Sad to find one of the bobcat kittens dead down the hill this morning. Probably dead a day or two; wounds on its back point to a possible owl attack.
Could also have been a coyote or male bobcat. We don't have stray dogs in the neighborhood, so probably a wild predator.
It was larger than a big house cat, but not grown, maybe twenty pounds.
We haven't seen the mother again either. Buried it under the juniper where it died.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Dark of the moon, owl and coyote
Wakened this morning about 2 AM by an owl. Oddly, I had just been listening to sounds of different owls last night on the 'net. We have seen screech owls in the yard, but this was a great horned owl, for sure.
Fell back asleep to the soft calls, then woke just before six to hear them again. It was close... probably in the dead tree just east of the house. Allowing for Daylight "Savings" Time, it was a bit more than an hour before daybreak.
Last night was the dark of the moon; we are three days before the fall equinox. More calls-- there! we spotted it. Silhouetted against the early eastern dawn sky, perched right on top of the tallest trunk, peering around and calling.
Then a coyote barked, just on the other side of the fence, maybe 30 feet from the owl. They exchanged remarks for awhile, until about 6:30 the owl flew off to the northwest. My friend lives in an arroyo over that way, and reports such a creature in residence there.
No more sounds from Mr. coyote. Safe to let the Lab out? She's ready to go.
Glad we left the tall tree trunks standing; the idea was to carve them with figures to watch over us, like totem poles. Living, they were beautiful Balm of Gileads, giving shade and habitat for orioles and blackbirds. It was very sad when they died, but they are still beautiful in death.
"There is a balm in Gilead, to heal the wounded soul..."
Fell back asleep to the soft calls, then woke just before six to hear them again. It was close... probably in the dead tree just east of the house. Allowing for Daylight "Savings" Time, it was a bit more than an hour before daybreak.
Last night was the dark of the moon; we are three days before the fall equinox. More calls-- there! we spotted it. Silhouetted against the early eastern dawn sky, perched right on top of the tallest trunk, peering around and calling.
Then a coyote barked, just on the other side of the fence, maybe 30 feet from the owl. They exchanged remarks for awhile, until about 6:30 the owl flew off to the northwest. My friend lives in an arroyo over that way, and reports such a creature in residence there.
No more sounds from Mr. coyote. Safe to let the Lab out? She's ready to go.
Glad we left the tall tree trunks standing; the idea was to carve them with figures to watch over us, like totem poles. Living, they were beautiful Balm of Gileads, giving shade and habitat for orioles and blackbirds. It was very sad when they died, but they are still beautiful in death.
"There is a balm in Gilead, to heal the wounded soul..."
Friday, September 18, 2009
God's dog at my gate
Coyote packs in mad cacophony have always been part of life here; they typically sound off in the wee hours, presumably in pursuit of a jackrabbit or cottontail. It is not unheard of to spot a lone skulker on the nearby Forest Service lands during the day.
But today around noon we were startled by a sudden yipping-yapping-yelping right in the middle of the dirt road by our driveway, hardly 50 feet from the front door.
Our black Lab sprang to the front window to answer the challenge. The coyote continued to bark, and seemed interested in something in the muddy road.
Was he baiting the Lab? Was he hoping our plump "indoor" cat was sunning on the porch? I wonder. Well he knows which dogs live where in his territory. And who has chickens, outdoor cats, bird feeders, lily ponds...
I think back to the night we spent out in sleeping bags in Southern Arizona about 1970, sans tent, trying to stretch our $25/day museum per diem. All night we heard the wailing coyotes... not much sleep, all the better to enjoy the bright stars that stretched to infinity.
Nowadays we have the luxury of a house and warm bed, yet the howling chorus is a reminder of the wild that still exists on the other side of threshold and window pane.
Thank You Mother.
But today around noon we were startled by a sudden yipping-yapping-yelping right in the middle of the dirt road by our driveway, hardly 50 feet from the front door.
Our black Lab sprang to the front window to answer the challenge. The coyote continued to bark, and seemed interested in something in the muddy road.
Was he baiting the Lab? Was he hoping our plump "indoor" cat was sunning on the porch? I wonder. Well he knows which dogs live where in his territory. And who has chickens, outdoor cats, bird feeders, lily ponds...
I think back to the night we spent out in sleeping bags in Southern Arizona about 1970, sans tent, trying to stretch our $25/day museum per diem. All night we heard the wailing coyotes... not much sleep, all the better to enjoy the bright stars that stretched to infinity.
Nowadays we have the luxury of a house and warm bed, yet the howling chorus is a reminder of the wild that still exists on the other side of threshold and window pane.
Thank You Mother.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Supporting the local economy
Yesterday I went to a golden wedding anniversary for friends.
As I unloaded the dishwasher just now, I realized that there is not a day when I don't think of them. Why? Because my kitchen is full of their beautiful handiwork: bowls, small plates, pitchers, serving platters... they are gifted and generous potters, whose work is both useful and aesthetically pleasing. Every time I make a sandwich or soup I remember our friendship. The handmade tiles in part of the backsplash came from them as well.
We redid our kitchen over the past few years (still ongoing) and it is filled with similar memories: the alder cabinets were designed and made by my skilled brother-in-law; the glass in the upper doors was cut by artist friends who do amazing prisms and stained glass crafts; the rest of the backsplash is the work of a local builder who combined materials we already had in an original and unique way.
I look up at the latillas in our ceiling, and remember that our builder had his two young sons helping with the installation 34 years ago. Both "boys" are now well-established builders today, and our families are still friends.
Our lives have been enriched by knowing countless artists and craftspeople due to my many years of doing shows, and as I look at our paintings, sculptures, and weavings, I see their faces. Even our wooden spoons have a story, involving a fierce storm at a show in Pittsburgh.
And our yard is filled with plants from friends who were dividing their own; those are the ones that grow best. A 20 foot apricot tree volunteered from a seed in the compost pile after friends invited us to pick fruit over 30 years ago.
Perhaps someday a new owner will wonder who carved the front door (it was me) and why we used soapstone for kitchen counter tops (we went to the quarry near my childhood home in Virginia and brought back stone quarried over 100 years ago).
May this community always be filled with creative people and may their neighbors continue to nurture them.
As I unloaded the dishwasher just now, I realized that there is not a day when I don't think of them. Why? Because my kitchen is full of their beautiful handiwork: bowls, small plates, pitchers, serving platters... they are gifted and generous potters, whose work is both useful and aesthetically pleasing. Every time I make a sandwich or soup I remember our friendship. The handmade tiles in part of the backsplash came from them as well.
We redid our kitchen over the past few years (still ongoing) and it is filled with similar memories: the alder cabinets were designed and made by my skilled brother-in-law; the glass in the upper doors was cut by artist friends who do amazing prisms and stained glass crafts; the rest of the backsplash is the work of a local builder who combined materials we already had in an original and unique way.
I look up at the latillas in our ceiling, and remember that our builder had his two young sons helping with the installation 34 years ago. Both "boys" are now well-established builders today, and our families are still friends.
Our lives have been enriched by knowing countless artists and craftspeople due to my many years of doing shows, and as I look at our paintings, sculptures, and weavings, I see their faces. Even our wooden spoons have a story, involving a fierce storm at a show in Pittsburgh.
And our yard is filled with plants from friends who were dividing their own; those are the ones that grow best. A 20 foot apricot tree volunteered from a seed in the compost pile after friends invited us to pick fruit over 30 years ago.
Perhaps someday a new owner will wonder who carved the front door (it was me) and why we used soapstone for kitchen counter tops (we went to the quarry near my childhood home in Virginia and brought back stone quarried over 100 years ago).
May this community always be filled with creative people and may their neighbors continue to nurture them.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Ants, mice and bears, Oh My!
Just back home from a week in a mountain cabin in Colorado.
First discovery: the cats had killed a mouse and left it for us in the bedroom. No sign of any more, but as the weather cools the cats will doubtless earn their keep.
Second problem: orderly rows of ants are marching across the kitchen counters, up the wall, and into the heating vent. There was no food left on the counters, mind you, so there seems to be no purpose to this great endeavor.
A mild dry winter has been followed by a very buggy summer; the juniper gnats never died back, and ants of all sizes churned up the ground and even the brick patio. The ants are also tending hundreds of aphids on my chrysanthemums.
Is there a benefit to all these anthills? Will they make the ground more permeable? Will some of the seeds they bury germinate over the winter? I'm not killing them outdoors, but inside the house— well, maybe we need to bring in some lizards.
No, wait— the cats eat lizards.
A few weeks ago I ordered some non-toxic ant repellent. The entire house smelled like cinnamon and cloves, but it barely fazed the ants.
Up at the cabin a bear had been raiding campsites close by; can't blame him for trying to put on weight for the winter. Guess it is the same for the ants and mice, and for us too, as we sense the shorter days and oncoming winter.
Looking forward to the first frost.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Of hummingbirds, rabbits, and bobcats
Since the coyotes and bobcats have thinned out the cottontails and jackrabbits, the Indian Paintbrush is beginning to bloom again, giving delight to migrating hummingbirds.
All in balance.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
