Skywatch Friday: Weather Window

Nana's Kitchen Window 7-1-09

Every year when I return home to Colchester I stay with my mother in the house she grew up in. I know it as Nana and Grandpa's House, but it has been my mother's since 1999. As is typical in many New England homes, not much as changed since I was a child. The kitchen still has the old cast iron farm sink and the cupboards are still painted in the same colors as when my Nana was alive. I don't know when it started, but it became my ritual to go to this window first thing in the morning and at various times throughout the day to look at the sky and check on the weather and read the old thermometer that hung outside on the glass. Living in New England is all about the weather and somehow that old thermometer gave me a sense of comfort to look and see that the temperature was as good or as bad as I suspected. So, imagine my chagrin when I arrived this year and walked to the window and the thermometer wasn't there! Apparently it had been removed last year when the storm windows were taken down to be repainted. No one had bothered to put it back up again.

For me, I felt lost without it. I could not believe what a ritual checking the thermometer had become, and though I knew it wasn't there any longer, the whole time I was at my mother's house I still kept walking to the window to check on the weather. I hope she puts a new one up before I come back next year. I don't think I could take feeling this lost again!

SKYWATCH FRIDAY!

Colchester: Walking The Lane

The Lane 6-17-09

It is my first evening in Colchester and I am going for a walk. Gray skies boil overhead as I follow the familiar streets. I walk past places that are still the same and others that have changed so much. Each step is a memory as I watch and listen for birds. I am seeking escape from the traffic and noise in the center of town where a weekly car rally is being held on the town green. Eventually I find my way to the field behind St. Andrew's Church on Norwich Avenue. All along the way I am mostly seeing starlings, robins, and barn swallows. To my utter surprise I have seen a few cedar waxwings right here in town! The typical house sparrows are out and about, but I have found a few chipping sparrows as well as a song sparrow or two. But now as I reach the farthest edge of the field all thoughts of birds are forgotten. I pause before the back of a small gray shingled house and look at the mowed path that runs alongside it. In my mind I am running down this path as a child, running for my life in fear of the Big Black Dog!

The lane 6-17-09

It was shortly after I turned 8 years old when we moved into the house on 23 Pleasant street. My mom was a single mother raising five children on her own. My grandfather still ran a few dairy cattle on the old family farm in the center of town and every few days he gave us some fresh milk. It was the job of my oldest brother, Rick and I to get the milk and bring it home. We carried the milk between us in an old-fashioned milk can, the silver kind with a handle on each side and a tight fitting lid with a handle on top. To get to the farm we had to walk down the lane, and to walk down the lane we had to pass the little gray house to which the Big Black Dog was chained. The Big Black Dog didn't like kids passing his house. The Big Black Dog would rush snarling and snapping to the end of his chain which just barely missed reaching the edge of the lane, and though I knew this, the Big Black Dog still struck terror in my heart. Rick and I would walk across the road, then he would rush past leaving me to fend for myself. I would stand there at the edge of the yard, then run past as fast as my little 8 year old legs could carry me, sure that I could feel the dog's hot breath on my legs. There was little doubt its ferocious barking resounded in my ears. Once safely past the Big Black Dog it was a pleasant walk the rest of the way down the lane. I turn to see the path now dark in the gray light of evening made grayer still by the leaden sky. A light rain is falling on me and I see the once clear lane overgrown thickly with brambles and brush, with a small forest growing where the pasture once was.

The Old Brown Family Farm 6-29-09

Eventually Rick and I would emerge on South Main Street at the old Family Farm. This is the house as it looks now, but it used to be white and gracious. The wide veranda was like a big hug waiting to sweep you up in welcoming arms. It was where we all gathered at Christmastime for the ultimate family feast. It was where I learned all the complexities of family relations from second cousins and great aunts to first-cousins-once-removed.

The house has been sold twice now with the passing of my grandparent's generation. First it was made into a gift shop and now it is being remade into offices of some sort. But I remember it as a place where great-grandmother lived and died and where my great aunt Ruth always welcomed me inside. I remember it with a wooden swing hanging from a huge tree alongside the dirt drive that led down to an old barn pungent with fresh hay and manure. It was there in the basement of the old barn where the cattle stanchions held black and white Holsteins. That was were the fresh cows milk was stored in an old refrigerator. That is where my stern grandfather watched as Rick and I grabbed onto the handles and lifted the can of fresh milk between us. Then we carried the cooled milk back across the street and down the lane past the Big Black Dog to our little apartment on the second floor. Once safely home we'd lift the lid to see the thick cream rising and mom would pour it into smaller bottles to be stored in our refrigerator and we would have to remember to shake the milk before we poured ourselves a glass or we'd get all cream at first, and all skim milk after awhile. The Big Black dog never did get me, though it did make me cry a few times and it haunted my nightmares for years. Somehow I never transferred this fear to other dogs and so I was able to have dogs as pets and best friends growing up. My feet are soggy from the wet grass as I walk away from the lane and head back to my mother's house. I smile as I think to myself that though it is an old-fashioned term, I now see why it's called, "Taking a trip down memory lane." In this case it is both symbolic and literal!

The Best Christmas Tree

It was the winter of 1983. We were young and poor with two small children to feed and not a lot of money for Christmas. We lived in Connecticut then, off a road in Killingly called Squaw Rock Road. The roads in Connecticut always have such picturesque names. I didn’t know it then, having lived there all my life, I kind of took it for granted. Once I moved out west, however, with their longitude and latitude street addresses of 1625 East 2550 North, I really started to appreciate the color and flavor of the street names in New England.

We needed a Christmas tree for our small family, but with little money to buy one, we weren’t sure what to do. In our family we always had a live tree and going out to hunt for one in a snow covered field always made the experience special. Back then there were numerous tree farms where one could pay $10 to $15 for just such a chance. But even that small amount of money seemed impossible this year, yet with hope against hope we piled into our old yellow van and headed out for a drive to see what we could see.

The day was gray and overcast. Tatters of clouds drifted over the sky. I don’t know what prompted us to head towards Willimantic, but we did. The roads of New England wind up and down and around hills. Around each new corner another picturesque scene is revealed. Though the scenes may have a similar New England flavor, they are never the same. The topography of the land prohibits repetition. So, while one old white farm house may set on a hill with a red barn nearby, the next one down the road will be slightly different, with a varied arrangement to the house and barn, perhaps with different trees or a stone wall defining the driveway, or cows in nearby pasture, grazing on winter brown grass.

Today the air had the edge of ice in it as we drove past a bog on the right. Across the road a pasture widened out and beyond it a small farm house sat on a knoll. At the far edge of the pasture a wide ribbon of evergreen caught our eyes. We slowed the van, then pulled off the road and opened the doors. Though this was not a Christmas Tree Farm, a stand of white pines of just the right size called to us from across the snow covered field. We wondered if the farmer would let us cut just one to bring home as our Christmas tree. A door opened on the farm house and a man walked out. We jumped back into the van and drove forward, pulling into the driveway. Gus hopped out and held a brief conversation with the farmer. I saw him offer the man the few dollars that we had, then I saw the farmer shake his head, declining the proffered money. With the farmer’s approval we drove our vehicle just a short way back towards the trees, pulled as far off the road as we could, and got out.

Now it may seem strange that we came equipped with our own saw, but back in those days it was not unusual for people to cut down small evergreens or even cedar trees from pasture land for Christmas trees. My own grandfather used to own a farm in Colchester where we often cut a cedar tree for our Christmas tree. While they smell delightful in the house, filling the rooms with their cedar perfume, they are awfully painful to decorate as each tiny flat needled end is covered in stiff hairy spines. You paid for the fragrance with blood. Now we stood at the edge of the field with our goal in sight.

The smoky gray clouds drifted overhead and I heard the honking of Canadian geese calling from beyond the clouds. The wild call stirred something inside me, a prevalent longing for something else. I wanted to mount on wings myself and fly away to someplace wild with the flock. The clouds briefly parted revealing the black, gray and white arrow formation flying through the leaden skies. Just then a snow flurry passed over making the air sparkle with wonder.

We trudged across the snow covered grasses towards the evergreen edge. The trees were much larger than they looked from the road, and now the challenge became finding one small enough to fit in the van and the house. The long flexible limbs of the white pines brushed against us as we finally choose our tree. Gus lay down in the snow to get at the trunk and sawed through in short order. As the saw broke through the tender flesh the scent of pine and sawdust filled the silver air.

Though the tree was bulky, it was also lightweight. We dragged it to the van, opened up the back, and pulled it inside. Our two young boys giggled with delight as the tree filled the interior of the van. This tree would fill our living room with its four foot girth of bows. I’d be hard pressed to find enough ornaments to cover the branches, but that mattered little now, for the tree had already produced the best gift of all, the memory of finding it in a snow covered pasture, the kindness of the farmer who let us cut it down, and the wild geese flying overhead serenading the season in wild tones.

Merry Christmas!

Blogger's Note: The painting is a detail of Christmas in the Mouse House by Kathie. See the complete painting with poem here.

Birding CT: Sunday Evening Walk-about

(Gray Squirrel: photo by Kathie 7-5-08)

This evening I took yet another walk about the streets in town. I found myself being observed as much as I was out to observe the birds. I walked behind a nearby restaurant where there is a wooded area along the edge of the parking lot in my search for birds. As I stopped to photograph a squirrel lying along the branch of a tree I happened to look up at the building behind me. It was actually a 2 story house and a man was leaning out the second story window watching me watch the birds! I jumped back, startled and apologetic. I didn't know there was a house there and I am technically standing in his back yard. He didn't seem to mind, though, and cautioned me to watch my step as I cut though to yet another parking lot down a small embankment.

From here I walked through the town office and police station parking lot. The manicured lawns are surrounded by tree where I often seen birds. Tonight the robins are out in force and before the night is over I would count 28 of them. I guess the people of this town must not get too many birders passing through because I get such stares and even questions about what I am doing. One gal asked me what I am taking pictures of and if it is my hobby. A child asks if I am a photographer. A man sitting on his porch drinking a glass of red wine asks what kind of birds I am looking for. Another man wanted to know if I am lost and need help! (I really think he wanted to know what I was up to. As soon as I told him I was trying to identify a bird in the thicket he lost interest!)

(Queen Anne's Lace; photo by kathie 7-5-08)

Queen Anne's Lace grows prolifically along the roadside. I smile to see this familiar flower, one of my favorites. It does not grow in Arizona where I now live.

(Killdeer in Parking lot; photo by kathie 7-5-08)

My route takes me past the schools I went to when I was growing up. So many memories fight with my desire to spot and count birds. A pair of Killdeer ran across the parking lot of a new school that has been built in the field that formally held our high school race track when I attended here. So many changes, but the old skating pond is still there on Halls Hill Rd. Only tonight it is ice free and full of lily pads with a Canada Goose family on the shore. As twilight starts to descend I look out over the water trying to find a few last birds. The geese walk towards me, begging for food I assume. When I offer none, the mother goose starts to hiss and snake her head at me. I stand my ground. Is she concerned for her goslings safety, or is she just mad that I didn't feed them? Finally she and the rest of her brood walk away and continue to graze on the tender shoots of grass that grow around the pond edges.

(Canada Goose Family: photo by kathie 7-5-08)

As I continue down Halls Hill Rd I come to the corner of Pleasant Street where I will turn towards home. Suddenly I spot something flying rapidly above my head. There are six of them and I am trying to decide if they are birds or bats. Their flight is swift, their bodies dark and chunky and their wings pointed and boomerang like. They remind me of the Vaux's Swift I have seen in Arizona and I realize that I am seeing the Chimney Swifts of the east coast--lifers for me! So, my evening ended in triumph as I head back to my mother's house which was once my grandparents home. Like all family homes, it is chock full of memories, along with the accumulated stuff of 70 years of life.

Note: The text of this post is taken from an earlier post but I have now added the photos I took that night. Click here to see the original: Hello From Connecticut.

Hello From Connecticut!

I was greeted by gray skies and humidity when the plane landed on Saturday. I saw my first birds before we even got home--3 Canadian geese on someone's front lawn in Glastonbury and a great blue heron that flew over Rt. 2 on our way to Colchester. My son, Alex, who is just home from Iraq and on leave flew in Saturday night. He's the most important bird I have seen so far. What a sight for Mom's eyes to see his smiling face as he walked down the hallway in Bradley International Airport. You can bet I hugged the stuffing out of him after his 15 months in Iraq.

On Sunday we drove out to Lake Hayward where my brother, Stephen just bought a cottage. Every year for the past 12 years our family has gotten together to run the Adams Family Road Race. All 5 of us siblings ran cross county in high school and it was my brother Stephen's great idea to get us all together once a year to run the old cross country course. Of the 5 of us, he is the middle child and currently the fasted. I'm second oldest and the slowest, but I plug on anyways, determined to be included. My skinny little sister can run circles around me, and I am very proud of her. However, all bets are on Alex to win the race this year. He ran with Stephen on Sunday night and that kid can run like the wind!

At Stephen's new cottage I saw a rose-breasted grosbeak and 6 tufted titmice. A ruby-throated hummingbird politely appeared at my sister's hummingbird feeder just so I could see it! I counted birds sitting eating my breakfast outside my Mother's house this morning, and then I walked the Airline Trail off Old Hartford Road while my sister ran. I heard more birds than I saw but it was a pleasant walk anyway, and I photographed some wildflowers to boot. However, the moths were as thick as fleas and most of the oak trees were denuded from the tent caterpillars before their metamorphosis.

This evening I took yet another walk about the streets in town. I found myself being observed as much as I was out to observe the birds. I walked behind a nearby restaurant where there is a wooded area along the edge of the parking lot in my search for birds. As I stopped to photograph a squirrel lying along the branch of a tree I happened to look up at the building behind me. It was actually a 2 story house and a man was leaning out the second story window watching me watch the birds! I jumped back, startled and apologetic. I didn't know there was a house there and I was technically standing in his back yard. He didn't seem to mind, though, and cautioned me to watch my step as I cut though to yet another parking lot down a small embankment.

From here I walked through the town office and police station parking lot. The manicured lawns are surrounded by tree where I often seen birds. Tonight the robins are out in force and before the night was over I would count 28 of them. I guess the people of this town must not get too many birders passing through because I got such stares and even questions about what I was doing. One gal asked me what I was taking pictures of and if it was my hobby. A child asked if I was a photographer. A man sitting on his porch drinking a glass of red wine asked what kind of birds I was looking for. Another man wanted to know if I was lost and needed help! (I really think he wanted to know what I was up to. As soon as I told him I was trying to identify a bird in the thicket he lost interest!)

My route took me past the schools I went to when I was growing up. So many memories fought with my desire to spot and count birds. A pair of Killdeer ran across the parking lot of a new school that has been built in the field that formally held our highschool race track when I attended here. So many changes, but the old skating pond is still there on Halls Hill Rd. Only tonight it is ice free and full of lily pads with a Canadian goose family on the shore. As twilight starts to descend I look out over the water trying to find a few last birds. The geese walk towards me, begging for food I assume. When I offer none, the mother goose starts to hiss and snake her head at me. I stand my ground. Is she concerned for her goslings safety, or is she just mad that I didn't feed them? Finally she and the rest of her brood walk away and continue to graze on the tender shoots of grass that grow around the pond edges.

As I continue down Halls Hill rd I come to the corner of Pleasant Street where I will turn towards home. Suddenly I spot something flying rapidly above my head. There are six of them and I am trying to decide if they are birds or bats. Their flight is swift, their bodies dark and chunky and their wings pointed and boomerang like. They remind me of the Vaux swift I have seen in Arizona and I realize that I am seeing the Chimney swifts of the east coast--lifers for me! So, my evening ended in triumph as I head back to my mother's house which was once my grandparents home. Like all family homes, it is chock full of memories, along with the accumulated stuff of 70 years of life.

Just a note: I have read everyone's comments and I thank you all for your well wishes. I will come and visit you when I can. As you can see, I can get into my blog, but I don't know if I will be able to post photos until I return. Rest assured, the camera is snapping away, and Gus was finally able to get rid of the dust spot from the lens, so all photos from here on out should be free from distraction!

What I Found While Searching for Birds

Thursday's Survey of Sycamore Canyon ( January 24)

I am determined to survey the birds in the canyon today. It has been a long time since I walked the 2 mile length of the road and counted birds. Trying to compete for the Big January total with Larry of the Brownstone Birding Blog has prompted me to go out even more than normal. Plus, since I have started eBirding I am having more fun than ever adding new totals to my life list. So, at 9:45 a.m. under mostly sunny skies I head out the door complete with binoculars, notebook and water. I leave the D80 home because I want to focus on identifying and counting species, instead of photographing them. However, I do have my Nikon Coolpix in my pocket for any impromptu photographs.

I don’t have to go far before spotting a Rock Wren bouncing on the block walls along Rustling Leaf Trail. In the brush nearby a small flock of sweet-faced Brewers’ sparrows flies up. I cut across the desert to the main road hoping I might see a cactus wren or some black-throated sparrow, but all I see is an abandoned cactus wren nest in a spiny cholla cactus.

Out on the road I scan the desert for birds. I spot a lump on a tree that looks like a bird of prey. Sure enough, a Cooper’s hawk is perched near a wash watching for something to fill its belly. Farther down the road I hear some twittering. I look up to the retention basin near the Meritage neighborhood and see many small birds hopping about and scratching in the grass. Slowly I creep up to the fence and watch. Scattered about the wash under various trees and shrubs the little sparrows are searching for breakfast. I find some black-throated sparrows here, along with white-crowned sparrows and Rufous-winged sparrows. I saw my first Rufous-winged yesterday on a road called Garigans Gulch. I had suspected I have seen this species here before, but it is a new species for me and required further study. Now I am confident as I spot the two dark whisker marks flanking the lighter throat. An eye-line bisects the face and the sparrows raise their striped Rufous crest. While the breast is unstreaked, the rufous wing patch on the bird’s shoulder isn’t always visible. Today I am at a good angle and the bird is quite close, so I am able to see it. How exciting! This is another new life bird for me. Now I am wishing I had brought the D80!

The canyon is alive with bird today. I spot my first yellow-rumped warbler in this location as well. Farther down the road at the juncture of Harrison and Sycamore Leaf the sidewalk is alive with small birds hopping about. I freeze at the corner and train my binoculars on the birds. So many sparrows! Black-throats and Brewer’s are easy to pick out. There are a few more Rufous-winged sparrows also, but here are more species that I am uncertain of. If I only had that camera I could photograph them and figure them out at home. I start to scribble notes, but switching back and forth from binoculars to writing is awkward. Then a huge construction truck drives by and the birds flee to the desert. Once they’ve taken wing I realize there are far more than I thought there were as a flock of fifty plus birds flies up and then down into the grasses and brush, too far away for me to see them anymore.

By now I’ve been at this for almost 2 hours. Once again I am tired, hungry and cold as the clouds have moved in once again along with the wind and the drop in temperature. I turn around at the last wash before Sahuarita road where I find two mockingbirds eating hackberries from the tree that hangs over the wash. This is one of my favorite places to come to. It reminds me of my grandfather’s pasture from when I was a child. Though he wouldn’t have cactus in Connecticut, there’s still something familiar about the feel of the land, the rustling of the leaves and of course, the cow pies, for this area is fenced off for cattle and sometimes I see them here, though I have no idea what they find to eat! I will come back one day and sit here to think and feel this desert feeling, this wooded spot alongside the road. It is a vignette of a time and place long gone for me, but this spot brings me back and reminds me that it once existed and I was once young. I set out to go birding but found a memory instead. Not a bad deal, don’t you think?

Big January Total: 67. Rufous- Winged Sparrow. 68. Canyon Towhee, 69. Cassin’s Sparrow