O Christmas Tree

For Many of us, this is how we remember our Christmas tree. Typically we think of the ornaments, lights and whatever presents it might be gathered around the tree stand. Early in their life as part of our families, Christmas trees tend to make men say things that are not very . . . well,  "Christmasy." They often say un-Christmasy things  while putting the tree into a stand or trying to get the lights set perfectly around (and around) so that the other decorations may be attached.
Once the tree is up and in its second phase of family life, it becomes appreciated and loved. But then, Christmas is over. What about that tree? This year my tree has been called to a second tour of duty. It will stay a bit longer in our family creating more happy memories and taking our minds away from that first day when it caused so much trouble.
 While I often leave the tree in its stand just by the front door a few days, it is usually due to procrastination and a sense of putting off the end of Christmas.  It seems so sad to dump that perfectly nice green tree.
There have been many years that I have taken it down but used it to protect my Azaleas or Rhododendrons, hoping that the deer will eat on the needles of our Christmas tree, sparing my garden plants. Now that we have a fence (Building a fence or more fence building)  we no longer have a problem with deer. 
This year, though, it was left out front with a purpose.


I have scattered sunflower seeds into the tree. Underneath, juncos, cardinals and song sparrows reap the benefits of seeds that fell through onto the concrete below.

Chickadees become tree-toppers

and a Carolina wren nuzzles among its boughs,

taking advantage of protection from the wind

as it seeks out seeds balanced against the needles.

Downy woodpeckers find nourishment froms suet hanging heavily from a branch.

Now, remember that cardinal you saw in Yesterday's blog? Well, you have probably guessed it.  It was perched in the Howard family Christmas tree.

The End of Our Trip

As I review my photographs from my wildflower outing with Pat's birding club I see that I have almost almost no usable photos.  We did see some nice birds, starting with this blurry Song sparrow which serenaded us along with a couple of its friends from Ohio River backwater's edge, along the road.

On the other side of the road we saw a couple Red-breasted Mergansers though you will just have to take my word for it because the photographs look like one of those UFO pictures used to prove the existence of aliens, all blurry and indistinct.

If you look very carefully, you will see a Red-bellied woodpecker pecking out a home in this dead tree.

My favorite sighting was of a Savannah sparrow seen at the Willow Island locks and dam parking lot. Pat set up his new scope, took a quick look then graciously stepped back to let everyone else have a peek.  There it was, perched quietly, looking like it had flown full-speed through a pool of yellow paint, the paint now splayed back across its head. The sparrow perched quietly, unmoving until we all had our fill of watching the bird - well almost all.  Pat, in his usual unselfish way, waited patiently for everyone else to see the bird. He then stepped up his scope, perfectly situated for viewing the Savannah sparrow. He leaned in toward the eye piece just as the sparrow flew off and out of sight.  His disappointment was palpable. For several of the viewers, it has been a "ho-hum" sighting.  They had seen Savannah sparrows before.  For Pat, it was among his first chances to see the bird. That is how Pat is, though. He is a friend who puts others first.

This day we also saw Cormorants, Greater scaups, Kingfishers, and other birds that I don't remember - I was there for the flowers. Today, I wanted to concentrate on life that didn't fly away. Though not flowers, I couldn't help but admire these trees, the first one for its wonderfully exposed root system . . .

. . . this one, below for the bends and twists of its branches that gave it the character of life . . .

. . .then the final tree, below, one who has gained beauty with its death, still erect on a hillside surrounded by moss and Blue-eyed marys.

Speaking of moss, I'm pretty sure that the photo below shows a man who has been still so long that his features have become covered in green. He has become part of the mountain

Wildflowers are so prevalent in the area partly because of little human disturbance.  There aren't many new homes or mobile homes.  What is left are homes and out-buildings with charm and beauty that comes only with age.

Our trip is over for the year.  I, for one, hated to return to the world of pavement and people.  I had a feeling that if I could open my arms wide enough to enfold the landscape in a giant hug that perhaps I could become part of it . . . to escape my ordered life and become part of the woodland scape. 

Could I become like one of the many plants that have been neatly planted - plants that are expected to stay put and behave? They are the plants that betray their upbringing to step, one root at a time, 

into the Wild.

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Comings and Goings

Missing in action are some of my bird feeder's migratory visitors.  In particular I miss the red breasted grosbeak. A regular visitor during spring migration, the red breasted grosbeak usually stops for a couple weeks here in the mid Ohio Valley on its way back to the West Virginia Highlands. 
The male wears his family colors like a shield upon his breast, announcing his presence with confidence. Even the female dressed in her camoflauging colors is striking with her clean white brow and spotted chest. West Virginians have been so taken by the red breasted grosbeak that we have put it on many of our lisence plates even though many of us have never seen the bird. 
I think that the same unusually warm spring that convinced plants to break through the earth a couple weeks early, also lured the red breasted grosbeak back into the mountains of West Virginia without first stopping in more temperate areas such as my front yard. 

I even bought an extra fifty pounds of sunflower seed so that they would not go hungry when they arrived. Much of it is being eaten by cowbirds.

Some guests who stayed all winter are still here though I expect them to fly away any day now.  The white throated sparrow still calls from the sourwood tree in my garden, introducing each call with a few high pitched notes

But even as these winter residents prepare to leave, the summer birds are returning.  A familiar spot in my walk brings to my ears the call off a wood thrush.  When I heard it I knew just where to look and there it was, calling from the same buckeye tree in which I found many times it last summer, watching me between songs. Welcome back friend.

 

Saturday evening I rested  on a newly painted glider in the fern garden watching as sensitive ferns seem to unfurl before my eyes. A familiar song finally moved from my subconcious hearing to the forfront insisting that I look into the trees to find its origin.  I finally found the singer amid the blooming hawthorn, appearing to enjoy the evening as much as I was.