First Published on 05/06/2015
First hummingbird of the season. Yesterday, Saturday, May 2nd, Doghouse deck. A big feeder. It’s been filled two weeks.
Directions on the “nectar” I buy say clean out feeders twice a week. Bankrupt a person. Another year, I’ll find some smaller feeders so I don’t waste so much feed.
This column opening was prompted by return of the bird this morning. A first. I’m writing from Doghouse deck. Bag chair, lap desk and trusty Apple laptop computer.
I’ve written here before many times. Always yellow pad on a clipboard and pen though. Usually some amount of Canadian Mist to loosen the hinges on my mind and let it flap free in search of new topics. This morning no Mist, but mind just relaxed and swinging gently.
Creek, Moore’s Run, is clear and noisy this morning. A happy creek. Trout playing in it. Noisy trout. At least I guess it’s a trout that smacked water at foot of “sycamore pool” fifteen yards upstream from my chair. Twice more I’ve glanced up and seen surface ripples same spot. Makes me want to go back to Big House for my old rod and reel, but then I’d have to dig worms and that’s a bit much effort for this Sunday morning.
Sycamore pool has two big Sycamore trees on opposite banks, across from each other. Both lean East. Both have wet feet. Smaller one on West bank had lower level tenants last year. Muskrats. A family. I spent fair amount of relaxing time watching them. An adult, Mama I suppose since she was doing all the work, made regular trips up creek bank gathering stilt grass, carrying it back to creek, then delivering it under water to her den. A bit later in the season I’d see two or three out at a time. So far no sign of them this year. I’m glancing up that way after each sentence I write.
Loudest piece of creek handy is right behind me. It’s where footbridge used to be. Used to be until creek washed its banks out and made itself too wide for my two long cedar poles to span.
Same bridge is further downstream now supported by a higher bank on West end and a big rock on East end. A bunch higher above water. Heights always did bother me. Now shaky narrow bridge, shaky old man and better sense than when I was younger, I don’t use it any more. I’m keeping an eye out for a couple long utility poles for my next effort.
Creek rapids right beside me, fifteen feet away are noisy home of my bath and bucket- filling rocks. Bath rock is natural location, near middle of stream, flat topped about a foot roughly square and an inch or two of freeboard at normal creek flow. I sit there for summer baths with my cake of Ivory.
When not soaping my cloth, I lay soap on my bucket-filling rock between bath rock and bank. When Doghouse needs its rubber bucket filled I step from bank step rock to bucket-filling rock, then a further step to bath rock. A quick dip between my feet gives me a bucket full of fresh creek water. Bucket-filling rock has gotten a bit tipsy. It’ll need reset this summer. Yet I am careful to dip water only when I’m not tipsy.
Another bit of nature just fleeting by. It’ll necessitate a step inside Doghouse to retrieve trusty a badminton racket. Bumble bees. Big bumble bee looking things that bore holes in Doghouse’s wood frame. One favorite Doghouse action sport this time year is “doinking” bees in flight. Nothing better than smacking on into Moore’s Run, then watch to see if a fish gets him before he is out of sight.
I got four bees while eating lunch here yesterday. None in the creek but still a satisfying tally. Best I can tell there’s only two out this morning.
No Unbased Opinions or counting of past farm life this week. Just sort of a freewheeling description of a relaxed Sunday mom listening to Moore’s Run preaching. God’s own natural church.
