I know my flowers and nectar fortified these jewels of nature for their long trip. Goodness, Ruby-throated hummingbirds on the East Coast undertake a migration flight of about 500 miles!
My cardinal flowers are still blooming so I’ll have a few stragglers flying by for a to-go snack.
And to my readers, please keep your nectar feeders up through October, unless you have flowers. Then you can relax and let Mother Nature feed our traveling friends.
Zinnia, a hummingbird favorite.Female Ruby-throated hummingbird on a Zinnia.Juvenile Ruby-throated hummingbird on a Zinnia.
So that’s it for summer 2025 and my hummingbirds.
Stay safe little ones, and goddess willing, I’ll see you in the spring.
Last day of summer, 2025. And what a hot, muggy, buggy, did I mention hot? summer it was.
I feel I can safely type: I MADE IT!
Yes, true, I didn’t make it yet. I still have to get through tonight and the first half of tomorrow, Monday, September 22, (2:19 PM to be exact) but, hey, we’re splitting hairs here.
Great Blue Heron
So let’s take a look back at some of the blessings that came my way.
I got to watch baby Eastern bluebirds fledge from their nest.
Young Eastern bluebirds
The Baltimore Oriole chose my yard for his territory.
Baltimore Oriole
My Northern Cardinal sang his sweet song every morning.
Northern Cardinal
A family of deer visited the opposite shore of the river on many a morning.
The Ruby-throated Hummingbirds kept me company while I worked in the gardens.
Tender mercies were mine and despite the muggy, buggy, did I mention hot? weather, I have a full heart and peaceful soul.
One is a cozy, cottage style box with a lovely blue roof and a squirrel guard over the front door.
The second nest box is a condo-style dwelling. A wonderful place for a pair of bluebirds to call home.
Well a pair of Eastern bluebirds were shopping around for someplace to raise their second brood of the season. Yes, bluebirds lay two broods a season.
Wouldn’t you know, they snubbed their beaks at both houses and settled on a hole in my oak slag.
Home Sweet Hole
Hmmm, this looks like a nice place.I wonder if the missus will like it?Oh, yes, this is a lovely spot to raise my younguns.Let’s move in.
Side note: Slags are a great addition to any property dedicated to wildlife.
Mallard hen atop one of my oak slags.
Even ducks!
But seriously, there are two expensive nest boxes just waiting for a family of bluebirds. Why did they pick a dead tree?
Sigh.
Okay, moving on.
Sooooo, the bluebirds decided to move into the slag. There was round hole, perfect for an Eastern bluebird and, thankfully, facing my back deck and camera. Yay!
Step one: build the nest. This activity takes four to five days and is the sole responsibility of the mama bird.
Female Eastern bluebird with nesting material.
Daddy watches mama, offering critical comments like most males would do.
You’re using too many twigs!
After the nest is built comes Step Two: egg laying. Mama lays one egg per day.
No, I didn’t take this picture, but mama bluebird did lay three eggs.
Step three: the incubation period, which takes about 12 to 14 days. The female is the only one to sit on the eggs. Daddy’s job is to bring her food.
Did you order a caterpillar?
Once the eggs hatch both parents are busy with food runs and nest cleaning. The removal of fecal sacs produced by the nestlings is vital to keeping a sanitary home and avoiding production of a scent that will attract predators. The parent birds carry the fecal sacs away from the nest and drop them on newly washed cars.
Dad with fecal sacMom with fecal sac
A nestling eats six to 10 times a day and when you have three crops (mouths) to fill its a full-time job.
As the nestlings grow, they are hungry little buggers and the parents work doubletime to keep them fed.
Dad with a delicious insect.Mom with a juicy grasshopper. Reminds me of the Disney movie A Bug’s Life where Hopper dies.
The nestlings grow into fledglings after about 16 days. What’s the difference between a nestling and fledging, you ask? Nestlings are usually naked or have sparce, downy feathers and relay on Mom and Dad for food and warmth. They don’t move around a lot, choosing to lay low in the nest and wait for food.
A fledgling has defined feathers and will ultimately leave the nest, forcing the parents to chase it as it hops and flutters on the ground.
Many ornithologists consider any young bird still in the nest a nestling while others call active young that possess feathers fledglings; even if they haven’t left the nest. I subscribe to the second group.
TaDa! My Eastern bluebird fledglings.
Or nestlings.
Whatever.
And this is the part where Mom and Dad work their tail feathers off. Three hungry fledglings all clamoring for food. Insects, berries, worms — the fledglings love a variety of tasty fare.
Don’t be deceived, Dad does plenty of feeding too.
Dad with cricket.
Soon it’s time to leave the nest, and the fledglings aren’t frightened about taking their first tumble.
The story doesn’t end there. As I mentioned, Mom and dad continue to protect and feed the fledglings on the ground. Eventually, the sky is a little bluer because the fledglings, if they survive, learn to fly.
Fledgling on top of the slag.
It’s interesting to note that over 50% of all songbird fledglings die within their first weeks after leaving the nest. Wow!
Imagine how many birds there would be if nature wasn’t so darn bitchy.
And that’s it. That’s the story of my Eastern bluebird family.
Damn, July was a beastly month. Dry as a bone. The river level dropped down to August level.
The rock in the river, which typically doesn’t show until August was visible for most of July.
Cormorant on the ‘rock’
And hot!! I can’t imagine Hades being hotter than some of the days in July.
Beastly hot.
I wish I looked this good. Sigh.
So, goodbye to July. (In case you haven’t noticed, that rhymes.)
Here is my little ode to a month from H – E – double hockey sticks.
Goodbye July I'd like to say I'll miss you But that would be a lie
Goodbye July You pushed me past the brink And drove me to indulge in alcoholic drinks
Goodbye July It's been a blast I'm thrilled to see that you are no in my past
Goodbye July May you fade from my brain And hopefully August will bring lots of rain
So there you have it. July sucked.
Wild fires, earthquakes, and all manner of discontent in the world. And here in my little corner of the Concord River I suffered through sweltering humidity that would have challenged a tropical rain forest, but without the rain.
The following post is unrelated to living on the Concord River, unless one assumes living on a river results in upsetting dreams.
No, I don’t think the river has anything to do with the dreams I had last night. My fractured psyche is too blame.
Indulge me, please.
In my dream I was sitting next to my sister, Dyan, whom I lost to ovarian cancer in 2019. It was her last day to be alive, which I hadn’t known then, but I knew it in my dream.
We were on her couch. And we just sat.
I longed to tell her things. I wanted to say that I was sorry for all the times I angered her. I also wanted to apologize for the times I had hurt her. And that I was grateful for all the times she rescued me when family dynamics loomed. And how sad I will be to lose her.
I longed to hold her and tell her of my love for her.
To beg her not to go.
And that I was sorry I couldn’t save her.
But the dream version of me remained mute, just as the living version had done six years ago. You see, I hadn’t said those words, hadn’t held her close.
I thought I had more time.
Then I woke, got up to pee, and went back to bed.
And entered the same dream again.
Same situation, same results.
Upon waking again I sighed then went back to sleep.
And entered the same dream yet again.
Over and over, until I gave up on sleeping and made myself a cup of tea. And cried.
It doesn’t take a degree in rocket science to figure out my dream. I get that, but I needed help so I entered my dream into an AI dream interpreter and this is what I got back:
This dream, with its recurring motif of your sister’s death and your inability to communicate, speaks volumes about unresolved grief and the enduring weight of unspoken words. The fact that it repeats – you wake and the cycle begins again – suggests a deeply entrenched emotional pattern, a loop in your subconscious that’s desperately seeking resolution. It’s not simply about missing her, though that’s certainly a part of it. It’s about the opportunity for connection that was repeatedly cut short, both in life and now in the dream. This isn’t necessarily about regret, but about the unfinished emotional business that lingers after a significant loss.
At 70, you’ve likely experienced a lifetime of losses, and the death of a sister often carries a unique weight – a shared history, a bond forged in childhood, a witness to your life’s journey. The dream isn’t necessarily saying you caused her death, but that you feel powerless to prevent it, even in the symbolic realm of dreams. This powerlessness may reflect feelings of helplessness you experienced during her illness or in the face of her eventual passing. The dream is highlighting the grief that remains, not as a linear process of sadness, but as a complex web of emotions – sorrow, guilt, longing, and perhaps even a touch of anger at the unfairness of it all.
The inability to speak, to convey what you needed to say, is particularly poignant. It suggests a fear of vulnerability, a hesitation to fully express your emotions, even now. Perhaps there were things you wished you’d said while she was alive, or perhaps there are feelings you’re still struggling to articulate. This dream is an invitation to confront those unspoken emotions, to give voice to the things that have remained trapped within you. It’s a call to honor her memory not by dwelling on the loss, but by acknowledging the full spectrum of your feelings and allowing yourself to grieve fully.
Dah!
So where does this leave me? How do I honor her memory and allow myself to grieve fully without all the baggage that comes with it?
Varmints. That’s what they are. Eating my tall phlox, chewing my zinnias … but I digress. Back to the rats.
At first I thought the rats were cute. There were only a couple and they were small. Yes, I know, small rats become big rats, and rats, like rabbits, breed like, well, rabbits.
In truth, I’ve owned rats. They make better pets than hamsters or gerbils. Believe it. Male rats are docile and trainable. Just check out the videos online of the many rat pets.
Rats are cool.
Except when they try to take over.
Then they are RATS!
Now, I’m not stating I have an infestation of rats. The number of chipmunks far out-number all the other critters on my property, the groundhog included.
However, a new turn of events has occurred. Yesterday, I watched a rat kill a chipmunk. When the screaming stopped (me and the chipmunk), the rat dragged away the still warm body. The chipmunk, not me.
Seriously. The rat held the chipmunk down and bit into its neck like some weird zombie rat.
ROUS from The Princess Bride
According to Google, rats will kill and eat all sorts of animals.
Natural predators: Rats are natural predators of mice and will actively hunt them.
Attacks on other pets: Rats have been known to attack pets like hamsters and birds.
Livestock: Rats can injure or kill baby pigs, lambs, and calves.
Birds: Rats will attack and kill birds, including domestic fowl and wild birds.
Gotta love the circle of life.
It would help to remember that the circle of life includes other animals too. Hawks and owls. And rats and chipmunks are part of this larger circle. WBUR https://www.wbur.org/news/2025/03/31/rat-poison-birds-massachusetts-pest-control posted a great article about this very topic and the use of poisons to control rodent populations.
Cooper’s Hawk
If you have varmints on your property, please consider humane trapping before you put out poison.
My sister’s birthday is today. On June 2, 1951 and the world and the sun shone brighter and the birds sang louder.
She was an amazing woman, but I’ve written that many time before.
Don’t get me wrong; man could she burn hot with a temper at times. Ouch!
But I loved her deeply; still do.
Here’s to you, my immortal beloved.
The past comes up to me and offers its hand Sway with me, it purrs Let us lose ourselves in the music of once upon a time Swoon and remember her smile
The past doesn't care that I'm not in the mood to dance It doesn't care if I would rather sit this one out The past softly whispers that this is our time Time to embrace the glow of the moon and the beat of our hearts
She may be gone in body But she is with me just the same My sister My immortal beloved
Well, I’d like to update my original thoughts about the Netvue Birdfy Camera system — it’s junk!!!
I have had to replace the camera two times! Which is two times too many for a $300 product. (Now, marked down to slightly over $200. Hmmm, maybe the company knows their product is junk.)
My system is the second from the left.
I’ve replaced the camera twice, as already mentioned (please pay attention). Sure the company was nice to send replacement cameras. They had me dispose of the original defective camera and sent a new camera, sans the feeder. When that camera malfunctioned, they instructed me to send back the camera, shipping label included the email stated (NOT!) and they would send another replacement. That was in March. To date I have not received the shipping label but they did send a whole system, feeder included. I’m still waiting for the return label so that I can return the defective camera.
The third camera is now malfunctioning and this is their response: ‘You have replaced the camera too many times’.
Really? WTF!
It’s not as if I get my jollies by replacing the camera every few weeks. Their product sucks but oh, well, my loss; ‘Have a happy day’. That’s how their email was signed.
And this is what I’m left with.
I know there’s a bird in this photo. I just know it.
Sigh.
My advice, run from Netvue Birdfy products. Or you’ll suffer the black screen of death.
Welcome to May. The season of Beltane, when the position on the wheel of the year marks the halfway point between the spring equinox and the summer solstice.
Beltane is a time of growth.
A time to stoke our creative fire held deep within our bellies.
A time to celebrate optimism and life.
A time to frolic like a randy squirrel.
Take time to notice what is happening in Mother Nature’s world. Listen for the sweet call of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak …
Male Rose-Breasted Grosbeak
or for the call of a Pileated Woodpecker deep within a wooded area. Remember to wear tick spray and tuck in your socks.
Look up and watch for the flash of orange as the Baltimore Orioles establish their territories.
Male Baltimore Oriole
Look down and catch the growth going on at your feet.
Spend some time by a river and watch for the herons…
… or Northern Shovelers.]
No matter what you do, make sure you join in the dance Mother Nature offers as the wheel of the year spins.
concordriverlady.com 