on this drive we narrowly avoided hitting a roadkilled forest mammal(raccoon, perhaps?) but had plenty of time to see what must have been a raven flapping out into the road to pick at it. This bird was extremely tall, very black with perhaps a bluish sheen in the light, crowlike in body but with very powerful wings and quite the span. It was such a quick sighting as we drove past that I won't count it as a life bird, but damn, that thing was huge!
Anyway, walking home yesterday I entered the park at the Lafayette Monument on PPW and 9th Street and was just passing the picnic table and barbecue area when a red-tailed hawk swooped in over my left shoulder and landed on a tall and as yet budless tree. I followed and circled the tree to try to get a good photo from the front, but the bird turned around. As I tried to decide on an angle for the photo, the hawk took off and landed in an evergreen across the West Drive. I was about to follow when I heard loud quacking. This isn't a part of the park I normally associate with ducks, as the nearest water would be the Upper Pool, so I looked around confusedly. Who did I see making themselves comfortable in a temporary home on the West Drive? These two friends!
Over Easter weekend, while driving from Chrissy's family home to mine, I had my eyes on the grassy median between north- and southbound lanes of the highway. The median was a shallow valley that collected the rain into big puddles. We also saw some serious flurries. But twice on that short drive I laughed out loud to see pairs of ducks quite at home in the shallow puddles! I'd never seen an ordinary puddle put to such good use. Also on this drive we narrowly avoided hitting a roadkilled forest mammal(raccoon, perhaps?) but had plenty of time to see what must have been a raven flapping out into the road to pick at it. This bird was extremely tall, very black with perhaps a bluish sheen in the light, crowlike in body but with very powerful wings and quite the span. It was such a quick sighting as we drove past that I won't count it as a life bird, but damn, that thing was huge!
Anyway, walking home yesterday I entered the park at the Lafayette Monument on PPW and 9th Street and was just passing the picnic table and barbecue area when a red-tailed hawk swooped in over my left shoulder and landed on a tall and as yet budless tree. I followed and circled the tree to try to get a good photo from the front, but the bird turned around. As I tried to decide on an angle for the photo, the hawk took off and landed in an evergreen across the West Drive. I was about to follow when I heard loud quacking. This isn't a part of the park I normally associate with ducks, as the nearest water would be the Upper Pool, so I looked around confusedly. Who did I see making themselves comfortable in a temporary home on the West Drive? These two friends!
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