The blossoms on my heirloom crab apple tree have long since faded and its now covered in hundreds of tiny green apples. She’s been working hard for months now, preparing her food for autumn, when the summer supplies of brambles and chokecherries have all been picked clean.
The Eastern Bluebird has made fewer trips into the open spaces at my woods edge lately, but I can count on his reliability each year to be among the first spring arrivals. This year, I spotted him before I even saw my first Robin. His showy blue feathers striking against the brown monochrome landscape of the early season; a harbinger of the promise of a new life-giving cycle.
The apple blossom and the bluebird; Each spring they flash onto a dreary Midwest landscape with promise and predictability, bringing with them beauty, wonder, abundance, and stability. Extending their gifts freely, they give unconditionally and only ask us to appreciate and accept them in return.
“But now ask the beasts, and let them teach you; And the birds of the heavens, and let them tell you.” – Job 12:7
This fall I caught my first glimpse of a Great Blue Heron. I just so happened to be looking out my picture window and gazing through the trees to the creek below. It was thrilling to watch it move along the creek, hunting in the tall grasses. I knew that this one would be on my art “to do” list soon. And so here it is, all finished now. I hope I was able to capture it’s essence, in all it’s magnificence.
“Then God said, “Let the waters teem with swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth in the open expanse of the heavens.” – Genesis 1:20
Two new species that 2019 brought to our property was the ever elusive Wood Thrush and the little appreciated Pokeberry plant, providing me with further inspiration, wonder, and understanding. I’ll let this post rest there and leave you with my latest work.
“He has made everything beautiful in its time.” – Ecclesiastes 3:11
Last year around this time I wrote a post about the Gray Catbird’s fall migration from my property, entitled “Farewell, Gray Catbird.” And so I feel this year needs a revisit to the post now that another Gray Catbird exodus is upon me.
The 2019 spring bird migration brought with it a slightly different dynamic than did 2018. The places on my property they previously seemed to like the most were in direct correlation to the fact that I hadn’t had the opportunity to do some badly needed plant control and forest management. I purposely approached many of these areas with an easy hand this year, but it still seemed rather severe when I looked upon the freshly opened spaces in early spring. Would the same birds come back to the area? What about my beloved Gray Catbirds? Soon, time and its spring arrivals proved that all my worrying had been unnecessary. The Gray Catbirds arrived! And then they arrived some more. And then they had broods. And by July the entire property seemed to be filled with their flicking tails and noisy mews.
These birds are known to be “elusive” and “hard to spot”. My Gray Catbirds have definitely overcome their shy tendencies. Every morning this summer as I worked in my gardens around the house, a Catbird would fly out of the woods just to perch on a nearby tree and mew at me. As they grew more adamant in their noise making (and annoying), often I would remind them that they inhabit my property and life here was pretty good for them, so they just needed to relax. Using pragmatism didn’t avail to them much, so in the end, I told them they were just going to have to deal with my presence. They responded with the now broken record response of “mew” and provided me with a summer full of fun (and noisy) bird watching.
So here I am again. It’s mid-September and the inevitable is approaching. I’m remaining diligent about recording my bird sightings each day so I don’t miss it. It happens so quietly, like an exhale. One day it’s an unusually warm autumn afternoon and all of nature is around; the Phoebe is dancing in mid air for its catch, a few Hummingbirds zoom by, and I spot a Painted Lady fluttering among the Autumn Joy Sedum. Amid the activity I can always hear Catbird calling. Calling to me, I imagine, bidding farewell to another splendid year. It sure was a good one this year! I stand and listen and wait, and take everything in. The next morning brings the familiar low dark clouds of Wisconsin autumn, and as I walk through the edges of the forest, the mews have become silent. They are all gone now.
Farewell Gray Catbird, again farewell.
“Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?” – Matthew 6:26
It moves quietly in the shadows of the forest.
Like a mist, fading in and around its surroundings.
A flickering wisp, lingering without a sound.
A thought, then it vanishes.
Among the shadows, ever watching.
There is never a lack of inspiration here in the summer, only the lack of time to put down all my ideas. This summer has been no different, and life has been busy for me with everything else except artwork. This piece took me 4 months to go from concept to finish, which is not what I had in mind, but nonetheless I feel happy about how it turned out. Sometimes taking a long time on art is exactly what it needs to be crafted properly!
“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.” -Psalm 91:4
A small flock of robins stayed on our property through November this autumn. In December I only spotted two flying among the treetops. During the first snow flurries and increasingly cold temperatures, occasionally I would see two, occasionally I would see one. Then winter arrived proper, with consistent snowfall and harsh temperatures. I wondered, what became of my robins? On a warm day of snow melt, I spotted one fat robin flying in the treetops, feeding off the fruit leftover in the Hackberry trees. I was happy and relieved. But winter returned with it’s depths of snow and on January 31, a low temperature of -35 Fahrenheit. Would the robin make it through? Days went by and I wondered, though winter was undaunted. Then, on February 4th, the weather turned and we saw 40 degrees. With it, the robin was out. Flying in the treetops above our bird feeder, keeping company with the winter birds and eating hackberries. From that point on, I would see my one fat robin every other day or so. In late February it was joined by a couple more, and then the flock arrived on March 12 and it was lost to the woods once again.
“In him all things hold together.” – Colossions 1:17
August has drawn to a close and the rhythm of the woods is in flux once again. Since moving to the homestead, August has quickly become one of my favorite months of the year. Months of hard work and sweat are realized as the bounty of summer is at it’s finest in Wisconsin. Most of the birds are done nesting (So, I can finally take that sparrow’s nest out of the shutters!), and at last the wildflowers start blooming from the plants that look so weedy most of the summer. Best of all, the spring explosion of bugs and weeds has finally reached manageable levels and we get the occasional day of humidity reprieve. We are blessed to have quite an array of birds around our property, and a habitat that naturally attracts and sustains both permanent and migratory species. Since our time here, I’ve also grown quite fond of the Gray Catbird. Interestingly, they are considered to be elusive to most, though they are quite the opposite here and enjoyable to watch flitting about the yard and house. This year we even had one nest in a hydrangea bush right next to the porch, keeping a watchful and curious eye on me everyday as I would water the plants around her.
Now, with the change of seasons at hand and the forthcoming migration south of many bird species, including Gray Catbird, for the first time my heart is reluctant to watch August slip into September. For the time being, I still hear one or two Catbirds mew at me when I walk close to the edge of the woods; though their playing in the yard has ceased, I no longer see them dance around the house with tails flickering, and the constant chatter from the thickets are all but gone. In the spring it will all be renewed again, but for the moment, August has ended, and I can’t help but feel a bit like I’m saying a long goodbye to an old friend. So, till spring, farewell Gray Catbird.