What a Year

 Amazingly enough, it looks like we're about to make it through 2020. Sadly, a lot of people didn't, so I must mention them as a matter of respect. I'm very sorry to their families and friends in what has been such a difficult year.

Right now, we're just starting to hear about the new vaccine and it's starting to be administered to health-care workers in this country. I'm so glad those heroes will now be protected! It is unimaginable to me what their year has been like and I'm glad to see an end in sight for their hard work and anguish.

Now we're faced with the possible end of the pandemic. We've had to get used to it for about nine months and now we'll have to get used to life without it. I know the part about "life without the pandemic" will be easy, but what about the rest of it? I find myself a little concerned about what has changed permanently. How many bricks-and-mortar stores will never come back? Will we be able to sit down in a restaurant? Is it true what I've read, that theatres are a thing of the past? (I doubt it, but I don't know.) Will there be a DH in the NL? What else will be different that I haven't even considered?

I'm silly enough that I'll partially miss wearing a mask sometimes. It sure keeps my face warm on these cold mornings, but more than that, it gives me a barrier against the world. Remember: I'm an introvert. Sometimes I want to retreat, and the mask makes it easier to do that in some situations. Besides, if I want to make a face but don't want anyone to see it, the mask helps!

I think sometimes about last year and how ignorant I was. I had no idea that such a thing as a global epidemic was possible in these modern times. It's yet another example of Mother Nature, or whatever/whoever you believe, giving us a reminder that we aren't omnipotent or omniscient. We've made great strides as a species, but we're still vulnerable.

I learned a lot about human nature, too. Man, I had no idea that such large groups of people could be so stubborn. I don't want to open up a great debate (which I wouldn't anyway because no one reads this blog), but I was sad to see how many people refused to wear a mask. Obviously, there were those with legitimate health reasons, but I mean the other people. You know who you are. It's not a symbol of oppression; it's a symbol of concern for your fellow human! I see that you have none. Enough said.

And in the middle of this, I published a novel. You might think I'm crazy. You might be right. My thinking was this: I wanted to get it done, no matter when it was. And I did realize that more people were reading, so I thought maybe my novel would have a better chance. That didn't happen (I think I've sold four), but at least I gave it the opportunity.

My fantasy is that one of these days, someone will read one of them and actually like it. Maybe even love it. Then they'll discover that it's a series and read the whole thing. And still like it! And then they'll post a good review somewhere. And then they'll tell their friends. And then a lot of people will read these novels that mean so much to me, and they'll meet my characters, whom I happen to like quite a bit. That would be fun. I've always thought it would be amazing to see a few people debating some small aspect of one of the novels. Or something like that. (I dream small.)

Anyway, I'm mostly just rambling here. It's been such a crazy year and I feel hard-pressed to say anything about it that doesn't sound ridiculous. I keep thinking that I could never write anything as "out-there" as this year has been, so what's worth writing about? I'm sure I'll come up with something someday, perhaps once the oddity of 2020 has started to fade in my memory.

I hope your year has been all right and your friends/family are safe. Here's looking forward to 2021.

Take care.

Descent

A few weeks ago, I went to Wilderness Park, where I walked a familiar path until it led me to a strip pit, surrounded by steep slopes and dense trees.

There were trails here that I’d never explored, mostly because they weren’t labeled and seemed little more than wildlife trails, narrow and not clearly defined. I’d debated whether I should take one, but there no signs to forbid it and I was in a mood for something different.

The path I chose was steep at first, as if to test me. I clambered up the slope and found myself on a narrow ridge, alongside the same strip pit, a dark spot on that cloudy day.

I pressed on, fighting off tree branches that tried to tear at my face, my hat, my jacket. The path had obviously not been traversed by a tall person recently, so I had to push my way through. I kept going, bending the branches aside, peering ahead to see where the path would take me. I wasn’t sure where I was or where I was going, but I consoled myself with the thought that I need only turn around to find my way back.

After a while, I stopped, faced with a dilemma. The path continued straight ahead of me, but there was another one breaking off to my left. I pondered. If I kept going straight, I would have the same easy solution to find my way back, but I might see something interesting. (It was January, though. There wouldn’t be much.) The other path was a risk, but it did seem to meander back in the general direction of the more familiar part of the park. It had already been over twenty minutes since I’d left the original strip pit, and it would be a walk of about ten or so minutes from there to my car. On such a gray and chilly day, I decided to go back.

The path on the left had several steep descents, testing me again. I had to take care not to twist an ankle on a jutting tree root or wobbly rock, all while still fending off the grasping tree branches. A few times I questioned whether I was still on an actual trail, but there was just enough there for me to believe in it.

After I half-slid down another slope, I found myself in a ravine. For a moment, I stood there and considered the fact that I didn’t think I’d ever been in a ravine before. It seemed odd and exciting, as if I’d found myself in a Bradbury story. As one would expect, it was shady and quiet, a dull brown bowl of dead leaves and slumbering trees.

Once the novelty wore off, I realized that I couldn’t see the path anymore. This caused some concern, but not fear. I knew I’d gone far enough to be close to my destination. It was simply a matter of finding a way to it.

I stepped out farther into the ravine. There were no visible trails. As I looked up the incline on the opposite side, though, I thought something about it seemed familiar. I recalled a trail that leads beside a ravine and I wondered if that might be it. Even if it wasn’t, the higher ground would give me a better vantage point to see where I was.

Getting up was not easy. The leaves wanted to slide underfoot and the ground was just damp enough to offer little purchase. More than once I had to grab at a tree trunk to halt my backward slide back into the ravine. I clambered and grasped, determined to reach the top … and I finally made it.

I stood there, panting and disheveled but smiling. I was on the trail I’d hoped to find and it led straight back to my starting point. I looked down into the ravine, which didn’t seem so forbidding from this height. It was quiet and unbothered by humanity, biding its time until spring would bring it back to life.

     Then I turned away and walked back toward my regular life.

Mountains in the Rearview

I recently returned from a trip to Colorado, and ever since then, I've noticed something different. Mostly about myself: I'm calmer. I'm not so scattered or anxious. Why is this?

First of all, let me highly recommend a trip to Colorado whenever you get a chance. There is so much variety in that state, there are so many things to do, that you will always find something there to enjoy.

My personal favorite is Rocky Mountain National Park. You start with sweeping meadows ringed by pine trees. Then you drive up Trail Ridge Road along switchbacks and past craggy rocks. Finally you emerge above the treeline to another world: the alpine world. Here everything is short and tough, designed to withstand the high winds and cold temperatures. And the views are breath-taking, everywhere you look. "Purple mountains' majesty" starts to make sense.

Throughout the park, there is abundant wildlife to be seen: elk, moose, deer, marmots, chipmunks, ground squirrels, untold species of birds, and much more.

Among all of this, however, I have found one thing that I enjoy more than anything else: the mountain stream.

When I was a child, I loved to throw rocks or sticks into the stream: rocks for the satisfying 'sploosh' and sticks because I could run alongside and track where the current took them.

Now, however, I'm content to sit beside the stream and listen to what it has to tell me.

Then something happens: when I listen to the stream, my head goes silent. All those random thoughts, all those worries, all the planning and plotting that fills my head—it all goes away. I'm left with only the sound of water tumbling over rocks ... and a peace that is rare for me.

I sat beside such streams several times during my trip. Each time, there was only the stream and nothing else mattered. It was the ultimate form of meditation.

Don't get me wrong: I drank in the mountain views, the wildlife and the wildflowers, which were everywhere. I cried when I had to leave ... and I stared at the rearview mirror for as long as the mountains were visible there.

But now I feel a stillness that I couldn't achieve before this trip.

I don't know how long it will last, but for now I'm holding onto it. I like the calmness, the peace, the feeling that things will be all right.

I'm trying to keep the mountain stream in my heart.

Stream at Hidden Valley, Rocky Mountain National Park

Silence

I'm like the Grinch in one respect. No, I don't hate the Whos. I don't hate Christmas. I don't yell at Max. But I do hate the noise, noise, noise.
Maybe I'm just getting old and cranky. I know that part of it is because I have tinnitus. If you don't know what that is, have you ever had your ears ring after a particularly loud sound or a noisy concert? If you were to have that sound in your ear(s) all the time, without relief, that's tinnitus. It can be different sounds for different people. Mine is a high-pitched shrieking sound, like a tea kettle whistle. Tinnitus is apparently supposed to make a person more sensitive to sound, and I am proof of that.
What I don't understand is that people around me seem to require sound/noise all the time. I listen to the radio, I watch TV, but there are times when I like to sit in relative silence, a thought that would make many of my co-workers recoil in terror. "Silence? How can you stand it??"
When I was growing up, nobody thought silence was bad. As a kid, I played outside without a radio to listen to or videos to watch. My family traveled to the mountains and went on long hikes where all we heard was occasional wind and the birds. I don't remember considering that torture (well, except for the tough hiking part). We might even spend an evening reading, with no sound except pages turning.
Now everybody's got to have ear buds or a radio or a phone or a TV or something. It puzzles me.
People ask me, "How do you come up with all those ideas for your novels?"
Here's the answer: silence. Almost all of my ideas come when I'm walking in nature or staring at a computer monitor, in silence. Silence lets my mind settle down, roam at will and make connections that it could never make with constant outside stimulation. It needs that breathing space to get creative.
I don't hate music or TV or whatever. These things are entertaining and have an important place in anyone's life. But don't let them rule your life.
Give yourself a break once in a while to let your mind wander. You'll be surprised by what you might come up with.

On the Verge

I missed writing a blog in January. Sorry about that! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season. Happy 2018!

My January was full of upheaval, especially at work. A lot of things changed, some for the better and some yet to be seen. We were put into different groups, we were given different supervisors, we were physically moved around the room. It took everyone a while to get used to it.

I was one of them. I don't mind some change, but we got a lot thrown at us all at the same time. My team changed, my original group's title disappeared, I had to get used to a new location with a few challenges. I'll admit that I had a little trouble with it.

I think I'm getting more used to it, though. That's what happens, isn't it? You grumble and complain, you wonder why this had to happen ... and then you turn around and it all seems normal. It's happened before. I'm sure it will happen again.

Nevertheless, I was glad to have a few weekends to process things. It's nice to have some quiet time to put things in perspective.

This weekend was no exception. I'm on the verge of a decision regarding work and I needed some time away to think about it.

So why on earth did I find myself driving to work and parking in the lot on a Saturday?

By now, you should know that I'm a birder, so this next bit won't surprise you.

For several weeks at work, I've been walking in the hallway to get some exercise when something outside caught my eye. I've stopped by windows and doors to squint out at the field north of our building because there was movement in an otherwise empty space. As you might have guessed, it had two wings. It was a Northern Harrier. I wasn't sure at first, but then I glimpsed the white patch at the base of its tail and I knew.

Several times I've stood still to watch its aerial acrobatics as it glides, stoops and banks over the field, searching for some unlucky rodent to make its meal. I've had more than one person ask me what I'm staring at out there. Nobody seems surprised when I saw it's a hawk.

Without binoculars, though, I couldn't see the bird very well. It's a big field and the harrier seemed good at keeping its distance. As a result, I drove over there with binoculars this afternoon to see if I could get a better look.

It was chilly, with a brisk wind, and my heart fell as I pulled into the lot. The field looked empty. I put on some gloves and earmuffs before I stepped out of the car. Still no sign of hawks. Resigned, I decided I might as well walk a little before the drive home.

I walked around the building and stopped. There in the EAST field were two harriers! They hopped around, spreading their wings over the ground as if protecting something, although they didn't appear to have caught anything. Then one took flight and soared over to the north field. I followed and was rewarded with twenty minutes of watching a beautiful hawk gliding over a field. Every time the hawk turned, I got a good look at the striking patterns and colors on its chest and tail. Its long yellow legs hung down and then tucked up against its body. The wings were masterful at propelling the hawk through impressive maneuvers. In short, it was breathtaking. I forgot the chill in the air, the craziness at work, pretty much everything as I watched in awe.

Now I'm back at home, where it's warm, but I can still see that hawk. I don't think it ever saw me because it was concentrating on the field. I'm sure it wouldn't have admired me like I admired it!

As usual, Nature provided me with some time to leave behind my cares and worries, to enjoy something with a clear mind and open heart. I think I'm ready to make a decision.

Don't forget the Great Backyard Bird Count this month! Here's where to find more information: http://gbbc.birdcount.org/  I encourage you to give it a try and turn in your counts. You never know what you will see.

Photos of Fall

Back in October, I posted that I was glad it wasn't autumn yet because there was a lot to be seen in Wilderness Park. This month it is definitely autumn, but there's still a lot to be seen. Since the weather is fantastic, I decided to take advantage of it and slung my Canon over my shoulder for a long walk.

True, some of the park looks mostly brown, but it can still be pretty:

  

There were things to see when I looked up:

and when I looked down:

Some things I almost stumbled over or missed, but were worth a second look:

Some of the colors surprised me:

                  

I'm glad I paused on the bridge over the stream.

As I was leaving, a woman asked me, "Did you see anything?" I pondered for a moment, spread my arms and said, "Just general beauty." She smiled and continued on her walk. I hope she saw as much as I did.

Thanks for joining me on a walk through the park!

Not Quite Yet

Autumn might think it's here. The calendar might say it's here. But Wilderness Park says otherwise. No, summer is hanging on.

We only have a few leaves turning color so far in southeast Kansas, although the sumac is pretty.

 

Most of the butterflies and flowers are gone. This means that when I go walking in the park, I have to look more closely for the little bits of color and beauty that try to hide in the greenery.

 

It does make me work a little harder to find tidbits to photograph, but I don't mind. If everything were out in plain sight, I might not enjoy it as much. I might just stride by, nodding my head and thinking, "Oh, there's another colorful leaf," instead of searching each area for something of interest.

I almost stepped on this guy!

I like it that the leaves are still green. They'll be beautiful colors soon enough, but right now they make a nice contrast to the little splashes of color out there.

Autumn can hold off just a little longer. I'm still enjoying the warmer air, the refreshing breezes and the greenery. They'll be gone soon enough, so I'll appreciate them now while I still can.

Have a beautiful autumn, no matter what color it is.

Perspective

First of all, I want to apologize for not posting in August. I think that's the first month I've missed!

I held off for most of August because I thought I was going to have a great post. I thought I was all set to describe with full enthusiasm the total solar eclipse that I'd witnessed.

As so many things in life go, it didn't quite work out that way.

I'd planned ahead. I had the day off from work. I had the official solar eclipse glasses. I had selected my route and I even had a companion for the journey to St. Joseph, Missouri. That was going to be one of the top spots to see the eclipse, so that's where I was going. Never mind that the forecast said it would probably rain.

We drove up there and passed through a very heavy downpour around Kansas City, but it didn't last long and we managed to avoid the crowds to find an ideal spot in the parking lot of an abandoned grocery store. It was partly cloudy, but we could still see the moon starting to cover a little bit of the sun. I'll admit that it was a pretty amazing sight.

Then it clouded over. Then it rained. We couldn't see the sun at all anymore.

As I despaired, my companion reminded me that we would still experience totality: the darkness, not the actual sight of the moon covering the sun. I tried to take some comfort in that, and it was pretty cool when the sky got darker. The temperature fell and everything looked eerie. The horizon turned sunset colors of pink and orange. Those two minutes were unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

Then the sun came back out and it was still cloudy. Not only that, traffic was so bad that it took us an extra two hours to get home, after sitting motionless several times in bumper-to-bumper vehicles. Meanwhile, we listened to people on the radio tell us how incredible it was to see the corona.

It took a few days for me to be able to consider the trip without bitterness. It didn't seem fair that so many people got to see the full eclipse and I didn't. It stung when other people gushed about how spectacular it was.

But when I think about it, it was my fault. Weather forecasters aren't perfect, but when they say it's going to be cloudy, all the wishful thinking in the world won't clear the sky. I was stubborn: I had a St. Joseph eclipse T-shirt, so I was going to St. Joseph! Next time I'll listen to the forecasters and try to be more flexible.

I have less than seven years to think about that while I'm planning for the next one.

Me in aforementioned T-shirt August 2017

The Quest Continues

I think I’ve mentioned before that I’m a birder and I’ve been keeping a list since 2003. I finally got to 200 birds last year, which was a real milestone for me. So what’s next?

I’ve got the quantity, so I’m going for the quality. Not that the birds already on my list aren’t great! I’ve seen some remarkable birds … but there are still those that aren’t yet on my list. The elusive ones. The maddening ones.

Then there’s the Big One (although it’s small), the bird so amazing that it’s hard to believe it’s real.

The painted bunting.

Click here to see info about Painted Buntings

I look once again in the bird book and shake my head. Not only do I wonder how such a colorful bird can exist, but I wonder how it’s possible I haven’t seen one yet.

It’s not for lack of trying. I’ve searched in areas where they’re supposed to be found. I’ve quizzed my fellow birders. Last year, based on a tip, I found a good place to look, but I was too early in the season. This year I tried again, almost a month later.

Some of you might be asking why I’m doing this, why it matters.

To answer that, let me tell you about last weekend.

The weather was fantastic and I took a well-known highway north of Pittsburg, where I missed my turn (that sign was pretty small!) and had to turn around. Then the paved road turned to gravel, which didn’t make my Toyota very happy. I kept going, though, until I reached the small town of Mulberry, Kansas. I couldn’t remember where I’d gone last year, so I ended up driving around various roads, trying to find a good spot with thickets that might be inviting to a little feathered work of art.

That was the first half hour or so.

Finally I drove along a rural road that looked familiar. Ahead of me I could see a hazy shape in the middle of the road and another perched atop a telephone pole, so I pulled over to use the binoculars. The one in the road was a good-sized turkey and the one on the pole was a kestrel, so I took that as a good sign and parked the car. I walked back along the road and around a corner, where I came upon a chirping field. Actually, it was a field full of chirping birds. I must have tried for ten minutes, but not a single one of those birds showed itself. I’m pretty sure they were dickcissels, which usually perch in plain view, but these were determined to evade me.

So there I stood, staring at a field of birds, none of which I could see, and wondering why I was even there.

Then I heard it.

There was an odd squawk, followed by three little sounds that are hard to describe. I can tell you that I’d never heard that before. It came again: squawk, squawk, followed by almost bell-like sounds, a real contrast. That was intriguing, so I turned my back on the field (if you birds don’t want to be seen, so be it!) and studied the trees on the other side of the road.

Then I remembered a hard rule of birding: it’s easier to bird by sight than by sound. In other words, you can hear the birds (like those in the field) but you might not see them, especially when the trees have all of their leaves. It’s better to watch for movement and then you’ve got something.

I had nothing, except for the sound … which had stopped.

I told myself to walk away because I would never see it in all those leaves. I told myself that it had probably flown away anyway.

But I stayed. And I heard it again. Then I took three steps to my left … and there it was.

It was sitting out on a bare branch in plain sight and singing so I’d know it was the one.

I stared through the binoculars, making little mental notes, although I had already guessed what it was.

Nope. It wasn’t a painted bunting. But it was still pretty cool: a yellow-breasted chat. That was good enough to be #203 on my list!

After that, I drove around some more. I found a beautiful spot with running water (one of my favorite sounds in nature), trees and a preening Eastern Phoebe that let me get a good look at him. I walked along that road to the sound of a calling red-shouldered hawk.

And that’s what it’s all about, I guess. Birding takes me out of my own little world and shows me another one. It lets me meditate on nature, discover the unexpected, feel a sense of accomplishment when I spot and identify a bird. Even when I don’t see anything new, I still see something worth seeing.

And someday I’m going to see that painted bunting.

Transition

Tomorrow is the First Day of Spring.

That phrase means many things to me. It means sunlight, warmth, birds, flowers, baseball, hope. It means I can think about travel and birding and long walks in the park. It means I won't huddle inside, shivering in the darkness even when the furnace is running.

Later, there will be bugs, loud motorcycles, people not wearing enough clothing ... But I won't think about that now.

Phlox in our front yard March 2017

For now, I'll look at the flowers that survived the sudden frost this past week and I'll smile. Winter has been vanquished once again ... at least temporarily.

I wouldn't have it any other way. What I mean is this: I wouldn't enjoy spring if I hadn't had to struggle through winter first. It's only months of neutral colors and chilly temperatures that can make this season so special.

Grape hyacinth in our front yard March 2017

If there were hyacinth blooming all year long, would I even notice them after a while? Probably not. If there were mockingbirds here all the time, would I cherish the first time I hear that unique series of songs and calls coming from atop a telephone pole? Nope. If I had to mow the grass all year long, would the sight of green in the yard make me happy? Certainly not.

I salute winter for making me appreciate spring. I can still recall snuggling under a pile of covers, happy to be safe and warm, dreaming of long days and a time when I could put hats, gloves and coats into storage. I'm grateful that winter gives way for a while, allowing us to take a deep breath of fresh air without making our lungs hurt.

Flowers in our back yard March 2017

I might even miss winter eventually. But not now.

Happy Spring!

Winter Show

I’m not fond of several aspects of winter: the cold, the long nights, the relative lack of wildlife and birds.

But these past few weeks, I’ve discovered something, a bonus that makes me a little more tolerant of the lengthening night (and the end of Daylight Saving Time).

When I step outside after a day of work, I’m facing west and I’m confronted by a sunset. The nearby buildings and trees aren’t tall enough to block it. I can’t bury my face in a book or hide inside four walls because I have to walk to my car if I want to get home.

In other words, I can’t miss it.

So I stop. I stare. I marvel.

The sun has usually just gone away, leaving a bright flare of yellow, orange and peach. Above my head are the clouds, which come in all shapes and, more importantly, colors. They’re white, gray, light blue, purple, yellow. They’re edged with orange, pink, purple and dark blue as the sunlight reaches out before slipping over the horizon. If I’m lucky, the display is accented by the sliver of a pale moon.

I stand there in awe as co-workers scurry past me, rushing to the comfort of their cars. I don’t even realize my breath is visible or my hands are going numb.

Winter is a time of neutral colors: white, gray, brown. But she has a few tricks up her sleeve, and this one is magical.

By the time I get home, it’s usually dark and the colors are gone. But they live on in my memory, enough to hold me until the next day when the show begins again.

There will be sunsets in the spring and summer, but I’ll most likely miss them.

Right now I have no choice, and I’m glad.

Here’s to beauty in unlikely places and times.

Five Years Ago

On this date in 2011, my husband and I were watching the TV screen with wide eyes. We live in Tornado Alley, as so many people do, so we keep a close eye on the weather this time of year, and that year was no exception. There was a big red blob on the radar heading right toward Pittsburg, KS.The weather forecasters were saying it was a bad one.

Then, inexplicably, the red blob took an abrupt right turn, missing Pittsburg, and another turn that took it to the east ... right toward Joplin, MO. It spawned a massive tornado that wiped out a third of the city and killed over 160 people.

I still think about how close we came to being the ones in the path of that tornado. But even more than that, I think about how resilient Joplin has been. They lost a hospital, many of their schools, and countless businesses and houses. And yet, in the years since, they've managed to rebuild almost all of it. A lot of volunteers from all over the country came to help, but the residents had to make the decision that they wanted to stay, and that's what they did.

On this five-year anniversary, I salute Joplin residents for their courage and strength. In the face of tremendous loss, they showed a determination not to let it get the better of them. It hasn't been easy, but the city has rebounded.

Congratulations, Joplin. In a season when it's sometimes easy to be fearful, you show us what hope and courage can accomplish. I wish you continued success.

It's a Mystery

Happy Mother's Day!

I've been spending a lot of time in the wooded park north of town and I've discovered something: birding is a lot like reading a mystery novel. You get a bunch of clues and you have to put them together to get the answer. The only drawback is that in birding, you can't always read to the end to get the answer!

Both involve a little investigation and thought. You read the first few chapters of the mystery to get a sense of what the crime is and who the possible perpetrators are. You move around to try to get a better idea of what that bird is and you run through in your head what the possibilities might be.

Here are some things to consider:
1. Where is the bird?
This refers to geographical location, type of surroundings (forest, field, desert, etc.) and where you are seeing the bird: on the ground, in a tree, flying overhead, flitting around in a shrub.
2. What are its distinguishing marks?
Sometimes you get lucky and see a detail that makes it easy to identify the bird, and sometimes you aren't so lucky. Take a look at its head, eye, wings (bars or not), tail (notched or not), chest and legs/feet. I'm very good at looking at everything except the one detail I need to make a firm identification, but I'm getting better at looking at the whole bird, not just one characteristic.
3. What sounds is it making?
4. What time of year is it?
I can expect to see yellow-rumped warblers here in April and May, but not in July. If I think I see one in July, it's obviously something else and I need to look at it again.
5. What is it doing?
If it's wading in water, hopping up the trunk of a tree, running along a trail or pecking at leaves, this behavior can give you a clue to its identity.

Now it's time to go to the book: your trusty bird book, which you should have with you at all times. I know people use apps and websites to identify birds, and I'm okay with that, but I like being able to flip through pages looking for something close to what I just saw. Use whatever works for you. I find this site very helpful when I want to verify my identification of a bird or check how it sounds:  www.allaboutbirds.org

It's also helpful if you know someone who's a good birder. Many times I've emailed my friend Bob to ask him about an identification and sometimes he's pointed out that I made a mistake, which helps me learn. I wouldn't know nearly as much about birds if I didn't know Bob.

I had to do a little sleuthing this weekend to identify a couple of birds, so that's what prompted this post. (By the way, it's my 150th post!) I was able to confirm that I saw a Tennessee warbler using the very steps I mentioned above. Of course, there are always those days when I come home frustrated, because I never did get a good look at that bird and I don't know what it was. It happens. But I know I can always go out and try again.

Happy birding!

(Note: It looks like I might want to try again with the cover of The Other Side, so there's one more delay. I'm sorry about that. Stay tuned for updates.)

Try Again

Things are moving on The Other Side again. As you know, there was a delay because there was a problem with the cover image being too dark, but once again the artist has come through for me and provided me with a revised image. We really hope this one will work!

I made a few tweaks to the story and resubmitted the cover image. After about twelve or so hours, CreateSpace gave me the go-ahead on the files, so I ordered another proof copy today. The ETA is May 2, but I'm hopeful it might arrive a little before that. Then ... cross your fingers that the cover will be okay!

I find it a little hard to believe that it's almost May and my novel isn't out yet. I never would have imagined that it would be delayed this long, but that's how things go. At least you know I'm trying very hard to get it right!

Once I get the proof copy, I'll have to read it one more time, just in case there's one last thing I missed. If nothing horrible jumps out at me and the cover is okay, this novel might finally see the light of day!

Thanks for your patience. While you're waiting, please spread the word about the series and consider writing a review on Amazon for one of the novels. I'd really appreciate it!

Park

I'm afraid I don't have much to report about The Other Side. The cover image continues to be an issue, but I'm hopeful we can get that fixed soon. I'll keep you updated.

In the meantime, the pleasant weather has prompted me to take a few more walks in the wooded park north of town. (This is the one whose skeleton I enjoyed earlier in the year.) I'm happy to report that the yellow-rumped warblers are back! I heard a faint buzzy sound and followed it around with binoculars for a while before I spotted the first warbler. Then I saw several others in the same area. Despite their rather ungainly name, they really are beautiful birds and I was happy to get a chance to see them as they pass through this area. If you want to see a photo or learn more about them, here's a good site: All About Birds-YR Warbler

I also had a rather startling encounter as I was walking toward the parking lot. My mind was wandering but it vaguely noticed a rather long reed or piece of grass that was draped across the path. As I started to step over it, however, I suddenly realized it wasn't a piece of grass, just as it realized I was rather large and close. You would have laughed to see it because we both recoiled, just like in a cartoon. I stepped back and it slid into the nearest patch of grass, where I couldn't see it anymore. My initial look, though, has me convinced that it was a rough green snake. I'm sorry I didn't get a better look because it was a lovely shade of green and I would have liked to admire it. Maybe next time.

Already the leaves are starting to come out in the trees. As much as I like being surrounded by green as I walk, it makes birding a lot more difficult. I had trouble with some unknown bird calls today: the birds easily disappeared amid the canopy ... and then they sang and called just to taunt me, I suspect. "Ha, ha, I'm in here somewhere, but you can't see me!" I suppose birds aren't really that mean-spirited, but it sure seems like they are sometimes.

That's all I have to report for now. I've done a little rewriting on The Other Side and it's mostly ready to go, so once we get the cover problem solved, things should move along. (I'll be able to take it out of park and get it in gear.) Fingers crossed!

Stages

Remember that skeletal park I visited in February? I finally got a chance to go back today ... and it's certainly not skeletal now.

The trees are still mostly bare, but there's an undercurrent of green across the ground. Here and there I caught pale purple flowers or the bright pink of redbud trees. One bush had delicate white blossoms. The park isn't fully dressed yet, but she's starting to put on the initial layers of finery.

The birds are arriving, too. The air was punctuated by titmice calling everywhere I went. Carolina wrens tried to fool me into thinking all that noise couldn't come from such a diminutive bird. A barred owl made me smile with its call of "Who cooks for you? Who cooks for YOU??" Throw in a few cardinals, a fish crow and some goldfinches, and it was almost a symphony.

The bare bones were fascinating, but I have to admit that I like the dressed-up version better.

I'm getting close on The Other Side. I have an ISBN. The interior has been submitted and accepted. However, there's a slight problem with the cover image so I'm working on that with the artist. I'm hoping we can get it figured out quickly so I can move on and get to the proof copy stage. I'll keep you posted.

Thanks for reading my blog! Please spread the word about the Penumbra series and leave a comment if the mood strikes you.

And happy spring!

Hidden Layers

Not long ago, I watched an episode of “Nature” on PBS about the discovery of a partial skeleton of what might be the largest dinosaur species to ever have walked the Earth. It was found in Argentina and is thought to have lived about 100 million years ago. I started watching the show because it was hosted by Sir David Attenborough, who never fails to get me just as interested in a topic as he is.

This was no exception. For one thing, when they first showed the thigh bone (femur), I couldn’t help noticing that its length seemed greater than the height of Attenborough himself. Sure enough, they revealed that it was almost 8 feet long! Try to imagine the size of this animal: half of its leg was taller than a person! It was around 120 feet long: that’s twenty of me lying head to foot! That’s BIG. It’s also a little hard to envision.

Scientists had casts made of the bones and assembled them in a warehouse so they could see what the complete skeleton looked like. I was fascinated with the result. Although a skeleton is certainly not the whole dinosaur, it gave me a better idea of the basic structure of the animal.

I thought about that today when I went for a walk, a rare thing for me in the winter. We’ve been blessed with unseasonably warm temperatures lately and I decided it was time to take advantage of that, so I headed to a tree-filled park north of town … in a T-shirt! How strange is that for February? It felt good to walk without immediately wanting to retreat inside.

As I walked, however, I noticed something strange. The park looked different. Other than the fact that the trees had no leaves and there were no blooming plants, something else was off. I peered around me, trying to discern what it was … and then it hit me: I could see! Without the curtain of leaves and lush vegetation, I could see parts of the park that had always been hidden to me during the spring, summer and fall.

It was kind of fun to realize there was a stream I’d never noticed, to recognize another path that was closer than I thought, to spot other people through the trees. I saw hills and boulders that had never been visible before.

Like the dinosaur, I wasn’t seeing the whole park, but winter has revealed a layer that usually goes unseen: the basic structure. Just as the dinosaur’s skeleton would have been covered with muscles, organs and skin, what I saw of the park will soon be covered with leaves, grass and various plants. It will be inhabited by squirrels, rabbits, deer, turtles and birds of all types.

It all begins with the foundation.

If you want to watch the “Nature” episode, here’s a link: Nature Episode

Citizen Science

Whether you consider yourself a scientist or not, you have a chance to make a contribution to science this weekend. It's called the Great Backyard Bird Count. It's easy, it's fun and it's free!

Here are the only items you'll need: a piece of paper, a writing utensil, your eyes and a patch of ground. That's it! If you want to use binoculars, that will help, but they aren't necessary.

Find a place where you want to count. It can be your own back yard (a birdfeeder really helps) or it can be a park, a forest, a lake, anywhere you might find birds.

If you don't think you can identify the birds you see, there are ways to resolve that. You can enlist someone who knows birds to help you. You can go online to any good birding site for help. There are even apps that can help you, such as this one: Merlin

Now take fifteen minutes to count the birds you see. As a rule, you should count groups of birds as you see them, and then take the highest number of the same species that you saw all at once. That will reduce the possibility of counting the same bird twice. For example, if you see four goldfinches, and then ten goldfinches, and then three goldfinches, your recorded total would be ten. Write down a total for every bird you saw that you could identify. You can do this as many times as you want this weekend and Monday.

Once you've got your totals, you can go to this site to report them: Great Backyard Bird Count  It's easy to sign in and make your report(s). Once you've done that, you can see statistics of where people are counting and what they've counted so far. They will even email you a copy of your report if you request it.

I've been doing this for several years and it's always fascinating to see what species of birds are in my back yard. This morning I counted eight different species in the same fifteen-minute span.

All of this information will help scientists determine where birds are and how their numbers are doing. It's important for them to have a snapshot from around the world ... and that's where we come in. They couldn't do it without us.

So get out and count! You'll be helping the scientists and the birds.

A Quest ... And a Milestone

Those of you who know me are aware that I'm a birder. That can mean a lot of things, but in my case, it means I sometimes rush off somewhere in the hopes of seeing a new bird. This weekend was no exception.

It all started when I attended a recent meeting of the local Audubon chapter, Sperry-Galligar Audubon Society. I've been a member of this group since its inception and I've learned a lot from my fellow members. In the fall of 2003, we were encouraged to start a bird list, with pins to be awarded when each person reached 50 birds, 100 birds and 200 birds. I made it my goal to reach 200.

I started strong. Within a year, I had over 100 birds on my list. I saw them in four states: Kansas, Missouri, Nebraska and Colorado. Naturally, I thought 200 was well within my grasp ...

Life intruded. Various things kept me from traveling much and sometimes it was hard to find a place to see new birds. With some help from field trips through SGAS, I finally got to 150 birds in 2009. Then things really slowed down and I started to wonder if I'd ever reach 200. After a few years, I resigned myself to the fact that I would get there, but not quickly. I made my peace with it, although it was always in the back of my mind. I saw one new bird in 2015. I was in the 190s by then, but 200 still seemed far away.

Then came the meeting. A member from Missouri reported that he'd seen long-tailed ducks at a wastewater treatment plant about 30 miles away. I didn't even know that such a thing existed and I certainly didn't know what it looked like (thank goodness for field guides). Some of the members decided they'd try to see it, so I decided I had to go with them.

The same thing happened in 2012. I heard there was a snowy owl in Missouri, so I drove over there near the end of January. I drove along several country roads, pretty sure I was lost, not sure where the owl was ... until I spotted a bright white object in the middle of a field. Binoculars let me confirm it was the owl. I called a fellow birder, who met me there, and we both stared at the owl for several minutes. Then we did a little happy dance right there on the country road.

So I know that sometimes you need to follow your instincts. It's possible you might not see anything, but that's better than wondering what you might have missed. The other birders felt the same way so we carpooled to Missouri, had to detour around a roadblock and finally found the place. We stood there staring at water birds through binoculars for a few minutes before we spotted one duck that seemed much lighter than the others. We consulted the books, studied the duck again, consulted the books and talked among ourselves. Finally we realized it was true: we were seeing a long-tailed duck! Cheers followed.

If you're interested, here's some information about it: Long-Tailed Duck-Audubon

I came home very happy that I'd seen a new bird and was able to share the experience with friends. I sat down to write it in my notebook ... and paused. I'd made a list of the other birds we'd seen while we were searching for the long-tailed duck, and I didn't see two of them on my list. I flipped through the pages once, twice. Still I didn't see those two. Was it true? It WAS! I was able to add three new ducks ... and that puts me at 200!

So patience and the occasional whim, with a little luck thrown in, got me to my goal. Isn't that usually how it goes?

Next up: 300!

Crystal Bridges

Yesterday we got one of those fall days where everything seems to be perfect: the temperature, the breeze, the sunshine, the colors. Amazingly enough, it was a day when we'd decided to travel, which usually brings extreme heat or snow, so I don't know how we managed to choose such a day.

We drove down to Bentonville, Arkansas, to visit Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. We'd never heard of it until one of my co-workers recommended it ... and I'm glad she did!

Crystal Bridges, November 2015

The museum itself is unlike any I've seen before. When you approach it, you see rolling copper and glass buildings with rounded roofs and windows everywhere. The walls curve and wind, leading you from gallery to gallery, with a few side rooms that seem to appear out of nowhere as you explore. The exhibits lead you from Colonial and early 19th-century art through the 21st century. We saw works by Mary Cassatt, John Singer Sargent, Georgia O'Keeffe, Norman Rockwell, Roy Lichtenstein, Winslow Homer and many more.

That's not all there is to experience, however. The museum is located in a forest, with natural springs and native plants. There are several trails that give breathtaking views and also offer more art.

Tortoise and Hare by Nancy Schon

We had a lot of fun wandering around the grounds on the Art Trail, spotting a Frank Lloyd Wright house and several sculptures, some medium-sized and some very large. The leaves were turning colors and some of them were bigger than my hand! There were streams and squirrels, bridges and benches. It was a great afternoon.

If you're ever in northwest Arkansas, I recommend a trip to this museum. There's something there for almost everyone!