In the midst of the fear and uncertainty of current events, I have found some solace in the everyday, carry-on-as-usual activity of Sialia sialis, i.e the Eastern Bluebird. I built a box last year and hung in on a tree close to our house, positioned so that I could lazily sit at my kitchen window and watch the activity. A pair of bluebirds made multiple trips in and out of the box but never made a nest. Suspecting they got spooked by the household activity and domestic pet presence I moved the box during the winter months to a more suitable location
I started surveying the box at the beginning of March. We had a cool rainy start to the year which apparently can put off bluebirds from nesting. Nonetheless on 3/21 I was rewarded with this sight
The next day there were two more eggs (not shown), the day after that four, and then the final total became five
Apparently five eggs is the most common number. Each egg is 21 mm long on average, just under an inch. Nest is made entirely of grass. Though my observations were limited, I never saw an adult bird bring in nesting material. Though I didn’t check the box every day, the nest seemed to appear magically – one day the box was empty and the next time I checked there was a substantial collection of grass, perfectly formed in a cup like shape, crowned by the first egg. Also, I didn’t’ see a adult bird near the nest until after all five eggs were laid when I spotted a female bluebird perched nearby. Understandably she didn’t want to start sitting the eggs until they were all laid so as to have a uniform time of incubation. Sure enough, the day after the five eggs were present Mamma Bird was on the nest. As I approached I could see her head poking up in the slot entrance to espy intruders. When I pulled the door down, off she flew until I had inspected the clutch and then walked away. Bluebirds are very tolerant of inspection and handling of the nest by humans. I got Vikki to do one inspection, too:
So I will continue to watch and see the progress. MB started sitting the eggs either 3/25 or 3/26. I am eager to see if the male shows up–in my experience both birds usually help in feeding the nestlings.
I find watching the natural history of these birds surprisingly soothing. This ancient process, repeated billions of times, testifies to the eternal will to survive that fuels all of Nature. Our lives, even during a pandemic, have their own rhythm and fate as well. We often steal from our futures by trying to project our wants and fears onto a tapestry that we only faintly control. These little birds remind me to appreciate the beauty of simple pleasures and the grace of creation, mostly separate from all of humankind’s worries and scheming.
Wendell Berry speaks to these sentiments:
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives might be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light.
For a time
From The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry (Counterpoint, 1999)
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
(in SOTA-speak W4G/HC-024) was nearby, just a 3 mile hike from my house. Altitude was 720 m, about 300 m of ascent from my house. I packed all my gear, put some warm clothes on, and started off before dawn, using a headlamp to find my way in the dark though I knew the trail well. The temperature was about 35℉ but there wasn’t much wind. I quickly got overheated and had to ditch the heavy sweater I was wearing. I got to the hilltop without any trouble and started to set up. On top the wind was a lot worse, whistling briskly across, and the downwind side of the summit was mostly a sheer cliff, so it was tough to shelter. As I stopped moving I quickly got cold. Putting the rig and gear together I tried to find some stations to contact. I did manage a mangled CW contact in Indiana with one fellow, but it was tough: cold finger, portable paddles, and wind howling around your ears do not make for ideal listening or sending especially with my rusty technique. Next I attempted SSB for a phone contact on 40 and 20 m bands with no luck, calling CQ multiple times there with no response. Frustrated and starting to get cold, I took the easy way out and got on 2 m FM simplex and chatted with 3 or 4 of the local hams in the nearby neighborhood to complete the minimum number of contacts for the activations points . I was starting to shiver so I decided to call it a morning, packed up my gear, and hiked off the mountaintop. My frozen toes and fingers rapidly warmed up. The final dregs of the coffee from my thermos were gratefully gulped and I went home happy but humbled.
remnants of the old WW II training site where some of the first US missile program testing was performed.
As you might expect, once off the paved path I didn’t encounter a single other person on foot or bike. The day was cool but there was some extra work trolling across the sandy surface since moving sand around with your bike tires doesn’t translate to much forward momentum.
days later Vikki and I went back for a hike on some of the other trails that were too sandy for bike travel. Once there we saw some lovely coastal lakes, tide pools and tall dunes up to about 25 feet tall.
The day was quiet and warm. No one else was around. I wanted to find an alligator but never spotted one.
We also encountered some very old twisted wire in an oddly arranged pattern that resembled a long rectangular grid. I thought this might be some relic of the old WW II program but I couldn’t be sure. In any case we were off the beaten path and enjoyed a great walk.
Well after watching some of the Tour de France this month, I wanted to relate one of my own cycling near-death experiences. A couple of months ago I was eager to go out in the early evening for a quick bike ride. It was typical southern summer weather: hot, humid, with frequent afternoon thunderstorm cells popping up. I’ve come to rely on one of the popular weather apps for the iPhone which typically does an excellent job of predicting when it’s going to rain. When I checked the app, it didn’t describe any nearby storm cells by radar, so I clicked in and started off.
One gains a brief glimpse into the monastic rhythm of waking, praying, working, and sleeping, over and over, in the context of a small community of men pledged to spend the rest of their lives in this one place. I am powerfully drawn to this experience, as are many others-weekend retreats are typically full of people like myself.
After a little work, I got it sliding across the page just like the year it was made. And oh how it slides-a good FP has almost effortless motion on good paper with modern inks. One can individualize the experience though the choice of nib width from bold to extra-fine. There are even italic and music nibs which give a different ink width between upstroke or down. Flex nibs can narrow or broaden the delivered ink stream depending upon the pressure exerted. With a fountain pen serving as an extension of the hand, tactile pleasure results from watching and feeling the output of one’s brain come to life.
The Parker 75 Cisele is a classic design which spoke to me from it’s shelf in that drugstore off Tremont Street close to Boston Common, though nowadays the pen feels too small in my somewhat large hands. Modern designs are varied and high in quality as well. I love my Conklin Duragraph FP seen here.