Bird soup...

Eighteen birds, one for each person participating in a block exchange this year. Right now, my bird blocks are more like bird soup... eighteen plump birds, eighteen wings and tails, eighteen branches, and about a hundred leaves in lots of colors and sizes.



It's my first block exchange, and it's been fun coming up with a design, then choosing fabrics and cutting out the pieces. (And it's a good way to use up a lot of scraps!) We're all using the same polka-dot background fabric, and although we could make all the blocks the same, I decided to make each of mine unique.

In October each of us will turn in our blocks, and will have no idea what sort of birds will come back to us in November. Song birds, owls, chickens, roosters... I'll just have to wait and see. Once the flock is in hand, I'll start figuring out how to merge them all into a single quilt.

Gauntlet...

The day is ours... our friends are riding 75 miles, from Richland to Benton City and back again, and we're exploring the back roads near our old home in West Richland. A dirt road along the Yakima River took me back to the years I helped with an endurance ride, and floating the river on hot summer days. On the other side of the river is Red Mountain, an amazing wine region that didn't exist when we lived here.



One of our neighbors (and co-worker) went steelhead fishing on the Yakima most mornings in season, and he would have had some competition today. When we drove down to Horn Rapids where there's a flood control dam, I was amazed to see pelicans there.


















There were no pelicans here in the early 1980s, so I did some digging. The white pelicans began nesting on Badger Island (in the McNary National Wildlife Refuge) in 1997. Since then, the colony has grown to more than 1600 breeding pairs. Horn Rapids is just a quick flight from there, and the Yakima is full of fish and frogs. I wish they'd been around when we lived here; I was glad to learn that the population of white pelicans in Washington has rebounded enough that in 2016, their status was changed from endangered to threatened.

They are now a familiar sight in the Mid-Columbia region.

Nest building...

A bird, I don't know what kind, constructed a beautiful nest from grass clippings in our back pasture. She made a home for her eggs underneath the overhang of a truck bed liner, something that shouldn't have ended up leaning against the pasture fence.

Unfortunately for mama bird and her eggs, a series of events caused her to leave her nest and not return. I feel badly, but it happens. When Dave was mowing he accidentally bumped into the bed liner, and when I discovered this a few hours later I kept an eye on the nest, but she didn't come back.

It's not the first abandoned nest of this species of bird; I have collected a few nests over the years, just like this one. I love seeing how very clever they are when building a nest, but worry about these ground-nesting bird species, and how vulnerable they are.

Herons...

We braved the wind and the rain and went for a walk in Marymoor Park today. The dog park was full of dogs (and owners paying more attention to their smart phones than their dogs). We met a lot of them (the dogs, that is) and had fun sharing the trail.

Between the dog park and the Sammamish River is a grove of cottonwood trees and a few dozen Great Blue Heron nests. My neck got stiff from looking straight up for a better view, but this time of day, the birds were mainly silhouettes against the grey sky.

The dogs for the most part ignored the birds, and the birds did likewise, continually coming and going in search of food for their young. The fledglings will stick around the nests until late July, and then they'll fly off to begin their own adventure.

Lone trees and eagles...

We're heading for a few days in Walla Walla, but took a detour on the way. To drive the fishermen's paths up the Snake River, toward Ice Harbor Dam. When we lived here, we always took visitors to the dam to watch tugs and barges go up-river through the locks, and watch salmon climb the fish ladder.

I stopped to photograph a beautiful lone tree, with bare branches dark against the grey sky. When I stopped to frame my shot, a white head poked up. An eagle, not very happy that I was just 40 feet away from its nest.

It took flight, and it soared.

New neighbors...

Each year in February, the herons return to the little heronry near my house. It's always a thrill to see them, and I love walking the nearby trail to watch them fly.

Soon the nests will be rebuilt and the eggs will be laid, and come spring, new herons will soar.

Resident eagle...

He stayed in the tree for the longest time, close enough to grab some photos as he surveyed the pasture beneath his feet. I don't often see eagles on my little farm, but this guy has been a fairly frequent visitor this year. He checked to the north, and to the south, back and forth for nearly a half hour.



Then something caught his attention, and just like that, he was gone.

The geese are back...

We're heading to Bellingham for a couple of days, then to Whidbey Island. We usually bail off the freeway in favor of driving one of our favorite twisty roads, Chuckanut Drive. It's usually a quick short-cut across the Skagit Valley north of Mount Vernon, and today we got a surprise: the snow geese have arrived.



Every year, snow geese migrate by the tens of thousands from nesting grounds in Siberia and Alaska. The Skagit Valley is one of their major wintering grounds, with more than 50,000 birds typically stopping over between November and early spring. 



They're a month early this year, touching down in the farmlands of the Skagit Valley last week.  



Just a few weeks ago, this was a field of corn that towered way over my head. Today, the stubble draws the geese like a magnet. Even when we pulled off on the shoulder and I got out with my camera, my presence caused no more than a flutter of movement. The geese were far more interested in eating.



There were geese in flight the whole time I stood there, and masses of geese turning every corner of the field white. 

In the nest...

We stopped at Cultura Winery on our way home from Bend to pick up our wines from last fall, and spend time with these people who have become friends. In the courtyard we took refuge from the sun, and sampled wines and talked. In the screen of shrubs, I spotted a nest of robins: four babies, and one adult. I think the adults were trying to encourage their babies to fly... one adult after another would do "fly by's" with a beakful of worms, but not landing to feed their offspring. The babies were fully fledged, so it's time to fly.

Abandoned...

Occasionally we find a nest that's been abandoned, and it's always so sad. I wonder what made the adult birds leave their eggs. Were they scared away by a predator? Did they build too close to the road, and get spooked by cars?

One year, a bird built a nest in the Christmas wreath that hung beside the front door. Our coming in and out of the house eventually was too much for the bird, and it abandoned its eggs. I moved the wreath to the wall of the garage, and the next year, a bird built its nest there and raised two babies.

When we mow, we try and keep an eye out for nests in the grass, but they're hard to spot. If we do find one, we leave a large area of tall grass around it, to provide some protection.

Soon it will be time to mow the pastures, before the quail are ready to nest. Then we won't mow again until fall, so the quail (and the occasional pheasant) are safe until they're ready to fly.

Duck!

Hundreds of American Widgeon ducks decorate this small pond in Sequim. And one lone Mallard, for a change of color.

Duck pond...

Duck pond near Peshastin, WA

Frozen water... there's a lot of it around here, after a few weeks of sub-freezing temperatures. The ponds in our small valley are frozen, and there's ice on the creeks. Our own pond stays shadowed all day long, hidden in the trees, and it seems to be a magnet for ducks in the wintertime.

When we moved to our small farm, there was a duck house floating on the pond. It was painted in the same colors as the farmhouse:  Williamsburg blue with bright white trim. When it started to fail, we rescued it, storing it in the barn for safekeeping. We always intended to repair it and move it back to the pond, but never did.

In years past, we'd be skating on our own pond by now. We used to have skating parties, invite family and friends, and build a bonfire to warm our hands by. I'd make a big pot of soup to feed everyone at the end of the day. I loved those parties. Our pond is overgrown now, and we can't skate there anymore.

Mosquitoes in the outhouse...

It's been raining hard here, and today the wind is blowing. A fire in the woodstove keeps the chill off, and I watched the rain on the lake. We received news from a dear friend; her mother is dying. The dreary, cold day punctuated the sad news.

Overnight the rain on the metal roof pattered and bounced, making the cabin feel cozy and safe. The dozen Mergansers are stretched out in a line; you can barely see the opposite shore.

We brought out a stack of books to read, and I stitched Christmas ornaments, and reveled in the quiet. Madison prowled for hours, then settled on the folded quilt right next to me. It's the closest she's come to being a lap cat, and I like that she showed this affection here at the cabin, the place I love so much.

Bird count...

Some things I can't help counting. Stairs I climb, especially when I'm carrying my own luggage. Books I've read, so I can share favorite authors and stories with family and friends.

At the cabin, I watch the birds. Each year since we bought our cabin there, it seems like new species have passed through, maybe spending only a few days on their way to elsewhere, maybe staying the whole season. Eagles and ospreys are always around. So are owls. I rarely see them, but I hear them at night, calling outside the window. Ducks and geese change from year to year.

I started keeping a list next to my binoculars, especially those times when there were so many birds on the water, it's hard to remember them all.

Survivors...

The Green River valley used to be full of truck farms and dairy farms, and an untamed river that wound its way from side to side. When I was a girl, the bends of the river curved around green pastures full of black and white dairy cows, horse breeding farms, and a beautiful racetrack called Longacres. That untamed river also flooded on a regular basis, filling the valley with rich topsoil. That was before the river was tamed with a flood control dam. And then the valley became prized for office parks and light industry, and today the agriculture is nearly gone.



But there are still pockets of beauty, ponds full of cattails and waterfowl, huge tracts of open space now owned and protected by the cities that reside there. And if you look closely, you'll see the creatures that once lived there in great numbers, now living quietly among warehouses and office buildings.

It was raining hard and the sky was dark as we went after a geocache today, and spotted this Great Blue Heron watching for his next meal.

Parade...

Canada geese on the Green River

Spotted teal...

Our annual road trip: from the cabin to Port Townsend, and home down the west side of the canal. A long, beautiful day of hiking and exploring, picking up a few geocaches, and taking a few pictures along the way.

While walking through one of my favorite old state parks on Hood Canal, I spotted this small bird's nest on the ground under a huckleberry bush.

Hidden...

This wee birdhouse wasn't for birds... 

it held a tiny geocache instead. 

On the wing...

I went out early this morning, to take a look at the day, and see what it will bring. And overhead, a sign of spring:  a flock of Canada geese, heading south.

The herons are back

I drove past the heronry today, and a dozen birds were there, sitting on their nests. Yesterday, there was no sign of them. Isn't it wonderful when nature brings them back, just when they're supposed to arrive?