Summer 2022 arrived here in the Northern Hemisphere at 5:13AM, June 21, 2022.
Summer Solstice 2022
The season rode into my little corner of the Concord River on a gentle Southeast breeze bringing with it wondrous possibilities, and most likely humidity and bloodsucking black flies.
I find it hard to practice equanimity when I’m swatting black flies. Sigh.
I’m trying to be hopeful about this summer, but based on the past two months I’m not expecting a whole lot from Mom Nature. I know she has her hands full with global warming, climate change, and all the other shit that’s going on, so I’ll cut her some slack. Besides, I think if I can get through this summer still upright without the need of a CAT scan, or a cane, (let’s not forget it was only last summer when I fell and hit my head on one of my retaining blocks) I’ll be doing okay.
My needs are simple: I want my washer-dryer combo to continue working; perhaps some rain to quench the thirst of the parched and dusty earth; cool nighttime breezes; and low, low, low humidity. Oh, and a new camera.
See, simple, simple, simple.
But hey, who am I to make demands? I’m just a little old woman who lives in a town where people think dumping trash into the marsh is a great pastime. Yep, someone dumped trash in the marsh again. Stupid f#@ks.
I’m going to be positive about Summer 2022. I’m going imagine this summer will be one filled with the sounds of gentle rain, dappled sunlight, low humidity (this is not negotiable), sweet strawberries, crisp green beans, and kindness.
Hmmmm, that last one on the list might be asking for a little too much.
Blessed Summer Solstice to you. May the season bring you joy and ease.
A few days ago I woke to a sound that brought me ease and joy–sunflowers being cracked open. Weird sound to instill peaceful bliss, right? Not really. You see, before I even opened my eyes I knew there was a male Rose-Breasted Grosbeak at the bird feeder hanging outside my bedroom window.
Male Rose-Breasted Grosbeak
There are only a few things that will bring me joy upon opening my eyes: seeing my son’s beautiful face and dark chocolate-colored eyes; or seeing my sister Dyan’s smile; or a butler holding a tray that contains freshly brewed coffee, a croissant, butter and jam, and an email informing me that I’ve won the Blogger of the Year Award; or a male Rose-Breasted Grosbeak.
I was going to add Keanu to the list but now that he’s married it feels weird. Plus, I’m too old for love. Bring on the croissants and the birds.
To be honest, just about any bird will put a smile on my early morning face–except a House Sparrow.
House Sparrows on top of the oak slag.
I know they’re cute but deep within each little feathered body lies a black heart.
I’m not kidding. (The following image is not for the faint-hearted.)
Dead juvenile Eastern Bluebird.
A male House Sparrow attacked the juvenile Bluebird and (swallow) ripped the bluebird’s skull open.
Nasty House Sparrows.
Sometimes, Mother Nature is a bitch.
The North American Bluebird Society has an interesting fact sheet about the aggression of House Sparrows towards Eastern Bluebirds. Read it here.
As long as I’m ragging on Mother Nature…I mean ‘dat bitch’, let’s chat about hornets the size of Texas.
This is the second hornet I’ve killed that measured the length of the first two digits of my little finger, which measures close to one and a half inches.
WTF is happening? Is the Concord River becoming Jurassic World?
I don’t know what type of hornets I’m running into, that doesn’t matter. I want them GONE!
If I get stung I am going to be one angry bitch!
Breathe…breathe…smile…ahhhhh.
Let me tell you a story. I call it The Great ‘Are You Kidding Me’ Escape.
One evening around 8:30PM an old woman was reading in bed and her two cats were by her side. A large insect (probably a giant hornet), being attracted to the bedside light (or the woman’s blood), slapped against the window screen. Samantha, the black cat who always finds a way to get into trouble, leapt across the prone body of the old woman and went for the large insect. Smack. Sam hit the screen and both the screen and Sam went for a ride down to the ground. The old woman looked with amazement at the open window, sans screen and sans cat, and exclaimed, “WTF!” (She said the whole phrase.) The old woman grumbled and mumbled and swore as she put on her bathrobe and slippers and headed out into the darkening night. The motion light came on and the old woman saw Sam, and the screen, under the window. The old woman called out to Sam. Sam looked at the old woman, then turned and ran across the street and into the tick-and-poison ivy infested marsh. The old woman swore some more and went into the house for the flashlight. Fast forward through a very long, tearful night to 4AM and a pathetic mewing outside the kitchen window. Sam had come home, with a tick, and poison ivy.
Sam, sleeping with her brother, the day after her Great Escape.
Sam’s little escapade cost me over $60 for flea and tick treatment for her and Oreo, who could have gotten something from his gadabout sister; $8 for poison ivy treatment for me; and an afternoon spent securing the screens.
Stupid screens.
Stupid insect.
Stupid cat.
Now it’s time for the That’s Creepy portion of the blog.
While walking Harlee…
“I had nothing to do with this. It was all the old lady.”
(Shush Harlee, I’m telling the story.)
As I was saying, which really wasn’t saying, more like typing…actually, I was typing…anyway, moving on…Harlee and I were out walking and passed a house a few streets away from mine. What did I spy? A soldier out with the trash. A pot soldier.
Not that kind of pot.These kinds of pots.
The pot soldier was made out of plant pots and cute as a bug (but not a hornet, which, in truth, isn’t a bug). I longed to rescue the pot soldier so I texted three people asking what I should do and they all said to walk away from the pot soldier.
Well, to my surprise, he leapt into my arms.
Meet Hermie, my pot soldier.
Who said I was too old to find love?
Oh, I did.
Let’s move on to the topic of my ducks and what the heck happened to my ducklings? Three hens swam by a little over two weeks ago with ducklings in tow.
Mama Mallard hen with ducklings.
That was the last time I saw the ducklings. Except for the lone baby who stopped by my neighbor’s beach, all the other ducklings are gone.
The poor little duckling just sat on the beach and peeped. I only saw him, or her, that one morning. Since then no sighting; no peeping.
But I have plenty of adult Mallards who seem to want nothing better than to loll about my property…
Lazy ducks.
…and eat corn.
Hungry ducks.
At least the Canada geese haven’t shirked their duties.
Mama, Papa, and the kids.
The Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds are here, flitting about. I’ve waited many months to hear what I can only describe as their chirppy-chittery calls.
Cool.
That’s about all I have at the moment which is what I’m trying to do — live in the moment and not lament over the past or fret about the future. It’s called being mindful and as Thich Nhat Hanh said:
Remember the scene from one of the Jurassic movies when the T-Rex was crashing through the trees? I don’t know which of the million Jurassic Park movies the scene comes from and, legally, I cannot post a video of the scene that I’m thinking about even if I could find it, but picture this–a huge dinosaur is moving through the woods and trees are crumbling at its feet. Wood is splintering, tree limbs are shattering, bird nests are getting crushed, along with baby birds and tiny eggs…okay, I added that last part about the birds and eggs, anyway, you’re probably asking by now, where the heck am I going with this story?
Well, Sunday night, while it was dark, there were guys across the river in the woods, along with bright lights and two large machines, taking down the trees in the woods. I lay in bed and listened to trees getting crushed, splintering wood, shattering limbs…I could even hear the sorrow associated with the carnage.
The men decimated the woods until 11:00PM! On a Sunday night!
Being the nosy old woman I am, when the men returned the next day, with chain saws, I called the Conservation Department for Billerica to find out what the heck was going on. I won’t go into the foolish details. Basically, I was told there were no men working in the woods.
Really? I made sure the man on the phone knew I didn’t believe him. There WERE men in the woods and they WERE taking down trees.
Nope, came the disbeliever’s reply. There were NO men in the woods and NO trees were coming down. I must be hearing my neighbor doing yardwork, he stated with absolute certainty. Perhaps a landscaper edging my neighbor’s property, he added with a tone of contempt.
Seriously, there must have been a memo, an email, a call, some skywriting–something to announce that spring was canceled and we would be moving into the dog days of summer.
Illustration courtesy of Pixabay.com/IsabelaSaldareliDeSouza
What happened to the springtime of my youth when the scent of lilacs would swim on cool breezes? I’m not referring to the gale force winds of the past 30 days. Man oh man, I had to bind my wind chimes they were making such a cacophony of noise.
Am I partly to blame for this global warming mess we’re in? Was it all the hairspray I used in the 70’s?
Anyway, there’s no use in my complaining about the weather. It’s not as if I can do anything to fix it.
Moving on…
I’ve been treated to some spectacular sunrises lately, so that’s a good thing. And the hummingbirds are here. Another good thing.
New and Improved Photo — Female Ruby-Throated Hummingbird
Cool shot, right? I didn’t even use the tripod. Pretty steady hands for an old lady.
Okay, this old lady is going to bed. I’m hot and tired.
Illustration by Tinthia; courtesy of Crabgrass Cards.
And crabby.
By the way, click on the crabby woman’s boobs, or the crabby cat’s collar. You’ll be whisked to my store at Zazzle.com where you can buy lots of crabby stuff.
Come on, help a crabby old lady buy corn for her one-legged ducks.
This time each year the Rose-Breasted Grosbeaks come back from their winter vacation down south. I can set my calendar by them.
Male Rose-Breasted Grosbeak; May 2, 2022.
The male usually arrives during the second week of May. This year he arrived a tad early. I’m not complaining, mind you; I look forward to that first flash of black, white, and red in my peripheral vision and his sweet call as he sings for his mate.
The male typically arrives ahead of the female but she came in right on his tail feathers.
Female Rose-Breasted Grosbeak. The blurriness is due to her moving around, not the person holding the camera.
Ahhhh, spring is here. The only members of the usual gang that are missing are the Baltimore Orioles. I can be patient, though, because I have a new bird who wants to join the crew.
Male Pileated Woodpecker.
Yup, the Pileated Woodpecker has taken a liking to my yard. It must be all the cool insects I have living around my property. And the snags (the bodies of the dead trees I kept after the tops were removed.)
Summer, 2021.
Okay, back to my Pileated Woodpecker. Gorgeous bird.
And huge. Pileated Woodpeckers have a wing span of 30 freaking inches. They’re the biggest forest birds of the North American continent.
Male Pileated Woodpecker.
You might ask how I know this guy is a male. It’s the red stripe along the side of his face. Females have a black stripe.
Male Pileated Woodpecker.
Sooooooooo cool.
Okay, now for a game. Find the Great-Blue Heron in this photograph.
Great-Blue Heron.
Can you spot him, or her, hiding behind the branch? At least it’s trying to hide; it needed a bigger branch.
Great-Blue Heron.
There he, or she, is. Herons aren’t known for their hide-and-seek skills.
Wow, this has been one heck of a great start to May; I can’t wait to see what other blessings the month has in store for me.
Oh, and happy birthday to my son. Twenty-eight. Wow!
Chris, back in 2013, when I bought my little corner of the Concord River.
But wait, how did he get older while I remained young and vibrant? Something to ponder.
For those of us who follow the Craft, May 1st is the sabbat of Beltane, the halfway point between the first day of spring and the first day of summer. It’s a time to celebrate the blossoming of the fertile earth around us and dance yourself into a frenzy around a May Pole, bonfire, or with your dog while Justin Timberlake sings in the background.
Official Video for ”CAN’T STOP THE FEELING! (from DreamWorks Animation’s “TROLLS”)” by Justin Timberlake.
I choose #3 — Nobody can get an old lady dancing like JT.
At its roots, Beltane honors the return of the light and fire is an integral part of its celebration. Light a candle, either as part of a magical ritual or simply for the beauty it creates.
Beltane is also a time to give thanks for the abundance the Universe bestows upon us, and what better way to say thank you than with a feast. Your feast doesn’t have to be lavish, a simple cup of tea will do. Just remember to say a blessing before sipping.
After you’ve finished your tea, head outside and spend some time with Mother Nature. If you go out at night, listen for spring peepers and toads.
Another great way to celebrate May is to count the different species of birds you see.
The Ruby-throats have made it to Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, Maine, and are on their way to Canada. These little jewels of Mother Nature will be hungry after their long trip North so get those nectar feeders filled and charge your camera batteries.
Or a morning story. It could also be an afternoon story.
Basically, it’s a story for anytime of the day.
The Old Woman and The Hose
The was once an old woman who lived in a quaint cottage on the shore of a winding river that flowed north. The direction of the river has no bearing on our story, nor does the fact that the old woman lived alongside the river.
In truth, living in a quaint cottage is a minor detail as well.
All that matters is the woman was old.
And had a hose.
One day the old woman decided to water her garden. First, she took her feeble body to the store and purchased a watering wand to attach to her hose. The old woman chose the least expensive watering wand she could find because, not only was the old woman old, she was also frugal.
‘Now I can water my plants,’ she said cheerfully as she attached the watering wand to the quick-disconnect thingy already installed on the end of the hose that was located at the quaint cottage on the shore of a winding river that flowed north.
The old woman hummed to herself as she turned on the water faucet and tried to skip, for you see the old woman was old and old women don’t skip all that great, to the watering wand attached to the quick-disconnect thingy already installed on the end of the hose that was located at the quaint cottage on the shore of a winding river that flowed north.
The old woman flipped the thumb control on the watering wand into the ON position and pointed the watering wand attached to the quick-disconnect thingy already installed on the end of the hose that was located at the quaint cottage on the shore of a winding river that flowed north, at her garden.
No water flowed.
‘Perhaps I don’t have the water turned high enough,’ the old woman mused as she shook the watering wand attached to the quick-disconnect thingy already installed on the end of the hose that was located at the quaint cottage on the shore of a winding river that flowed north.
The old woman hobbled back to the water faucet. Screw skipping, she thought, and turned the dial all the way.
For a second time the old woman flipped the thumb control of the watering wand into the ON position and pointed the watering wand attached to the quick-disconnect thingy installed on the end of the hose… whatever…
Drip, drip, drip.
‘WTF!’ the old woman scowled. ‘This watering wand is a piece of @#%&.’
The old woman removed the watering wand attached to the quick-disconnect thingy installed on the end of the hose, yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah.
‘How dare they sell me a piece of junk,’ the old woman grumbled.
Determined to return the watering wand to the store for a full refund, the old woman placed the watering wand in the trunk of her car while she consoled herself with thoughts of giving the store manager a piece of her mind.
Not one to be daunted by a broken watering wand, the old woman decided she would squirt water through the quick-disconnect thingy by releasing the tension in the quick-disconnect thingy installed on the end of the hose that was located at the quaint cottage on the shore of a winding river that flowed north.
Proud of herself for being such a quick thinker, the old woman began humming again and tried to skip to the water faucet, although the skipping wasn’t as jubilant as the first time. After all, the old woman was still old, and tired of walking back and forth.
Returning to the hose, the old woman pointed the end with the quick-disconnect thingy installed on the end of the hose that was located at the quaint cottage on the shore of a winding river that flowed north, at her garden and released the tension.
Drip, drip, drip.
Words that would have made a street urchin blush filled the peaceful setting on the shore of the winding river that flowed north.
The old woman was not a happy camper as she stomped back to the faucet to turn off the water. The old woman was a very good stomper for such an old woman.
‘Stupid quick-disconnect thingy must be faulty,’ the old woman grunted, as she tried to twist the quick-disconnect thingy from the end of the hose that was located…ah, who cares?
The quick-disconnect thingy did not budge.
Not even when the old woman used pliers.
Not even when the old woman sprayed WD-40 on the quick-disconnect thingy.
Not even when the old woman bashed the quick-disconnect thingy with her hammer.
Growling like a feral dog, the old woman grabbed her wire snipers and cut the hose, thus removing the quick-disconnect thingy that had been installed on the end of the hose that was located at the quaint cottage on the shore of a winding river that flowed north.
‘Stupid piece of %#@&.’
For a third time the old woman returned to the faucet and turned on the water. She stomped back to the end of the hose that no longer had a quick-connect thingy installed but was still located at the quaint cottage on the shore of a winding river that flowed north.
Drip, drip, drip.
The old woman shook the hose.
Drip.
The old woman peered into the hose, wondering if a mouse had crawled inside.
Drip.
‘My damn water pressure must be off,’ the old woman cried, as thoughts of her money filling the dependable, but costly, plumber’s hands.
The old woman whimpered and dragged her defeated old body to the faucet to turn off the water.
I know nothing stays the same. Things change, life moves on, days become weeks which become months and so on. However, I also know that if I wait long enough what was will come around again, because, well that’s just how life is.
But one must be patient.
It’s a different year, and possibly different birds, but the American Goldfinches are molting, because that’s what Goldfinches do in the spring season.
Molting Male American Goldfinch, April 2022
Twelve months later my daffodils are blooming–again.
Daffodils, April 2022.
True to their nature, the Grackles returned to my corner of the Concord River to eat my seed and mealworms, and be general pains in the butt.
Common Grackle, April 2022
Mother Nature threw me a curve ball though. Two starlings, who I call Mutt and Jeff, although I’m sure one is a female, have made themselves welcome at my mealworm feeder and they are on a mission to eat every dang mealworm.
Sure it’s a pretty bird but it’s also a glutton. I have a hunch from the two starlings that I have now I will end up with several more next year, and more the next, until…
1963, Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’
Did you know the movie The Birds was loosely, I stress the word loosely, based on Daphne du Maurier’s 1952 story by the same title? Again, I stress the word loosely. And, yes, I know the picture is showing crows and I was discussing starlings but hey, they’s all black, glossy, and at times, annoying as heck.
Coming around again are my pair of Canadian Geese. At least I think it’s the same pair. Since they all look alike I can’t be sure. No biggie, I’ll just pretend it’s the same two geese who have visited me for the past couple of years.
Mama and Papa Canadian Geese, April 2022.They look the same. Canadian Geese, April 2021.
At least this year one of my Mallard duck mating pairs have a distinguishing adornment.
Mallard duck breeding pair, April 2022.
Can you spot it?
Keep trying.
My Great Blue Heron is back. See, what did I tell you–nothing stays the same, but, if you wait long enough, things will come around again.
Great Blue Heron, April 2022.
See, what did I tell you–nothing stays the same, but, if you wait long enough, things will come around again.
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