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!

Reconnecting

I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I made my usual trek up to Nebraska to spend time with my family, which makes this one of my favorite holidays. I love my family and I'm always glad when I get to reconnect with them.

During this time, I was able to ask someone who grew up on a farm about how corn grows. At first I was afraid to look dumb, but then I asked the question anyway ... and I got a useful answer. This might not seem important to you, but it was huge for me: the reason I asked about corn is that I'm trying to write a scene involving some characters running around in a cornfield.

That's right: I'm writing a scene! After over a year, I'm starting to reconnect with my characters. There was a dog named Nick in the National Dog Show and I immediately thought of my pilot. I'm starting to think about asking Reg's advice again. I'm trying to look at problems through Lamont's eyes.

What a relief. There were times I thought this would never happen again. It doesn't mean that I'm going to sit down and write my whole fifth novel next week, but now I really am beginning to believe there's a good chance it will get finished.

To those of you who write, I know you've probably gone through writer's block before. Maybe you're going through it now. Believe me, I know how scary it is when you think you're never going to write anything more than an email again ... but I'm here to tell you this: you will get past it! Just keep trying, just keep hoping, just keep writing (even if the result is awful). Remember what it is about your characters or story that excited you in the first place.

I have to laugh at the timing. I'm ready to get to work again, just as I'm getting hit with holiday decorating, gift-planning, baking, parties, etc. But I don't mind. Writing is a gift and I'm going to take some time to unwrap it again.

Have a magical holiday season.

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

Wheels Turning

I know someone who's a big bicycling enthusiast, so we recently spent a few weeks watching coverage of the Tour de France. In case, you don't know, it's a bicycle race that involves 21 stages through various mountain ranges in and around France. To call it grueling would be an understatement.

Whenever I hear professional athletes complain about how tough they have it, I try to sympathize. I don't personally go out 162 days a year and try to hit a little white ball somewhere that doesn't have someone trying equally hard to catch it. I don't run a few yards only to be smashed to the ground by a gigantic person who wants that brown object in my hands. I don't slice across the ice on tiny blades while trying to hit a puck without being crushed by another person who can get an awful lot of momentum on that ice.

So I don't feel I can comment on how tough it is to be a professional athlete. They battle tough crowds, injuries, the always-constant possibility of losing their job. I understand that it isn't easy.

But I also want to laugh at most of them. Sure it's tough, but why don't they try this: get on a bicycle, ride 100 miles or so up mountains and across windswept plains, battling hundreds of others, sometimes getting knocked down when someone else loses control but then climbing back on the bike to continue. Do this all day until you can barely breathe or walk. Collapse on the ground or stagger to a trailer. Then get a few hours of sleep and do it again. Repeat every day for three weeks (with only one or two rest days).

Some of those cyclists ride with broken bones. Some of them are bleeding. It's hard to get water or food sometimes. They have to battle through crazy fans who think it's funny to crowd them or try to pat them on the back.

And they choose to do this! There are several races across the world and they show up as often as they can to apparently try to kill themselves so they can be first over that line and bathe in the short-lived glory of victory.

As I learned this year, it's actually a team effort ... but it's still one person on that bike who has to make it through the day. And the next day. And the next.

I hope I'll remember that the next time I think I'm having a hard day at work. I'll look at the cushy desk chair I'm sitting in. I'll feel the air conditioning (or lack of rain on my head). I'll reach for my fruit bar and cup of water. I'll think about the weekend. And maybe I'll realize how relatively lucky I am.

Amazingly enough, though, we have one thing in common: they love cycling, I love writing. They'll keep doing it, I'll keep doing it. That's what we're here to do, in a way.

And that's what it's all about, isn't it?

Shelter

A few days ago, I was sitting in my car, waiting at the stop sign in front of my house, when I spotted something small in the cross street. It looked like a bird, but that didn't make any sense. A big white SUV drove by, making me wince, but its tires straddled the little shape, which was buffeted by its passing. By now I was sure it was a bird. No matter how strange the situation was, it was time for me to do something.

I backed up my car so I could park at the curb and hopped out. There was another car coming, which made my heart beat a little faster, but then it signaled that it would be turning onto my street. Sensing an opportunity, I stepped into the street and found myself standing over a little female sparrow. She was young, but she had feathers so she'd left the nest. How she got into the street was a mystery, but she was obviously in shock because she didn't even try to get away from me.

Another car was coming so I bent down and scooped her up in both hands. Her little body was warm, which was a good sign, and she was very soft. I carried her from the street into our side yard, where I carefully deposited her in a depression under one of our forsythia bushes. She settled in there and didn't move. I wanted to stay, but I knew that would probably traumatize her even more, so I left. The good news is that when I came home for lunch, she was gone. I'm hopeful that she recovered enough to fly away to safety.

I've thought of that a few times since then. The poor little bird must have been overwhelmed, sitting on hard pavement with gigantic beasts rushing over her head. Then two big hands wrapped themselves around her and carried her away. After all that, though, she found herself in cool grass with shade so she could gather her wits.

I think we all need that once in a while. I know I do. Sometimes things just seem to pile up in my life until I feel buffeted and confused, unsure how I got there or what to do. Those of you who see a religious answer to this are certainly welcome to make that connection, but I found a somewhat more secular response.

I was at work a day or so later, feeling a little overwhelmed by several things going on in my life at the same time, when I asked a co-worker about meditation. I know she's interested in that type of thing and I wondered if it might be good for me. Without judging or questioning me, she immediately gave me some advice and found a Youtube video that might be helpful. She also told me I could talk to her about it anytime. I'll admit that I almost cried at her compassion.

Sometimes those hands appear when you need them the most.

My advice is this: if you see an opportunity to be the hands to help someone else, please take it. It might only take a little effort on your part and it might make all the difference to that person. And if you're on the receiving end, show your appreciation if you can and try to carry on in a better state of mind because that's what the owner of those hands was hoping for.

I wish the little sparrow a long, happy life. And I'm giving meditation a try.