Tag Archives: travel

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early wren

I recorded this in Wisconsin, with my phone. You may need to turn it up to hear it.

Recording of me exchanging songs with a wren.

I adore wrens. If I hear one and sing to it, it will sing back. Wrens change their songs all over the place. This one is very very patient with me, even though I am a terrible wren. At least I am trying, and this graceful musician is kind and encouraging, even though she is a professional.

I don’t think I ever saw the wren. I started chirping and trying to imitate the song when I heard it. Then I started recording. I don’t know how long we practiced together.

I am not good at wren songs. I am very good at chickadee, fairly good at eagle, and had a great blue heron back track and land in a tree when I tried that “BRAACCCKKKKK!” noise. Great Blue Herons sound like I imagine a pteradactyl sounded. There is an even more odd sounding bird, though. My daughter and I are walking around a small lake here and hear a monstrous sound. We stop and listen. We can’t identify it. We decide that it is not a cougar or a bear, and quietly walk forward, with caution.

It is a group of cormorants. It is twilight and there is a log sticking up out of the water. They are jockeying for position on the log. We think they are trying to roost for the night. As each one clambers up the water end, someone else is jostled and someone falls in the water. They are arguing in deep hoarse voices.

My daughter and I watch for a while. I don’t try to imitate the cormorants because I am afraid I will spook them. They are getting ready for bed. It is nearly dark so we walk on the the car and home.

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: noises.

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Not a fox?

I think I have a photograph of a fox somewhere. I know I do. Not on this laptop. I do have a coyote.

As I think this, I am looking though photographs. Oh, this.

I am not going to outfox someone. I am going to outleopard them. After all, I am a single older woman. A fox? A leopard? Usually we are called cougars.

Fine with me.

For the RDP: outfox.

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pink rose

This rose has only one bloom so far this year. This rose came from Portland. A friend of mine bought a house and said he was digging up the yard for all edibles. “What about the roses?” I ask. “You want them?” “Yes.” So this rose arrived in a plastic bag with two others. One has died and two remain. The other one has not bloomed yet. Travel shock of this sort seems to last for years.

But I am delighted with this rose. I want to spoil it and fuss over it. I love roses.

For Cee’s Flower of the Day.

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skulls

I took this on my trip in March 2022. So far no one has guessed where I was correctly. There is a wonderful Zoology and Science Museum. A mystery for you to consider, where was I?

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: ancient.

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soft foot and arms too

Tenderfoot reminds me of my sister and our family’s summer visits to Lake Matinenda. We lived in tents. My grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins were all in cabins.

We were always the last to head home. We usually mislaid our flipflops, towels, t-shirts and flashlights, so we head down the path in the dark. When I was little I have cuts every summer in the arch of my foot. I learn to walk in the dark on the path with the foot curled and lightly, so that if there is something sharp I can change weight to the other foot. If there are two sharps in a row, usually rocks, I get cut anyhow, but less often. I still love to take my shoes off on the paths there.

I would go this summer except for the oxygen. We did not bring in electricity. I do not quite feel up to acquiring a solar panel/battery combination that is adequate this year. It’s also the heavy lifting. We drink the lake water and bring it up in buckets. We do filter it, but carrying the buckets. It just does not seem like a brilliant idea alone with my lungs still challenged.

Anyhow, here is another soft footed and soft armed creature. This is taken at the Baltimore Aquarium a few years ago.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: tenderfoot.

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conservation of energy

“Zippy?” says Elwha. “The sun is out. We should just lie in the sun. We are conserving energy, absorbing it.”

Do cats make vitamin D? We had sun yesterday and we have been having rain for MONTHS.

Meanwhile, the zippy group are the sailors doing the R2AK! After the initial terrible weather for the first leg, with three boats capsizing and one dismasted, only a few make it to Victoria the first day! Other boats sheltering at Dungeness Spit until the weather got less hairball and then crossed. Boats left Victoria at noon yesterday. Blessings for the rescuers and the rescued! Follow the race here: https://r2ak2022.maprogress.com/#

Remember, this race is human powered. Sails and some other mode, paddlewheel or rowing or bicycle power. No support boats and they have to carry all their supplies! The first prize is $10,000 and the second prize is the coveted set of steak knives.

Field reports are posted daily. Hooray for the zippy, brave, and hopefully reasonably cautious sailors and rowers! Go teams!

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: zippy.

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wild game

My maternal family played a wild game every summer when I was growing up. Wild in that we were in cabins, on a lake, no electricity, no television, living in tents and cabins. My grandparents had two cabins, my Uncles each had one and we were in tents. I loved our tents, though. I still have the tent that my sister and I used. It is over 50 years old now and doesn’t leak. We had very strict rules about tent care. And canoe care. And we could use all the tools but had to PUT THEM BACK. We had aladdin lamps and candles and drank the lake water. We filter it now, and the cabins are still there.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: game.

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Caduceus Hair

A physician says to me, β€œYou might have had more friends and been more successful in your career if you had been put on medication a long time ago.”

I think, β€œYou f—ing bitch.” Nothing shows on my face. The doctor face is pleasant on the surface and the stone face that guards my feelings is deeper. I could show you the snakes and you would turn to stone but I would go to jail.

Your words don’t go away. They fester, a deep deep wound. I ask my other doctor, β€œIf my only symptom of pneumonia is my mood, no white count, no fever, how would I know if I had pneumonia if I were medicated?”

I think back. Age twenty five with belly pain, emergency room, CT scan and then a sigmoidoscopy. I couldn’t eat, it hurt so bad. The emergency room offers me valium. β€œNo,” I say, β€œmy father is an alcoholic. I won’t take that.” I am sent to counseling. The counselor, smug, blonde, polished, wants to send me to her husband, a psychiatrist, for drugs. β€œNo,” I say, β€œmy father is an alcoholic. I want talk therapy not drugs.” I am very very afraid.

Things get better.  I tell the counselor thank you. β€œYou can’t stop now,” she says, β€œYou must continue the counseling. Or you will have problems later on.” I go once more. She says I must keep coming. I speak to a family friend, a PhD psychologist, who encourages me to say no. I cancel. No regrets.

I am not an alcoholic. I don’t smoke. I don’t use pot nor CBD. I never tried cocaine or meth or opioids or crack. I can tell an addict by their charm: the sick people are not charming nor the people in for maintenance. The moment a person tries to charm me I wonder what they want.

The physician is wrong and cruel besides. Valium is addictive and is still overused. I could have taken the path of psychiatric medicine but I chose not to.

I will find another doctor who is less stupid and cruel. They do exist. I know, because I am one.

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