January 16: Roosting ibises

Our first full day of birding in Florida was rich. We tallied over 60 species at three sites: Green Cay Wetlands, Wakodahatchee Wetlands, and Loxahatchee NWR (for "wetlands" read "beautifully constructed wastewater treatment ponds with boardwalk access.") Highlights for us included unanticipated sightings of several painted buntings, three soras--normally shy little bird--two sets of mating herons (surrounded by birder paparazzi shamelessly clicking away at each moment of copulation), one roseate spoonbill described as "the rock star of the place" by a non-birding visitor, some gators, gaudy purple gallinules, nesting anhingas, and very close looks at almost every wading bird we'd hoped to see.

We visited Loxahatchee at day's end, enjoying the cypress swamp boardwalk, and then walking out into the Marsh Trails, where you get a true sense of this place as a remnant of the northern Everglades. The "river of grass" stretched as far as we could see, but we focused on a wet marshy area right at the trailhead. There, snipes fed amid herons, ducks, and ibises, and one alligator lurked just beneath the water's surface, only its eyes visible. As the sun sank lower, the numbers of white ibises began to increase. Birds kept flying in to join the expanding huddle. Dozens of ibises were lined up along a path bordering the marsh area, eventually flying in to join the crowd as even more came from parts unknown, their wings afire in the late light.

Roosting ibises
with red faces, red curved bills--
unlikely angels.

January 18: Sunset over the Gulf

We've been in Florida for four days now and as of this afternoon, I hadn't been to a real beach (I don't count the tidal flats of Marco Island as proper beach, though it did make for excellent shorebird habitat). So after a wonderful day spent with our host exploring Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary--one of Florida's best birding spots--and stocking up on fresh fruit and avocados for a late lunch, we finally got to the beach. We accessed the beach north of Naples Pier and were surprised by how quiet it was on this still warm afternoon. A mixed flock of shorebirds huddled nearby, while sanderlings and a few willets fed in the edge of the surf. I walked barefoot in the soft white sand, stooping to collect colorful shells as squadrons of pelicans flew past. Aah...

As the sun sank lower and the sky began to garner some color, we noticed that a throng had at last gathered down the beach for the daily ritual of seeing the sun sink into the watery bed of the Gulf. While hazy clouds muted the finale, it was still a perfect way to end our latest day in paradise. As we left, shells jingled in our pockets, and the ever-constant waves continued to lap the shore beneath the rosy clouds.

Let us go now, watch
the old sun set, birds feeding:
ancient rituals.

January 15: Perspective

I love to pore over topo maps, trying to visualize the three-dimensional reality on the ground of the two-dimensional symbols on a piece of paper. I thought of the experience of map-reading this morning as we flew into Atlanta. With clear sunny skies, I could see every building and topographical feature below, with the skyscrapers of the city center looming on the horizon. I entertained myself in trying to decipher what I was looking down on. A gravel pit was an easy one, but what was that bare hill, almost a butte, that looked like it had been scraped off for some reason? For that matter, what was the black mound sided with what looked like solar panels? It being Sunday and the South, the large building surrounded by cars and what might be construed as a steeple had to be a church. The big flat institutional building with fields and an oval track out back was clearly a school. Sewage treatment plants are fairly easy to pick out. The intricate streets of all the housing developments, lined with big look-a-like houses, fascinated me. Some had pools and tennis courts, some didn't. If I had to live in that one there, I decided, I'd be in that house at the end of that cul de sac surrounded by woods. Not near the pool, but quieter, less crammed in. Some developments were separated from obvious construction sites/gravel pits by just a fringe of trees. I wondered if you noticed the proximity if you lived there. Just before the airport, we flew low over several industrial buildings with rows of semi trailers backed up to loading docks, then a post office with a lot full of identical mail trucks. Then a patch of raw red earth--future runway space?--and then we touched down.

From air, perspective:
all those lives below, people
filling the landscape.

January 14: Playoffs

We're sitting on our king-size bed in our generic room in the Portland Airport Hilton, watching football playoff games. Just saw the 49ers upset the Saints, and now the Big Game is on: Patriots vs. Broncos! Early tomorrow morning we fly to Florida, but for now, we're very focused on New England. Go Pats!

Anyplace is home
when the Patriots are on,
even this hotel.

January 13: Up on the Roof

I happened to look up at my snow-covered roof this afternoon and noticed a pattern of animal tracks. I'd never noticed animal tracks on the roof before. Frankly, I was a bit surprised, as this fall we'd had several tree limbs cut back that used to overhang the house. Some critter--I was imagining a squirrel--had either made a really big leap from the old maple tree (a flying squirrel?) or somehow scaled the building. The line of tracks seemed to begin somewhere at the back of the house, come over the peak to a certain point near the front of the roof, and then return, furrowing a big V in the snow.

When I moved closer to see if I could get any sense of what kind of animal had made the tracks, I noticed something else up there, something grey and lumpy lying under the eave. My first panicked thought was that some animal had been killed up there and now I'd have to go remove a corpse from my roof. But I soon realized that I was looking at part of a bee's nest, a big chunk of paper cells. Where had that come from? Had the mystery animal brought it there, or had it found it on the underside of the eaves? Is there something to eat in a winter bee's nest? What kind of animal would eat it? What all had been happening up on the roof?

Story in the snow:
tracks on the roof... a bee's nest...
You figure it out!

January 12: Snow, of course

What else is anyone talking about today? We finally got the big storm we were supposed to get, with heavy wet snow flakes turning into icy, face-stinging pellets by day's end. Driving was treacherous. Just walking up to my front door was treacherous when I slipped and almost fell. I had to shovel my way into the driveway, and now wet garments drape all the heating vents. It's a typical Maine winter snow storm. Now it feels like a typical Maine winter. It only took till the second week of January. But it makes me all the more thankful I'm off to Florida in a few days.

Snow heavy with ice.
As Frost said, "Ice would suffice."
He meant the world's end.

January 11: Icing in

The patch of water behind the Seabright Dam on the Megunticook River--the very patch of water that I can see from my office--has been contracting and expanding through our various freezes and thaws this winter. Every morning I scan the river before heading inside. It hasn't iced in completely, yet, but it's close, such a small strip of water remaining that even the little buffleheads have flown upstream to where there's more open water to paddle around in. And tonight's cold and snowstorm might be all it needs to ice over all the way across, linking the two banks, stilling the water visible to me above the dam. Even below the dam, rushing water falls almost unseen under a wide, rippled curtain of ice. Slowly the world turns static and white. The water molecules lock together. And grow still.

No ice-skating yet.
River's icy door closes
slowly this winter.

January 10: More Moon

Tonight during a guided discussion for women leaders at a restaurant on Rockland Harbor, the buzz of conversation was suddenly halted. "Look out the window!" the session leader exclaimed. "The moon!" We all craned our necks to catch a glimpse of the big gold moon slowly crowning above a cloud. The chatter grew louder in our excitement over witnessing such a sight. I wondered if a roomful of men would have had the same response.

We admire the moon,
most of us women thinking
that it's a goddess.

January 9: Wolf Moon

The January full moon was traditionally referred to as the Wolf Moon among some native tribes, presumably because this time of year you'd hear hungry wolves howling in the night forest, perhaps circling the village. While that name carries a slightly menacing tone, there's nothing scary about tonight's moon rising over Mount Battie and Camden Harbor. The moon has only been up for a few hours, and already many friends on Facebook have posted photos and exclaimed on its beauty. In town this evening I was struck by how its misty glow transformed even the town smokestack into the stuff of poetry. Around here, we notice a bright, beautiful full moon, and allow ourselves to be affected by the sight. Maybe to the point of wanting to howl ourselves...

Fat, full moon, Wolf Moon--
such power to transfix us
with your glowing eye.

January 8: Duck and Cover

My dad was very anxious to report to me an avian drama playing out at their house. Three bald eagles--two adults and one younger bird--were repeatedly diving at a little duck swimming around in the partially open water of the river in front of their house. One of the eagles would swoop down, and the duck would dive underwater to escape. It would stay under for a while, but when it finally popped up for air, another eagle would attack again. My dad theorized that they were trying to exhaust the duck to the point at which one of them could catch it. Its compatriots waited on the ice and in a tree, no doubt prepared to battle the hunter for the eventual prey. Diving underwater was the duck's only hope for survival, as out of water, it would have indeed become a sitting duck, an easy mark.

The tactic paid off. The eagles moved on for easier prey, and the duck lived to see another day.

Three eagles, one duck.
Sometimes the odds mean nothing:
lucky duck escaped.

January 7: Off

Last night my husband and I were the first on the scene of an odd car accident (not that there's such a thing as a "normal" one). As we drove along, it took both of us a moment to realize what we were seeing: a car tilted completely sideways, leaning up against a tree at a 90-degree angle. We could see the tracks in the greasy slush showing clearly how it had crossed lanes, slid off the road, then flipped. If not for the trees, it probably would've been upside-down.

My first comment was something like, "Wow, that's quite a slide." It wasn't till a few seconds later, when Paul asked if we should turn around, that I think it sank in for both of us that we were driving past what might be a serious crash. It was such an unexpected, extraordinary sight that it took that extended double-take for us to comprehend what we were seeing.

We approached the car with some trepidation, not knowing what we'd find. The car was silent. It seemed very strange to be confronted by the entire undercarriage, facing us like a wall. As Paul tried to see if anyone was in the vehicle--not easy when the accessible windows are all up in the air--I called the police. No one had reported an accident. And with some relief, we determined that no one was in the car, just the car keys in the ignition and a bunch of PBR cans floating around the interior. We did make out footprints running down the side of the road, which a policeman was still following after we gave our report and finally continued on home. We'll probably never know the rest of the story, but the surreal experience certainly inspired us to make up a few possibilities between us.

What are we seeing?
Fresh skid marks, flipped car roadside--
someone's strange story.