Here we are on the farm and its November
Lots of stuff happening on the farm, as I call it. It used to be a farm but what remains are remnants of a farm. The remnants include: old, old apple trees, hedge rows of rock along the trails, a boarded outhouse, old tools, and wood beamed structures.
The things happening might bore people, it takes time and patience to see them. You can not click for faster results.
The weather fluctuated this week between warm, almost balmy Indian summer to a cold, still winter evening. We took walks and heard the shots of deer season. I learned what to do when our dog Macadew gets stuck on a woodland scent. Mesmerized, he doesn’t respond to our physical presence or treats, but he did SNAP OUT OF IT when I blew a whistle in his face.
Early in the week, a hawk grabbed one of my husband’s beautiful white pigeons. The hawk did not eat it all…he left it on the semi-frozen pond. My husband tried to retrieve it and give it a proper burial, but it was too far away from in the pond’s bank.
On Wednesday morning, we heard a bang, a crash. We saw a splotch on the window and we knew, a bird had crashed into our kitchen window. The flying-fickle-finger of fate,
the beautiful mourning dove flying at full speed towards the sky’s reflection when boom, gone in an instant. for info on the mourning dove, click
My husband then called my attention to the backyard, a sunny, snow crusted landscape.
The grey squirrels were running to the base of the black walnut trees from their wooded home. They collected nuts and ran back. Then the red squirrels emerged to run after their fair share. All squirrels running furiously, nervously, looking around to see who or what might catch them as they dashed for their savings of winter food.
Then, down on the iced-over pond, a crow. The black scavenger set his feet upon the ice to consume the pigeon. One bird’s trash is another’s treasure.
Nature’s drama: not personal, unless you’re the bird that crashed into the window or the squirrels trying to get enough to survive.
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