A few days ago, a blue jay appeared at the feeder. My peripheral vision is used to the constant comings and goings of the little chickadees, wrens and juncos, so it was as if a pterodactyl landed. Everything else disappeared.

I chased it away, of course. It didn’t go far, I could hear it high up in the oaks, front and back, shrieking away. Today it landed again. Close behind was the large sparrow that shows up with its two friends. It is also not allowed on the feeding table. Last year I had to shut down operations for some time due to the large numbers that appeared overnight and ate like machines with feathers.

After shooing them away, I turned my back and there they were again, so I asked the sparrow, Are you the blue jay’s wife? Why do you show up together? Due to my soft heart, I let the sparrows eat what falls below the table. But when I leave the room and come back, there they are, eating the suet. And these are almost twice the size of the ones last year.

The towhees are back, but intimidated by the current feeding setup. They need space to land, so I will be changing the scenery once more. Last year, when they came swooping in, they looked like B52s, and when they had to feed their young, these landings were frequent and the food just vanished. So I don’t need to add jays and sparrows.

This morning I was ready to walk down the hall to work, since I work at home, thank goodness, given the rambunctiousness of the weather. A bubbling sound came from one of the toilets.

Not a good sign. We recently had a plumber out, not the one at Thanksgiving, but a better one, who gave us a 90-day warranty. Meanwhile, the other toilet wasn’t flushing. The family member noted the condition of the drains on the street, and he called PG&E.

Meanwhile, the non-flushing toilet corrected itself with a thunderous roar. The bubbling toilet became serene. The utility company was called again, and the request to come out was cancelled. However, a crew was coming out regardless.

All morning, the suet-eating birds were casting meaningful looks through the window. From what I could see, there was enough food out there till I could get through a large chunk of work, and I ignored them. Till I realized I had an opportunity to bond with the lone chickadee that will eat from my hand. With a perceived lack of food, maybe it would take a peanut from me today.

What does this have to do with toilets and utility men? Just wait. So I went outside with peanuts, and sure enough, the chickadee hops onto my hand, choosing a nut. Sparky, the hummingbird, had plenty of food in his feeder.

I got settled in with work again. The doorbell rang. A PG&E guy in full fluorescence asked where my clean out was. I hate it when this happens. Usually it means a call to a family member, and in this case, he said we had no clean out. He and the guy spoke at length on my cell.. The guy went back out front.

A few minutes later, here he comes with another guy, less fluorescence, bigger boots. They’ve had a long, trying day. At the same time, Sparky also comes in to his feeder, which is right beside my head. The guys tell me I should call the last plumber back, that there is a blockage somewhere in the line that will come back to haunt me. And that if he won’t honor the warranty, to not pay a cent. If that is the case, the PG&E guys will come back. Sparky makes his humming noise as if he’s truly annoyed.

Then the guys ask what do plumbers do since there is no clean out? They go up on the roof, I said. Sparky was sounding really upset. I know he’s only a couple of inches from my head. PG&E doesn’t go up on roofs, they told me.

So was Sparky guarding his territory? These guys sure had colors that outshone his, even on his sparkiest days.

Major light dimmings since I got up at 6-ish, a report in that the blocks surrounding us are already out, including street lights. Torrential rain, thunder, the works. First major storm of the season is a stunner. Pictures later if I can keep the camera dry, which I was unable to yesterday.

Really coming down out there, the air looks green. And so, the commute will be messy tonight.

Not that strenuous, but still. This morning we went to the percolator ponds in Campbell, and after lunch, to Alviso. The Los Gatos Trail is indeed crowded with bikers, joggers and walkers. At the Alviso sloughs, I was the only one without an enormous lens or two or three. One day I’ll stop going, ‘Wow’ when I see these lenses up close.

They were all aimed at the herons. Breeding season seems to be right around the corner for many birds, and the herons had spots all staked out in the reeds.

It’s true that squirrels possess a unique intelligence. But once in a great while, they trip up. Faithful readers know that we relocate as many squirrels as we can. Some say this doesn’t work.

It does for us. Months go by when we don’t see one in the yard. I bait a large trap with peanut butter-covered stale shelled walnuts. This worked fine until last week when I spotted one of my friendly chickadees robbing the trap. Birds seldom get caught due to their light weight, but once or twice, a towhee managed to set it off. Which is why I have the trap in plain sight.

My supply of nuts has gotten low, so I didn’t bait the trap. A few minutes ago, I watched as a squirrel sniffed all around the cage, then went cautiously inside. Perhaps it still smelled like peanut butter. Slam! Tonight it will be in a better place, five or more miles from here.

Yesterday I was trying very hard to get a shot of this fellow in dense fog that had just lifted from pea soup status. Knowing, of course, that my 300mm lens was not equal to the task. Behind me I could hear voices.

The accompanying family member was talking to a couple, and they were discussing whether this was a harrier or not. After a bit, they came to the conclusion that indeed it was, and a female at that. Then the woman approached me.

Woman: That’s a hawk.
Me (silence)
Woman: A harrier. Now turn around, I want you to see something.
Me (turning warily)
Woman: See that bird out there? That’s a willet. And farther out, see those? Those are goldeneyes.
Me: I thought that was a sandpiper.
Woman: No, it’s a willet.

They moved on. The hawk moved on. Suddenly, the family member exclaimed. The couple had paused near a bench. The harrier landed directly on the bench in front of them. And stayed there.

Naturally we made our way over, and as these things happen, it flew off before we got close enough for a shot that was not up in the fog.

That was the second amazing thing of the day. Here’s the first:

I’d never seen one before except on a set of drinking glasses my dad favored for his beer.

When the tree-cutting truck pulled into the court this morning, I knew prospects were dim. While I’m glad some of the very mature trees in the neighborhood are coming down, the grinding of the composting machine two doors away is already making me grit my teeth.

Wait, wait. Either the guys are having an early lunch or are finishing up early. Hmm. Usually they are here all day.

A large bag of Christmas decorations, including bells, slid to the floor from a chair about an hour after the Milpitas-centered 4.1 quake.

Another reminder to put holiday stuff away.

Milpitas. The whole house just seemed to move. Strongest one I’ve felt in years here in Sunnyvale.

Just now? The house kind of rippled.

At Shoreline this morning, it was having great luck finding food.

Sploosh!

Got it!