Christmas Bird Count 2008

Cedar Waxwing

Yesterday was the Christmas Bird Count, an annual Audubon event begun in 1900 by ornithologist Frank Chapman as an alternative to hunting. Through the Fyke Nature Association, I’ve been participating in this for almost a decade. It is one of my favorite days of the year. What could be better than to spend an entire day doing something I love, with other people who love doing it too? The information we glean from poking around fields and forests also becomes part of the information database for bird populations and our environment, so it’s win-win-win.

Ring-billed Gulls

We look for birds, talk about birds, think about birds, reminisce about birds, and remind each other of where we saw the Ruffed Grouse four years ago, or over there is the tree with the hole in it where Jody spotted the Screech Owl two years ago. We train our binoculars at the dark hole, just in case history might repeat itself. But birding is not about what is expected. It is about preparing, learning, exploring and hoping. It is being open to whatever might happen in the moment, and believing that anything could.

Starling

We hunted for birds all day, in fields, frozen ponds and woods. Our assigned territory for our team is not rich in habitat diversity, so we will never have the high number of species the shore teams get. And while I will go out of my way to see a bird, I am not aggressive. It’s like swimming in the ocean: some folks jump in and reach out right away, stroke for stroke, kicking and moving and struggling with the current toward their goal. I am so happy to be in the sea at all that I let the tide take me where it will for a few moments. I fill up with the awareness of the cold water against my skin, look down into the swirling grayness at the tiny fishes poking at my toes, feel the weightlessness of my heart as my body is carried over from one wave to the next. As a birder, I peer into the branches and bushes like everyone else, but get caught up in the fact of the very existence of BIRDS. I am dazzled by the speckled breast of a starling, the flash of a Blue Jay’s wings, the rattle of a Belted Kingfisher near a winter stream. I could sit by myself in the snow in the middle of an overgrown field and be happy for hours.
Well now; what a good idea.
Gone birding.

Merry Christmas!

A BIG THANK YOU to everyone who takes a few moments to stop in to read OakintheSeed! I value every moment of life and learning and having the opportunity to share them with family, and both old and new friends. I may never meet you, but please know you are very much a part of my life! May you have a sweet holiday, whatever it means to you...!

First Day of Winter 2008

View from the driveway this morning

After shoveling 13 inches of snow off the deck, I cleaned and refilled the heated birdbath, replenished the seed feeders (the black bears are finally denning) and stuffed the suet cage. The results were immediate:

Tufted Titmouse

Black-capped Chickadee

Downy Woodpecker

Time for a cup of tea and a good book...ahhh...zzzzzzzzz.....

All is Well

Last weekend we were treated to a visit from my husband's daughter, husband and two sons. It was the first time they were here, and not having children myself, I admit to being a little apprehensive about what "to do" with two boys and not one plasma television in the house. There was our dinner to cook and their dinner to cook (they don't like pork roast).
After searching and not finding the TV set, the boys shot out the door into our big backyard that has been complaining about its lack of running children. Our generous next door neighbor lent us a whiffle bat and ball, and a football small enough for a child's hands and I ended up playing outside with them while the other three adults languished in the stuffy living room. I had a blast!
After dinner, the boys decided my little Christmas tree needed some help....
And Sparkle found a new friend:

Pussycat Dilemma

This blog was imaged by Little Bear, who did NOT tidy the kitchen or edit the photos before posting.What is my favorite toy doing here?

I'm going to put it back with my stuff before Willow (on the table) steals it.

Uh...it seems to be stuck....

Can't...quite...get it out of there....
Let's view the situation from the top of the refrigerator.
Try, try again!

Humph. Where are the opposable thumbs when you need them?

Finally; it's all mine!

Riding Lessons

It was a choice between an eyes closed blurry body shot and an ears pricked at the crinkly-bag-with-apples-and-carrots photo!

Today was lesson #3.
I opted for the dusty dressage saddle this time. The Western one was fine, but the dressage saddle felt like coming home again. As I stretched my legs down into the stirrups and asked Tequila to walk forward, I could feel his warm barrel against my calves, swinging back and forth, left to right, left to right, telling me he was a little stiff. I was too. Neither of us are young, but we are both game.
I liked the Western saddle. After 17 years of not being on a back of a horse, I felt secure. Tequila "goes both ways," but so much leather was getting in my way of nudging him to engage his hindquarters and dropping into the bit. I am also out of shape and not strong enough. He is a "school horse," so is ridden by many different riders of various abilities. The ring is small and there are other horses and riders pounding around. He has a few tricks up his Quarter Horse sleeve that he is playing on me now; chief among them is suddenly zooming out at the trot and then dropping down into first gear, which throws off my rhythm. I wish we had a giant ring without a pile of jump stuff in it. My body (stiff as it is) wants us to circle and serpentine, trot figure eights and take a shot at an extended trot. You know...play....do the unexpected. Push yourself outside of where you have been too long, to a place where you want, and need, to be.

Riding Lesson Part 2

Sorry: No photos. We are riding indoors now because of winter weather. Camera flashes are not welcomed by newbie riders who prefer to remain on top of their horses.

"Do you want to ride Tequila again?" Sara, my new riding instructor, asked when I arrived last Saturday afternoon for my second lesson since leaving the world of horses 17 years ago.
"Sure!"
"Okay! Go get him ready. He's all yours!"
I like to get to the barn early to watch the lessons before mine, to have an opportunity to chat up the boarders and to revel in the piney-organic sweet smell of wood shavings and horse manure. Yes; you read it right. Horse manure is not altogether an unpleasant smell, you know, given our own delicate tendencies. Since it can show up any place, any time, it is best, at the very least, to not mind it. It is part of the Big Picture for us all, is it not? You haven't really lived until you have had at least ONE "plum fight" in a horse barn. Besides, these memories serve me well during contentious business meetings.
Anyway, Sara told me to go ahead and tack up, which thrilled me no end. What I don't want is to arrive to find my horse already saddled and bridled and ready for me to hop on, have my lesson, then slide off and motor on home while someone else cares for the sweaty animal I left behind. No, no; I want to do it all myself. I want my hands on furry hide, I want to pluck the mud chunks out of an obliging hoof with my pick; I want to warm an icy bit between my palms before slipping it between Tequila's teeth into the groove put there by the Universe for this very purpose. I want to slowly tighten the girth so not to annoy him by pulling too tight or too quickly. For me, the lesson begins with the relationship with an animal on the ground; while I pass the brush over his coat, comb the wood chips out of his tail, talk about our time to come and, by the way, pass the carrots.
Works about as well as donuts at a meeting.

Share the Light Award

I am honored once again by Grey Horse Matters by receiving yet another award! In her words,"This award was created to share the light and inspire others. Sharing the light is simple and costs nothing and by inspiring others, it adds goodness in this world and encourages others on their journeys."
This award is different because it was given by an Appaloosa horse with the great name of Cactus Jack Splash, whose journey in this life is dedicated to teaching his person (AKA: DOR, translated as Dope on a Rope) on how to be a better human being. I am up for that.
Thank you, Grey Horse Matters! Thank you, Cactus Jack!

Christmas Decorations

Christmas decorations. Sigh. Now that I am a grown-up with no children in the house, they seem pointless. But every year, I drag out the ornaments and shiny shapes and sprinkle them around the house.

Over time, each one has claimed its own domain, so the wooden pine trees stand sentinel over the rocking horse on the breakfront. The partridge in its pear tree hangs from a potted pathos. The stuffed Santa Claus, made by my great grandmother and now missing one felt foot overlooks our mealtimes from the safety of the china cabinet so the cats can’t play with it. The Helper Elf we found face down in the mud on the street in front of our house during our first Christmas here sits on the arm of my “husband’s side” of the sofa. Little angels smile from the ceiling. A porcelain snowman holds out his stick arms to welcome you. The batteries are loaded into the singing cat trio that I spent a ridiculous $40 for several years ago, but from which we have derived about a million dollars worth of smiles.

I play favorites. One of them is an old man wearing a patched red cloak. He carries a staff with a bunny carved at the top. A sack is slung over his right shoulder. A tiny doll smiles next to a trumpet and a stuffed pony. The old man is in eternal mid-stride. He is going somewhere.

Keeping up with him is his faithful donkey. A thick blanket covers his back and a basket full of toys is strapped onto his side. In the basket is a grinning teddy bear, a gingerbread man, a Raggedy Ann doll, two toy soldiers dressed in blue and red and a tiny wheeled horse being ferried to unknown destinations. There is something about the benign expression in their faces that remind me of quiet blessings, unknown grace, and of good deeds done in the shadows. I can imagine them tramping through the dark night, never giving up, white snowflakes sticking to their eyelashes and warmed by hope, and with no other purpose than to give themselves away.

They are all old friends emerging like magic from dusty attic boxes, and by the time I am finished, the rooms are brighter, and so am I.

Christmas Goose

Photo by Bevson, because I forgot my camera!

Uh oh. I did it again.
We woke up this morning, fed the cats, poured the coffee, opened the paper to the same bad-news-different-day. The Sunday plan was to shower, get dressed, go to church (I’ve been in one of those phases lately; it must have something to do with the season). On the way home, we said, we’ll do the weekly food shopping and then spend the afternoon putting up Christmas decorations. We are already late with this time-sucking task. All in all, not a bad way way spend a December Sunday.
But then, at 8:30am the telephone rang. It was Bevson.
“There’s a Ross’s goose in Franklin Lakes. I’m going to go for it. Wanna come?”
I actually hesitated, even though the town is a mere 20 minutes from where I live. All those decorations to put up; I am already behind. I would miss the second Sunday of Advent and the continuing liturgy, the connection to an annual spiritual cycle that helps keep me grounded.
But a Ross's...this is a tiny goose by Goose standards. It is snow white with black wingtips. It looks like a mini Snow Goose. It winters primarily in Central California but somehow this one ended up 20 minutes from my house during the first week of December 2008. It was a gift and I knew it.
“I haven’t showered yet.”
“Oh, so what; I haven’t either. I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”
Sometimes, to stay grounded, you have to fly with the moment.

Great Blog Friends

A big thank you for the lovely bouquet of flowers from Victoria Cummings, of Teachings of the Horse and for her congratulations on my quiet return to riding. Keeping up with the blogs of both Victoria and Arlene of Grey Horse Matters has ignited a long-buried passion, and I am honored to have these fine horsewomen in my circle of blogger friends.
Human relationships are amazing. We all want them, need them, crave them. Even when we desire solitude to connect with our inner selves, we can do that when we know there are trusted friends on the other side of the seesaw of human emotions.
When I started blogging last January, encouraged and coached by Bevson, it felt a little odd. Why splash around in cyberspace? What am I doing putting some of the knotty details of my life on display for the entire world to see? But the same miracle happens in the blogging world as occurs in a convention hall: some universal magnetism draws us to others of similar minds or experience, or there is a spark of some intangible trust that is suddenly acknowledged in the face of a stranger. You just know that person is there and connecting with you. You cannot name it, nor can science measure it.
And so, as I blogged away and read others who blog about their lives, I was drawn to several of the horse bloggers, who, like me, have been knocked off not only their horses but their life paths as well a few times, but who are still linked by their bonds with the spirit of horse. And when I returned last week for my first riding lesson in 17 years, they cheered me on from their computers. No matter that my style now is more “Western dressage,” than anything else. What matters is the common ground of bottomless compassion for what we love. And we blog about it.