A pair has been around the yard for a few months. Still very shy, they head for the hills the second they see me move toward the door. This afternoon I was distracted by the beef stew simmering on the stove, and headed out for something in the garage. To my amazement, eight or nine doves instantly flew up to the oak trees. Maybe there are some young ones in the flock, but as I look at the five directly in front of me on the patio right now, they all seem to be the same size. Here comes number six.

I haven’t replenished the seed on the table. The towhees scatter anything loose in all directions, and I’m tired of sweeping every day. The doves are eating the dropped nyger seed from the finch sock. There are now eight goldfinches, counting the babies. I saw the juvenile towhee today, almost the same size as its parents, kind of rangy-looking.

A few days ago, there was a new frantic sound, the rapid buzzing of a hungry fledgling on the ground. It was big.

Alongside the parent junco, it looked enormous. My first thought was, this can’t be a junco. Maybe it was a hybrid. A quick check proved me wrong. Till today I had only seen it in the agitated, fluffed out stage. The parents seemed bent on leaving it behind to forage on the millions of nyger seeds dropped by the goldfinches. This it would do, but as soon as it spotted a parent, it turned up the volume on the buzzing, chasing them all over the yard.

This morning, as it fed alone on the seeds, a dove landed. Immediately, it unfluffed itself, and I could see that it had the lean lines of a junco. But I kind of prefer it all poufy.

Those dang squirrels. Those dang crows. Via Zooillogix.

There I was, minding my own business after a fine lunch that included a protein and not one but two veggies. My usual bird friends were fairly calm, and the only discordant note was a bluejay that kept swooping in and stealing their food. Then the raccoon appeared.

Around the corner it came. High up in the oaks, the crows began to screech loudly. The door was open as usual. Quickly I went outside, closing the door behind me, grabbed the camera and tripod and went after the rapidly disappearing creature. It loped across the back patio, and ducked under the shed.

Every bird and squirrel in the surrounding trees set up a huge outcry. I went back to work. No photos. In a few minutes, the alarm sounds went up again as I heard something big crashing through the ivy on top of the fence.

A little blurry, I was nervous.

About a week ago, I found a dove sitting on her nest on the fence. She froze, even though she tended to flee at the slightest human movement near the feeding table. The day after, all that remained was the nest with one broken egg and a lot of feathers scattered on the ground and caught on the vines.

Now I know what happened.

It went along the fence easily, as if it had done this many times before. At the spot where the dove had her nest, it stopped to see if another dinner awaited. Then it climbed down the other side. I didn’t go after it.

But if it comes back along the same route, I’ll be ready.

Earlier, I’d mentioned that Sparky seemed to be in the last stages of a molt. Over the holiday weekend, we noticed what appeared to be a new hummer at the feeder.

Last year at certain times, Sparky would change to what I called his courting colors. His gorget colors extended to his head, and he would sit all puffed out, swaying from side to side to attract the Missus when he wasn’t doing the stunt flying. But then, once back at the feeder, he looked his normal sleek, mostly green and white self.

This newcomer might or might not be Sparky. His head and throat are a deep magenta all the time, it seems. If indeed it is the new, improved Sparky, he must have requested a custom color job on the molt.

But near sunset, something magical happens. When the light is just right, a lot of that magenta turns to gold.

And then when I catch him blinking and sticking his tongue out, well that just gets a little strange.

Sorry for the blurry action, he and I still aren’t back on our old routine of sharp close-up footage yet.

When Sparky deploys it, he looks a little spooky. He’s still recovering from his adventures, might be going through the last stages of a molt, judging from the look of some of his feathers.

If I was uncertain if it was really him, all doubts were dispelled today when he appeared to challenge one of the goldfinches.

It is said that a wandering hummingbird will want to find his old feeder in the same spot upon his return. So far, I’m keeping it right in front of where I work, which is too shady a spot for photos. Once he gets used to his old routine, I’ll move it. Not very far, just to where there’s some better light. Perhaps by the weekend, I can take some video. I’ve sold more of Sparky than anything else.

Last year, he would get irritated whenever I moved the feeder, but eventually he got used to it. The bird population has grown considerably since he left, especially in the goldfinch category. If he contributed to the demise of that other hummingbird, he probably won’t take nonsense from them, even if they are bigger.

My optometrist took one look at my bloodshot eyes, and handed me a list of ‘approved’ artificial tear products. The one I have in the medicine cabinet is not on this list. Few stores carry these brands. Since I needed to check out birdhouses at Walmart (best prices, if you need one), the family member and I found ourselves there after supper.

Shortly after our arrival, someone knocked down a glass jar of pickles. A baby began crying, as one always does in this store. Well, I can understand.

We try to make our visits as brief as possible. On our way out, the two gentlemen in front of us reminded me of People of Walmart. One had on overalls and a t-shirt that was underneath them, but not tucked in right so he had this ballooning thing going on. On the back of his gray head, he had a little braid. Short but definitely braided. The other guy looked normal, but someone had to spend some time enabling this braiding.

And by the way, out of the eight ‘approved’ tears list, Walmart has six. That is truly amazing. (I got the GenTeal mild to moderate.)

Please bear with me, he’s been gone a couple of months, looks scruffy and has gotten camera shy again. Here is a terrible shot through a really dirty window in very little light:

How do I know it’s him? Between 7:00 and 7:56 p.m. tonight, he has come by the feeder more than 10 times. The only other hummers don’t sit and feed like he does, they sip and are gone within seconds. He knows it’s his feeder, and takes his own sweet time.

Which begs the question, where did that hummingbird body we found in the deer scare (which I thought was Sparky) come from? Did he kill a rival and vanish for a while? It really didn’t make sense that he would die in a fountain he saw every day, and took baths in. But the weather was brutal back in April when he disappeared. I looked carefully at the remains, and noted that Sparky didn’t have that many white-tipped tail feathers.

I had heard that ruby-throated hummers migrate. However, there have been females in the yard and at least one or two juveniles that chose to stick around.

But all is well, he’s back. And starved, obviously.

Here’s what he really looks like.

I’m not the only local person missing resident hummingbirds . For the past few days, however, a smaller version of Sparky has been appearing sporadically at the feeder. I know it’s not him because it doesn’t have the full gorget, plus it is easily intimidated by the chickadees. Sparky always stood his ground, even to the bigger birds. This younger one wasn’t quite sure how to use the feeder at first.

Since we found the body of a hummer that was Sparky’s size a while back, I concluded that he had succumbed to our bad weather. Today, there’s a different one the same size as Sparky, and not flitting away as soon as I appear. By the end of the month, I will be setting up the laptop outside. If it’s really him, he will take my presence in stride, as he did all last year from May on.

As the June 30th deadline approaches for a work project, I can’t allow distractions to keep me from falling behind. Life, however, tosses a dump truck full of issues on the doorstep when I get these deadlines. The days are just packed, as Bill Watterson used to say.

Most of these issues have been shoveled aside, and pity the poor solicitor who rings the bell, expecting a gracious hello, yes I’d love to hear about your bond spiel. I’m taking a lesson or two from a) my extremely rude neighbor Ruth, b) my late Aunt Sissy, who had hooded eyelids and a venomous tongue.

The only distraction I allow is the Wii tennis. It makes me get up from my chair, forces me to sweat, and in ten-minute sessions several times/day, slowly makes me lose weight. To my dismay, I discovered that once a certain level is reached, it’s no longer a matter of merely beating the opponents. Points go up only if the match is won in a decisive manner, as in not letting it go to deuce, for example.

Looks like I will have to spend some time on the balance board next.

The tufted titmouse is one of the shyer residents of the yard, overly fond of mealworms. I don’t get many pictures of it, but lately it has become emboldened by the apparently addictive nature of these worms.

Things have been really hectic around here on the human front, and I’ve not paid a lot of attention to the bird population except to keep the feeders full of seeds and suet. Once or twice a day, I open the box of mealworms, which, to my surprise, grew mightily during the warm spell. I put a few in each feeder. Today, I only did it once early in the morning.

Various events occurred to make my morning extremely unproductive, none of which were my fault. After lunch, I had a lot of catching up to do, and by 4, I went to shower, bringing in the suet feeders to keep them safe from the squirrels.

Afterward, I had time to tackle the work pile again. What should appear on the nandina branch that I can see just over the laptop but the titmouse. It turned this way and that, keeping its eyes on me. I waved, as crazy bird people like me do. (I have found that hand motions make them less wary; this has worked on the towhees and wrens. Working on the goldfinches and doves.) It did not leave. Instead, it stopped, and just perched, looking at me.

It is the same look I get from the chickadees. So I dutifully got up and pulled out a few more mealworms. My supply is getting low, hence the rationing. But when the towhee removes them three at a time, and the wren and its baby hop up and swallow them whole, I have to consider reordering. Real soon.

The wren baby watched while its parent moved a mealworm around till it was just in the right position. It flipped the worm a few times, and down the hatch it went. It ignored the baby, who was waiting with its beak open. But thankfully, it is a fast learner. It reached in, selected a worm, and just like Mom, maneuvered it into position, and the worm disappeared.

As mentioned in previous posts, my yard has become heavily populated with wildlife of all kinds. Squirrels especially. Years ago, a pair of mockingbirds had an annual nest in the pyracantha bushes along the fence. Squirrels ran through their territory regularly. Those were the times when we would catch more than one squirrel a day in the traps. After a time, I noticed that whenever I went to move these traps, the mockingbirds would fly overhead and along the fence not too far away. I just assumed they were happy to be rid of one more squirrel.

Eventually, the birds were defeated, and moved away. I miss their songs, even the ones in the middle of the night.

In residence and busily raising their family are a pair of towhees. Extremely shy, they have recently begun coming to the feeder more regularly. They are the last to feed at night, and when I’ve gone out to retrieve the feeder tray, they can be heard nearby chirping away. So I leave the food out a little longer.

In the last few days, two large black squirrels and assorted smaller gray ones have been leaping up on the tables. (Seriously cutting into my Wii time.) The black ones avoid the traps as if they’ve been caught before and somehow gotten out. Finally, a few minutes ago, a gray one found the peanut-butter covered nuts too irresistible. I went out to cover it up, and took a stroll around the garden. The towhee pair flew past down low.

I went out front to plant some pansies. The towhees came out there too. Not real close, but keeping me in sight. Did they make the connection between the food and me? Their nest is low in the arbovitae, and I’ve seen squirrels run in there, so maybe they recognize the removals are to their benefit.

Now if I can only get the three doves to hang around me.

At least six, and sometimes a house finch manages to get a spot too till it is overwhelmed by the goldfinches, who eat all day long. This male was eating peacefully alongside another male, which certainly doesn’t happen very often.

Underneath the sock feeder is a pile of black seeds and their hulls. The doves and juncos pick through them.

Near the end of next month, I will move my laptop and camera gear outside, and then we’ll see how close they’ll let me get.

Possibly the most retiring of the menagerie. It was all I could do to set up the tripod and camera (open door, equipment inside) without spooking it. And that, of course, is why it is not in focus. This is also from video. But it craned its neck so it could check out the camera and me for a few seconds before taking off.

There are three of them, one bullies the other two, so maybe it’s not a pair with their young one, but a male and two wives. Now I’m trying to get used to big shadows across the yard as they fly back and forth, but they get closer each day.

Next thing I know, there’ll be a dove or two in here making those frantic twittering sounds which seem to be their normal mode. We will scare each other to death, no doubt.

Readers will note that the blog is mostly concerned with birds now. What started out as a small tray on an old table with two or three juncos and a few chickadees has turned into something completely different.

Over time, a titmouse and a very shy wren would make an appearance, quickly disappearing when intimidated by the juncos. The towhees built a nest in Mr. Maria’s trees, and raised their family on cornmeal suet. A very large flock of sparrows forced me to shut down the feeder till they lost interest. More juncos came by. The resident hummingbird defended his feeder fiercely. A lone Townsend’s warbler visited late in the year and stayed.

This year, the chickadee pair seems to have only one baby. Mourning doves have a nest in the honeysuckle, and while fleeing at shadows, land on the table. During dinner on Sunday, one settled down for a rest right next to the food bowl, watching us as we ate inside. It stayed there a long time. (I have witnesses.) The towhee pair not only lands on the table, but also on the smaller table right against the wall. A phoebe comes to the yard but not to the feeder, being an insectivore, and a grosbeak eats seeds that fall on the patio. Robins have a nest either in the street oaks or a neighbor’s yard, and stop by now and then. A house finch feeds on the finch sock along with at least six goldfinches. The hummingbird I named Sparky has died, I’m afraid, but has left such a force field around his feeder that few hummers even dare to stop there, and then only briefly. The wren has become so familiar and content that it too flew inside (as did the juncos and a chickadee), and exited in a timely fashion.

All this occurs in a very small space of the patio and surrounding semi-grassy area. I am constantly amazed, and if I didn’t have a stringent deadline of June 30 for a large project, I would be sitting outside filming all this, especially the goldfinches, who have a most picturesque lifestyle.

These activities have been going on for almost two years. In that time, the birds have become quite used to me, most particularly the chickadees. They know how to get my attention to get mealworms out of the box outside. I will swear that they have a meaningful look.

Lately, the squirrels are back, leaping up on the tables, knocking things down, and the black ones have figured out the traps. I have watched as they smell the nuts inside, nose all around, try to reach for them with their paws, and can actually remove them if the trap is set on the ground. They go all around, even on top, but avoid the opening. But I can’t fend them off all the time.

This morning, I was deep in work when a chickadee landed on the bush in front of the window where I work. This is nothing unusual, they do this all the time, usually to chip away at a piece of suet or a mealworm. But this chickadee was giving me the Meaningful Look. I stared back, said hello, went back to work. It persisted with this look, bobbing back and forth a bit, then kind of moved its wings out a little. That’s when I saw the black squirrel on the small table next to the wall, big chunk of suet in its paws, eating away.

So, message sent, message received. I ran the squirrel off, and everything went back to normal.

For the last few days, work has been very intense and I’ve been unable to take photos or footage of the birds. The goldfinch mesh sock has attracted what amounts to a small flock that seems to eat constantly, and the pile of seed hulls underneath is thankfully blown away each afternoon when the wind picks up.

I’ve left the mealworm container (a transparent plastic box) out on another table. Just now, a chickadee lands on it and walks all around, inspecting the contents. The titmouse has given up on the possibility of live food, and hacks away at the cornmeal suet to feed its brood.

A hummingbird that is not Sparky comes daily to the deer scare fountain to take a bath. Now this is amazing to watch. The goldfinches also visit the water, and take frequent drinks, sometimes a bath as well. The family member says we have sparrow hawks in the redwood tree. I think there is a juvenile in the neighbor’s pine tree, and spotted it one afternoon as it flew across the court.

Last week I bought a bluebird house.

For a couple of months, it seems, the two towhees have been trying to build a home in the large but dead arborvitae. I have a great view of this bush. Maybe the squirrels get in there and tear their efforts down. There is constant construction, and as late as last week, they brought in long pieces of grass and twigs.

Their parents would regularly empty out the cornmeal suet container last year, raising at least three offspring. However, they failed to teach them where the human-provided foods came from. Despite numerous comings and goings all day long of chickadees, juncos, wrens, titmouse, and most recently, mourning doves, the towhees don’t land on the table. They will look under the table and all over the patio, which is mostly covered now in nyger seed hulls from the constant eating by the goldfinches.

This morning, the male towhee took a giant leap forward. It looked terrified while pecking at the seeds. Later, it took a big clump of suet, retiring to the patio to eat. I can’t wait to film them when they come swooping in when the nestlings get hungry.

Turnabout’s fair play, as they say. I’m always shooting chickadees outside, and today, one of them decided to check out what I do in here.

Yes, those are cobwebs on its feet. I tried to keep it away from the windows, but it just wouldn’t listen. At first I thought it was the baby chickadee, but it seems to be the male parent. The male will not land on my hand, but the female will. Although given the stress of the situation, she probably wouldn’t have either.

It kept going to the base of the window even though I pleaded and tried to coax it out with mealworms. There it goes again.

When the juncos came in, they looked over all the equipment I use, and got out of here in a hurry. The chickadee decided it would stick around.

I remembered the butterfly net in the garage. Please, please, I thought, let it not be the one with the hole in it.

It wasn’t. The family member came home, and managed to escort the chickadee outside in the net. It flew off into the oak tree where it lives. Where it is probably currently soaking in the tub, trying to get rid of all that stuff on its feet, and regaling the family with his strange adventure. I hope he remembered to tell them that there were refreshments.

The other night a raccoon apparently entered the trap we set for squirrels (not the first time this has happened). When it was unable to exit in a timely manner, it called in the troops. One must have strapped on his handy tool belt. Next morning, I noticed that the trap was turned around and not where it was left the day before.

I asked the family member if he moved it. He said no. When I tried to reset the trap, an important part of the trapping mechanism didn’t work. As if something took a pair of raccoon pliers and loosened it. When the family member returned from work, he made adjustments, but he failed to take into account the technical expertise of raccoons, especially the ones who go to college on a tools scholarship.

It happened that for the past week, I had been troubled by a pack of squirrels who kept jumping on the bird feeding table. I then placed the big trap right under this table. Caught one, waited to catch the other two. And that evening was the night of the raccoon gathering.

After the human adjusting, I baited the trap the next day. Sometime in the afternoon, the loud metallic sound of the trap was heard, which tends to make me leap up almost like the squirrel does. I looked, and indeed, there was one of the gray squirrels. Usually, I put a towel, tarp or some such over the trap, which calms the animal down till it is deposited in parklands not close to here. I neglected to do this because I had a lot of work.

When I got up to get a tarp, the trap looked empty. Sometimes, if the angle is right and the squirrel is crouched in the corner eating the walnuts in there, it can look empty. But no, this time, it was really empty, and the squirrel was pausing at the open door, seconds from entering the house.

Part of the trap door had been loosened in such a way as to be undetected by mere humans. But the raccoons had figured out a way to let the next animal get loose on its own.

I bow to their superior intelligence in matters of the trap.

For my nonbirding readers, goldfinches will feed from these mesh ’socks’ filled with tiny nyger seeds. It took them a day or so to find it. So far, I’ve only seen one, but I know there is at least one pair in the yard. This one fed from the other side of the sock this morning.

Because I’m always staring at the monitor, it’s fortunate that some birds, like this one, will announce its arrival. A clear whistling sound signals a visit, while the titmouse makes a rasping, harsh call, but is sometimes more melodic. When there are fresh mealworms in the feeder, the titmouse is no longer hesitant or mindful of the camera. The goldfinches will just have to get used to the many comings and goings, bird and human alike.

The titmouse is taking plenty of food back to its nest. It fought off the usually ferocious juncos this morning to get a prime spot.

After spotting a pair of lesser goldfinches yesterday, I bought one of those mesh socks filled with nyger seeds. No takers yet.

Mealworms disappear fast when nests are full of ravenous baby birds (low-res frame from video). No matter, there are 1,000 of these coming in the mail today.

This morning, a bright red/orange hummingbird flew in to sample the flowers on the lemon tree a few feet away. Could it be? I’ve never seen one before. Gone before I could take a photo.

Still no Sparky but two small hummers were flitting about near the feeder early this morning, possibly his progeny.

I stepped outside to check the mealworms, and hear the familiar whirrring sound a hummingbird makes when you are too close to its feeder. Could it be? It flies by again, and then lands on the tomato cage and looks at me. No bright red throat. Smallish, but then so was Sparky. I run for the camera.

Of course it’s gone when I get back. Can it be he’s still defending his feeder, but living on insects for now?

The chickadee pair has stepped up their visits to the feeder, and taking mealworms as fast as I can get them out there. Their habit has been to land in the nandina bushes about a foot from my desk, then look for the feeder location, which has been changing due to all the rains. I forgot to bring in the cornmeal suet last night, which got completely soaked.

Just now, a chickadee shows up, chirping more than usual, then starts flapping its wings vigorously, pleadingly, with its mouth open. Aha! That was quick!

I have a large order of mealworms on order since the 50 I bought the other day are almost gone.

In the process of mowing the lawn and picking up plant containers, the family member happened upon a salamander. Of course I wanted it to photograph, so he put it in a 3″ tall wood planter, and I put it on my desk. Then I proceeded to go through the hour of footage shot this morning, thinking the salamander could wait.

It didn’t. When I looked in the box next, it was empty. I keep a pair of boots by the desk, which it would have dropped into if it went over the edge of the desk. Nothing in the boots. Nothing on the floor all around. But then the door is wide open on this sunny day in the mid-70s.

I’m guessing it went right back outside. I sure hope so.

The towhees have a nest in the dead arborvitae, along with at least one other unidentified bird pair. I glanced up as a towhee flew out of the bush, and right behind it was a hummingbird, which landed somewhere in the bougainvillea. Just out of fun, I called out ‘Sparky! Sparky!’

Thank goodness I work alone, as this may seem like demented behavior. But I used to talk to Sparky all the time as he visited the feeder. There’s a goodly amount of footage of him looking directly at the camera as I’m saying his name.

The hummingbird came to the tomato cage about 18″ from the feeder, and looked at me. The cage is what I hang the feeder on when there isn’t enough light under the overhang where the feeder normally is. He had the bright red throat, so I knew it wasn’t a juvenile or the missus. Then he was gone.

Could it be? Does he actually help feed them, and that’s where he’s been the last 2-1/2, almost three weeks?

Yesterday, I saw two hummers high up in the oaks going through what appeared to be a mating dance. I don’t think juveniles can fly that well. We’ll see what the following days bring.

Last year, I bought roasted mealworms as a treat for the various birds that show up at the feeder. I’m going to assume that they got out their miniature cameras and took shots to put on their blogs, complaining about how underwhelming crunchy mealworms can be. Word certainly got out.

After inspecting these treats, I decided they were the equivalent of pork rinds for humans - some of us like them, some not.

Before dinner last night, I ran out and got a container of real mealworms from the pet store. This was not a simple task. In the store fridge, there were three tiers. One held the small containers, then the mediums, then the large. On closer inspection, some little tubs held waxworms. Others had Giant Mealworms. These I bought.

Today, I’ve set up the usual soft suet, but in a clear plastic cup (directions say to put out mealworms in something they can’t climb). Knowing the birds can’t perch on the thin rim of this cup, I inserted a twig. Then I added a few worms.

The juncos came by first, noting the live food. But being juncos, they appeared cool about it, pecking at the bits of food I’d dropped earlier at the edges of the feeder. One pecked at the side of the cup where it could see a mealworm. It did this time and again, then gave up.

Then the male wren showed up. It went straight for the twig, and was upside down reaching for a worm when I realized I did not have the camera and tripod set up. While I got my gear out, Mrs. Wren appeared, attracted, no doubt, by the symphony pouring out of Mr. Wren from the roof’s edge where he was going nuts.

It will be an interesting afternoon.

The resident hummingbird, Sparky, has been missing from his usual feeder activities for two weeks. After today, I suspect he’s more of a hands-on father (so to speak) than most male ruby-throated hummers.

After reading up on the facts of nesting life, I learned that males don’t stick around, don’t assist with the nest building and might even search out another mate. But this afternoon, I spotted a hummingbird skimming along the vinca, looking for insects. Then I saw another. When it turned, I saw the red throat.

The preferred food for baby hummers is regurgitated insects. I bet they’re doing great on all that food from mom and pop both.

For those who are tired of the usual tighty whities, underwear with the look of Japanese armor.

I’ve had the feeder up for over a year now, some of the same birds have been coming by for a long time. They are used to seeing me mostly obscured by the monitors, but they do know me by sight. When there are hungry baby birds in the nests, the traffic to the feeding table is amazing to watch. The chickadees are pretty much tame.

As readers know, from time to time, I put up props such as small trees or an Easter basket, and I shoot the birds as they fly in to check out the new things. This results in a lot of fun for birds and photographer alike. But lately, I’ve been too busy to pay much attention to this.

There was the extended stay by the team of plumbers. Then the complex task of taxes, which seem to get more so each year. While I still put out bird food, it has been seeds on the old feeding tray and a dish of soft suet.

The birds seem to be troubled by this. Few are showing up these days, mostly the juncos, but they don’t linger. I inadvertently burned a small portion of the last batch of suet. Thinking their palates might be offended by this, I made a new batch that was just perfect. The juncos come by, grab a quick bite, and leave.

This morning, the male wren came by, landed in the nandina bushes right in front of where I work, and gazed in at me. I waved, and went back to my work. When I looked up again, he was staring at me again in what can only be described as a meaningful way.

A couple of hours later, here comes a junco. It heads straight for a miniature fir tree I used as a Christmas prop, and sticks its head into the branches, looking for food. Then it turns around and gives me a look.

Maybe I should design a maze that they have to work through to get to a food reward. One last meeting with my tax person tonight, and I’ll get to it, or something equally challenging.

My once-magnificent arborvitae is turning brown all over. Before the rains come again, I want to do some pruning. The birds say otherwise.

I can see this shrub from where I work, and last week, it appeared that the resident towhees were climbing into the thick ivy next to it. Perhaps that was to trick me into thinking that a bird as big as that could squeeze into the near-impenetrable mass. Today, the female is going straight into the center of the arborvitae with nesting materials.

The wren pair is probably really nesting in the ivy. Mrs. Wren is no longer looking along the patio for food, so we’ll assume she’s sitting on her nest. When I said that most of the birds have disappeared, I meant from the feeding table. All I have to do to conjure up the chickadee pair and the unknown tiny chartreuse birds is to turn the hose onto the plumber-butchered photinia out front. They will happily shower as long as I’m willing to stand there with a fine spray. I’m going to get footage of this so you can see.

There is a hummingbird in the back, but not Sparky. This one is shy, and it might be his missus, or one of his missuses. The blue jays, thank goodness, are not swooping in every few minutes. However, the titmouse comes more regularly, but generally, the juncos have the run of the food.

My brain knows when I need to get up. I think my body does too, but it’s going, ’seven more minutes’, ah, five more’. Sometimes, desperate measures are called for.

This morning, I found myself in the middle of a pristine ski run. (I don’t ski.) I stood there and thought, ‘All I have to do is get down that hill, get to the lodge, pack and I’ll get home.’ Except I had no skis. No even a snowshoe. People began showing up, including a family of four, who walked right by, but didn’t see me trying to flag them down to use their cell since mine wasn’t working. Some guy skied past on the left.

Then I thought, ‘If I could only get home without having to pack, and endure that incredibly long ride.’

That’s when I woke up. Very happy to be where I was, and needing only to rise and do the usual morning routine. Thanks, brain.

How could I not buy this book after reading this? Illustrations by Cornelia Hesse-Honegger, whose work can be seen here.

As ever, go here to get into the NYT if you’re not registered.

The last time I tried to take a photo with my phone, it was the night of the glorious pink clouds/sunset/double rainbow at least a year ago. Of course, I didn’t get a decent shot. Sunday, I tried again.

On the last day of an estate sale, there’s usually not much left, and it’s all half off. I’m usually on the lookout for interesting vintage cameras, since there is a collector in the family. Generally, on the last day, all the good stuff is gone since eBayers stand in line, and get in during the first hour of the very first day.

But at this sale, the glass case holding camera gear was full. I decided to take pictures and send them to the family member. I took a camera out, and started shooting. A scruffy-looking gentleman came up, and asked if I was going to buy it. I told him what I was doing. He muttered something, then reached in for a different camera.

By this time, I had navigated to a point on the phone camera window that defied logic. I couldn’t see the photo I just took, and figured I had taken about four shots, which needed to be sent. I looked for the family member who accompanied me. He backed away from my request, and then the proprietor showed up, a big guy who wanted to help.

He pulled out his iPhone.

Big Guy: See here? I think it’s kinda the same on all phones. You take the picture, then see, it says ’send’. You press that, look up the address, and you’re done.

Me: I can’t find the send button.

BG: Here, let me see your phone (pushes a few buttons). Darn. Yours is sure different. Let’s start over.

Me (turning off the phone) Okay.

BG (laughing): Heh, so you do that every time something goes wrong, you turn it off? Haw haw.

Me: It gets me back to the beginning which I obviously can’t do from this window here.

BG (puts a camera on a sofa): Okay, take your picture.

Me: Okay. Got it.

BG: See, it says ’send’. That’s all you gotta do. Let me get you another one of these cameras to shoot.

Me: I thought you wanted to keep them in the case.

BG: Naw, I was just worried about that feller. Not you.

When I asked the family collector if he got the pictures, he said no. What he got were a couple of blurry videos. Haw indeed.

One in a fascinating NYT series about city residents.

If you don’t want to register, go to bugmenot first.

All winter I marveled at those who wore sandals in the rain and wind. Those brave bare toes peeked out, and looked awfully chilled. But today, one day after the daylight savings change, it is balmy with a slight breeze.

I bought about $30 worth of seeds a few weeks ago, when it was dreary and gloomy every day. Now that the bulk of my day’s work is done, I’m going out to empty various pots full of rainwater. Unfortunately, during the humongous plumbing project, the workers did something to my main outdoor faucet. After the initial full spray in the face after turning the hose on, now the spigot doesn’t work right. Perhaps the squirrels sabotaged the hose, seeing as how I’m always going after them with it.

Maybe I’ll just take all those seed packets out and gaze upon them.

Despite the gloomy morning skies on Monday, it was brighter somehow. More sky showing. Overnight, a neighbor seems to have put up a new addition to his house. Either that or some mature landscaping was removed.

This particular neighbor, the one we refer to by his ex-wife’s first name, as in Mr. Maria (not her real name), seems normal. Until you try to have a conversation with him. Then Mr. Maria becomes Mr. Strange. But I digress.

All that sawing we heard Sunday night, thinking it was the solar guys working overtime - that must have been Mr. Maria. His driveway has the remains of a very large tree, which must have toppled over in one of the recent storms. We did hear a really loud ‘POP’ one night that sounded like a balloon in the next room.

So being the man he is (I should mention that he is also the guy who goes around with a tank of pesticide killing ants, one by one, it looks like, when he sees them on his driveway), he must have felt the need to deal with the tree before morning.

Most weekends will find him working on or washing his car. I shudder to think what his reaction would have been had the tree fallen on the car. He probably sits bolt upright in the middle of the night when he also thinks about this narrow miss.

She’s not the first to plunder this long-abandoned nest, which is about two feet from my desk. Had to try and get a shot. This is a low-res frame from footage.

A Townsend’s warbler showed up yesterday, and while it has taken a liking to the suet, one of the dark-eyed juncos inevitably appears to escort it off the premises. I was worried it would be scared off, but it keeps coming back, and submitted to having footage (which yielded this blurry frame) taken this morning.

Not too many brightly-colored birds come by, other than the blue jay, robins and the woodpeckers. The jay, I discovered, is a very smart bird.

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.

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.

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.

On Christmas night, the two sons decided to add movies to their Netflix queue, collapsing into hysterics every few minutes. No film was too awful, apparently, including one about a very strange dwarf. I was careful not to remember the name of it. Earlier, they had forced me to watch the Doc Ellis No No video.

Here is a list of underrated movies from the Guardian. Of the ten, I’ve only seen one, Spirited Away, but I saw it three times.

A brief but very intense few moments in the ivy.

They’re a noisy bunch, the robins. After announcing their arrival, they tried to eat the dark berries of the ivy along the fence. I pruned back this ivy a few weeks ago. Had I known there was this much interest, I would have left them as they were.

Usually, they with their friends the cedar waxwings have a party in the pyracantha bushes, then disappear. Sometimes they don’t leave till they knock themselves silly on the windows.

Did they fall off the ivy? Repeatedly. The waxwings got their share, but I haven’t gone through all the movie frames to see if I managed to shoot any.

Once again, these are taken from video and are none too sharp. But you get the idea.

Every few years, I get up when it’s still dark, and head out to look for gift wrap and other supplies. Last year I slept in, probably the year before that too, but this morning the traffic sounds were too compelling. A family member was forced to go with me.

We didn’t make it out the door quite as early as I’d hoped, but this was a positive since it meant we wouldn’t be standing in lines. Surprisingly, the crowd at Target was sparse. The last time I did this, I waited in a cold but very congenial crowd who huddled close for warmth. Either the shoppers got in and out very fast, or people just weren’t interested this year. Lots of stuff left, so much that I didn’t have to go to the Hallmark store.

All year long, one of my neighbors gets packages. When a UPS truck comes down the street, it will pull up at their house. Ditto FedEx. Twice a day, usually. This gets tiresome, and I wonder if they have a thriving eBay business, for instance. All those packages! All that stuff!

For the last few weeks, all the trucks have been stopping in front of my driveway. Both UPS and FedEx, and just now, a fellow pops in with two packages, but I don’t see a truck. He came by in a plain white van, but the packages are from Amazon. Perhaps a third party seller.

Meanwhile, nothing is being delivered at the other house. I don’t understand. I know they have Christmas because every year, despite my extreme lateness in getting up lights, I know they will be later. Their lights went up last night. But I win this year because I’m not through putting up the last strings on the Christmas bush. (I’m trying to recover from the nasty respiratory whatever that I got from wrestling with said bush.)