Showing posts with label Birdhouse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Birdhouse. Show all posts

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Chicken Little . . . Or . . . A Little Chicken . . .

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Seems like a lot of folks are saying these days, "The sky is falling, the sky is falling", and for flightless birds, that may be the case. But I'm not going to go into any of that here. And as much as I'd like to stay sitting on the fence rail in the previous post, the show must go on, as they say. Today the show will ask you to take a side trip to Pine River, Michigan, USA, where World Bird Wednesday is in progress still. Mr. Springman does some of the finest bird photography I've ever seen anywhere, it is as simple as that. And he hosts World Bird Wednesday, where anyone can post their own bird photos. So, this is my entry, though it be so humble as an ordinary free range chicken from southern France. I can't claim to be a fine wildlife photographer, but I wanted to participate in WBW this week simply to spread the word a little bit about the beautiful bird shots over there. Audubon is smiling down from wherever he is.
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Sunday, March 22, 2009

Nostalgia !

While thinking about my grandparents, in April 2008, so almost one year ago now, I went back to the place where they lived in South Jersey, not far from Atlantic City. The 400 acres of pine woods and salt marsh had been sold, supposedly to be turned into a park, but in fact nothing has happened at all, and their old house is deteriorating sadly away in the woods, which are now badly infested with deer ticks, probably carrying Lyme disease. So as much as the place pulled hard on my heart strings, I didn't stay terribly long, just long enough to hike around a bit, and out to the place between two islands (see poem way below here near the start of this blog). Behind the house by the garden there had been large birdhouses on high wood poles, that were always full of busy birdlife . . . but the birdhouses had fallen on hard times, and fallen right down on the ground . . . nothing lasts forever.
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Just across from the main house was a small outbuilding we always called Sad Shack for some obscure reason. The paint was peeling, but this bright blooming pink tree put a prettier touch on all the intense nostalgia in the air that day. . .
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