February 22: Crow in flight

After watching a crow's labored flight through the darkening late afternoon sky...

Day's ending: I stop
longer than needed to watch
crow's slow flight to roost.

February 21: Eagle

Driving to the post office on my lunch break, I caught a glimpse of a large bird soaring over a downtown neighborhood: bald eagle! Its white tail caught the light as I drove past. Never get tired of that sight, even after seeing more than a dozen of them yesterday.

One more bald eagle--
yet still I slow down, look up
as it flies over.

February 20: Birthday

Thanks to the fact that this year they decided to make my birthday a federal holiday, my husband and I got to spend the day birding the Midcoast, with a late lunch stop at Morse's Sauerkraut. We made yet another unsuccessful pass through the Samoset to look for the snowy owl, heard fish crows in Rockland, wandered some old cemeteries in the Thomaston-Warren area, saw about a dozen bald eagles, hiked up Beech Hill, and just generally enjoyed a relaxing day off together.

I've always been drawn to old cemeteries. I love to read the inscriptions that telegraph each family's history, some even including narrative: "drowned at sea," "died in Nova Scotia," etc. One we visited today had stones more than 200 years old, the words and images carved in the tall slate slabs still legible. Old oaks, maples, and elms hang over the graves, their roots mingling with the long-dead under the soil. They're places for quiet, for reflecting on how brief and precious life is, and occasionally, for finding an interesting bird (like a flock of fat, red-bellied robins).

I'm not too old yet
to enjoy walking around
old cemeteries.

February 19: Cowboy boots

My visiting sister and brother-in-law and I went shopping today while my parents watched my nieces. Downtown at one of those antique co-ops where each vendor has their own section, way in the back corner, is a room full of vintage cowboy boots. I've always secretly wanted cowboy boots, and apparently my brother-in-law has too. (My sister has not only owned more than one pair--including a very cool purple pair I coveted when we were younger--but she was even wearing cowboy boots today.) He turned up a pair of very cool black Tony Lama lizard-skin boots, very snazzy looking. Then I found a pair almost exactly the same style except in brown. We both agreed that the boots felt like they were made for us, and that wearing them gave us a tougher new attitude. So we bought them. Happy birthday to me! Now I'm ready to do some walkin'...

Old cowboy boots on,
I find myself wanting to
drink whiskey, kick ass.

February 18: Goose

Sitting at the computer this morning with the cat next to me, we both heard a goose honk overhead, somewhere far above the house. The cat was very responsive to the sound, which I found interesting since she's strictly an indoor cat and doesn't normally pay a whole lot of attention to what's going on out the windows.

Even the house cat
turns her head when the goose calls
while flying high, north.

February 17: Not the owl I was looking for

Yesterday a friend shared beautiful photos that he got of the snowy owl flying a few days ago near the Rockland Breakwater, and I have to confess they were taunting me. Having some free time this morning, I decided to try yet again to see this elusive and charismatic bird. There was no one walking on the breakwater when I arrived, so I was hopeful. But a quick scan showed it free of birds, as well. A walk on the Samoset grounds also proved fruitless. No agitated crows, no white lumps in the distance.

But I decided to make the most of my outing and see what else was around. In the waters around the breakwater I observed several loons fishing for crabs, a horned grebe, and some buffleheads. A string of eiders drifted past, and a merganser flew overhead. On the beach a ring-billed gull interacted with two herring gulls. And then, a big bird flying over the water caught my eye. It was bulky like an owl, but not white, so not the snowy. I got a better look with my binoculars and was astonished to realize that it was an owl--a short-eared owl! Not at all what I expected!

I've only seen short-eared owls flying over fields, flapping and gliding, dipping low over the grass, turning acrobatically in mid-air. This owl showed the same flight behavior, only it was over the ocean. I watched its every move, fascinated. It swooped low over the water. What was it going to do, catch a fish? Where was it going? Was it going to fly across the outer harbor over to appropriately named Owls Head?

Eventually the bird landed on leeward rocks near the end of the breakwater, out of sight. I didn't want to walk out to try for a closer look, because I'm sure that would have flushed it, causing it needless stress. So after waiting a bit to see if it would move to the top of the breakwater, I left. No snowy owl, yet again, but I was not at all disappointed at what turned up in its place.

Ocean a wide field
for a stray owl to explore.
Cold rocks offer rest.

February 16: Sunrise

The Rotary club I belong to meets on Thursday mornings, a breakfast club. I'm not a morning person, so it's always a challenge for me to get up for these meetings. The camaraderie and the hearty breakfast make it worthwhile once I get there, but that first half-hour each Thursday as I try to get out of the house on time is usually a sluggish one.

What perks me up, however, is a glimpse of the rising sun on my way into town. This morning I was still in a daze as I drove in for the meeting, but when I crested the hill on Washington Street where one finally gets a view of the harbor, the rosy sky glowed so beautifully that I caught my breath.

Worth getting up for--
stirring light show of today's
rosy-fingered dawn.

February 14: My Funny Valentine

Earlier on this holiday of love, I was thinking that my valentine of the day was hearing the titmice singing their courtship songs along the banks of the still-frozen river. What could be more romantic than birds singing songs of love? But this afternoon, as I was talking to a co-worker, a yellow lab appeared at the  glass door leading out to the porch. With no owner in sight, this cute little dog looked in expectantly, tail wagging, no doubt ready to lavish us with slobbery dog kisses if we'd open the door. We exclaimed how sweet our visitor was just as turned away and ran off up the hill, apparently heeding the call of its (still invisible) owner.

My husband has to put up with my watching the Westminster Dog Show every year. Tonight is the final judging. He quickly gets disgusted with such a blatant display of genetic manipulation and inbreeding. I just enjoy marveling at all the different breeds of dogs humans have produced--all those shapes, sizes, and colors for so many different reasons. There are dogs for every purpose: the Norwegian lundehund, for example, has six toes so that it can climb cliffs and hunt puffins; the toys are bred to be companion dogs; it's in the border collie's genes to herd, as my sister who owns one can attest; the bloodhound is a scent hound that can track its quarry's dried blood. There are 13" beagles and 15" beagles, and three different varieties of dachshund. There are elkhounds, deerhounds, and coonhounds; dogs that point, dogs that retrieve. The Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever apparently creates a ruckus in the water to attract curious geese and ducks. The Pekingese, once only owned by Chinese royalty, doesn't even look like a dog as it toddles around the show floor. Truly, without even entering the realm of mutts, there's a dog for everyone... if you want one. I like to think that its like that with humans, too.

Little dog visits
just to see us, devoted
for those brief seconds.

February 13: Robins

A friend birding up in the Machias area today reported seeing hundreds of Newfoundland robins--those bigger, darker Canadian robins that visit the Maine coast each winter for their version of the French Riviera. We had a mini wave of these northern birds at the office this morning. I counted up to 12 robins scratching around under an apple tree outside my window. Not having many other birds to distract me, I got out the binoculars to admire these visiting thrushes. Fluffed up in the cold, they looked especially large, and the white markings around their eyes were as especially visible. These looked like robins with a mission, moving from apple tree to berry bush to crabapple, gleaning the late-lingering, shriveled up, frozen fruits of last summer.

Robins, not much else.
The eye is drawn to what moves
in this cold landscape.

February 12: Not finding the owl (again)

Yesterday at 7:40 a.m. a friend emailed that there was a snowy owl on the Rockland Breakwater. I got the message at 8:30, was down there by 9:00. Of course by then it had flown (probably away from the people walking on the breakwater). But from the path I could hear a bunch of crows making a racket--the kind of racket they make when mobbing an owl. I could see them going after something on the roof of one of the buildings at the Samoset Resort, which abuts the Breakwater Park. But the roof itself was not visible from any angle on the ground, alas. And even more unfortunate, I had to be back in Camden by 9:30, so I couldn't wait around for the owl to get fed up with the crows and move on to a hopefully more visible perch. So I left frustrated in my owl quest. (My friend later confirmed that the owl had indeed flown from the breakwater to the building the crows had pegged.)

This is not the first time I've missed a snowy owl. For several winters during my childhood a snowy owl would perch on the roof of the historic Finnish church in South Thomaston; my dad and I drove down there several times to see it without success. Unlike many birders I know, I'm not a "bird magnet." Cool birds don't come easy to me.

My husband and I went back early this afternoon and walked all around the Samoset grounds despite the icy blasts of wind coming straight off the water. Lots of Canada geese, a few mergansers, but no snowy owl. I guess I'll just have to take comfort in knowing it was there yesterday, even if I couldn't see it. (As small consolation, I did see a pileated woodpecker fly across the road as I was driving back to Camden.)

Owl not seen, again.
Yet I could feel its presence
in that Arctic wind.

February 11: National Toboggan Championships

Spent the day at the Camden Snow Bowl for the annual US National Toboggan Championships, first working at the West Bay Rotary Chowder-Chili Challenge tent, and later hanging out with my friends while waiting for my brother-in-law's team, the Schleddy Balls, to take their run. The Toboggan Championships is a festive weekend at the Snow Bowl, with vendors offering fair-like treats and lots of tents, geodesic domes, etc. on the ice for partying. People-watching opportunities abound, from the costumed teams--including the Royal Dutch Toboggan team dressed up like some sort of cross between Marie Antoinette and geishas, a hula-skirted team from Hawaii, my brother-in-law's team with giant sports balls on their head, to Little Sled Riding Hood, a four-person team composed of Little Sled Riding Hood, a wolf (that repeatedly upset a small Boston terrier), grandma in her flannel nightgown, and a woodcutter whose axe did double duty as a meatball-spearing utensil--to observers ranging from locals checking out the scene to visitors from afar marveling at the entertainment. A lot of tail-gating was going on, and one tent seemed to be offering a dance party with hula hoops. I ate a corn dog for the first time in years (as well as many meatballs). And all day the snow fell without seeming to accumulate, as the sun appeared but shone in vain. At day's end, as I was picking up my car in the shuttle parking area, fireworks were bursting over Camden harbor. This event is one of the reasons I love living here--crazy, eclectic, active, and embracing the winter season and a broad diversity of people; what more could one ask for in mid-February?

The ride down the chute
is the least of it: winter
needs this festive break.