Birds and Buds

Great Horned Owl and chick, Bennington Lake                    © Diane B. Reed

We made the mistake of planting tomatoes too early. After a few nights of light frost the plastic shrouded plants looked like they might make it. But the final night of the cold snap dipped below 27 degrees and they gave up. Hopefully I can convince my other half that the conventional wisdom about waiting until Mother's Day might be judicious. In the meantime I'm resigned to being patient as the season unfolds.

Crows cavorting on a windy spring day                              © Diane B. Reed

The birds, however, are not holding back. The Great Horned Owl chicks are already outgrowing their nest holes, peering out at the world from the cliff openings.
    At the Lions Park pond the Mallards have disappeared into the woods along Garrison Creek and we're waiting for the first flotilla of baby ducks to make their appearance. We hope it's not during tomorrow's fishing derby when the pond will be ringed by hopeful young anglers.
     We're a little worried about our summer visitors, the Ospreys. They usually arrive just before they stock the pond for the fishing derby, but we haven't seen them yet. Hope they had a safe migration back to the Valley and will soon be perched in the big Cottonwood tree overlooking the pond. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, enjoy this poem and hope for spring's full bloom.

Today

 Spring blooms                                           © Diane B. Reed

by Billy Collins

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house
and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,
a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies
seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking
a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,
releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage
so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting
into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

New Beginnings

Clouds over Lower Dry Creek, Walla Walla Valley                  © Diane B. Reed

    
     It appears that Spring is finally settling in, despite some cold overnight temperatures and occasional frost. Irrigation is in full swing in the Walla Walla Valley and planted fields are a lush shade of green. We've cleaned up winter debris from the garden and the flowers and grasses are slowly beginning to emerge. The last daffodils (the ones in the shade of the back yard) have bloomed and the trees are beginning to leaf out.
     It's transition time around the pond. The Great Blue Heron, which has been foraging in the fields for mice and other prey is stopping by the pond to look for fish. We've had a pair of Common Mergansers which have been having some luck diving for small fish. In a few weeks they'll be stocking the pond with fish for the fishing derby and for the season. We expect the Ospreys to arrive back in the Valley about the same time. While they're nesting and feeding their young they'll be regulars at the pond, taking turns fishing every couple of daylight hours.

Red-Tailed Hawks nesting  © Diane B. Reed

     Nesting is already underway for many birds. A pair of Red- Tailed Hawks have already taken up residence in a large tree on Lower Dry Creek Road, and I hear that the Great Horned Owls have already moved into their nest hole at Bennington Lake. No sign of the babies yet, but it won't be long before they're peering out at the lake. 
     The air is full of bird song around the pond.  Brightening goldfinches are coming into their summer plumage and showing off for potential mates.
     As we move into Spring, I leave you with the inspiration of Mary Oliver's poem.    

 

Such Singing in the Wild Branches 

Spring flowers at Bennington Lake                          © Diane B. Reed

by Mary Oliver 

It was spring
and finally I heard him
among the first leaves—
then I saw him clutching the limb

in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still

and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness—
and that's when it happened,

when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree—
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing—
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfectly blue sky— all, all of them

were singing.
And, of course, yes, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last

for more than a few moments.
It's one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you've been there,
you're there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then— open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.