They're Here!

The Waxwings are here!

Just yesterday I was looking at our big old serviceberry tree outside our window, and noticed its berries had come in, but were still green, and I said to my husband off-handedly, “Have you heard from the Waxwings? Any emails?”

“No, nothing yet.”

We never know exactly when they are coming. Like the fun family friends or wild cousins that travel around, free as the breeze, unattached to boring desk jobs or other mainstream conformity, our cedar waxwing friends arrive every year on their own schedule. And just like the free-spirited folks we love to have drop in, they come every spring for about 2 weeks, and throw an unforgettable bacchanalic celebration in our humble serviceberry tree. It’s wonderful.

So this morning, I woke up, looked out the window, and – there they were! - as if they had they heard me asking about them. They were just as beautiful as I remembered them. (They are sort of shaped like cardinals, but are a beautiful olive-golden color. Their head crests are flattened softly back on their heads, like delicate Robin Hood caps. They wear black eye masks, and have bright red and yellow paint-dipped tail feathers.)

Their arrival and subsequent feast is much like any other annual party or family reunion: full of celebration and ritual. The berries aren’t red yet, so they hopped around on the branches, took a berry or two, and passed the ceremonial offering back and forth between them, doing a little hop and head-nod-away in between each pass. Their initial festival–opening-thank-you-folk-dance enacted, they flew on elsewhere and have not been back since. I know they are “in the neighborhood,” but now that they have checked-in, they have probably moved on to some other favorite spot, and will be back as soon as those berries turn red. And THEN, all of the neighborhood birds come over to join in, and there will be a 14-day-long party in that tree, with singing, chattering, hopping, berry passing back and forth, dancing, and general merry-making just outside our window. I can’t wait!

Post Script..... Just think, we didn’t have to do anything to get ready for our company, other than step in front of the chain saws last May, preventing our neighborhood association from chopping down that big old tree ...

Here are three of them, hanging out.

Woods Prom

We are fortunate to live near the beautiful Jenkins Arboretum in Devon, Pennsylvania, which is a preserve of native woods and indigenous wildflowers. It is fenced off on all sides to keep out the deer that, due to over-development and lack of predators, are everywhere, eating everything. So here is this little patch of woods, in its natural state, and it is lovely. At the beginning of spring we run over to check out what little green shoots are poking their way up through the leaf litter, and we check back once or twice a week to see what is budding, what is leafing out, what birds have arrived, and what is in bloom. The scene changes every week throughout the spring; a symphony that begins quietly, then builds to a crescendo of colors, shapes, and sounds at every level of the forest.

I’ve tried for the three years in a row we’ve lived here to contact friends and relatives as I see it happening. “You’ve got to get over here! It’s unbelievable! It will all be different next week! You’ll miss it!” People are so busy, with days booked weeks and months ahead. With all of the responsibilities and routines and commitments, it’s harder than ever to make the time to stop and notice what is going on right around us, on mother nature’s untamed clock.

When I lived in Los Angeles, some folks would get ready in early spring for the great California poppy blooms that would cover the Antelope Valley in a carpet of orange. Aficionados knew, you had to listen or call or read for the go-ahead from rangers or locals, and be ready in a day’s notice to jump in the car and drive out there to see all of those bright orange heads, dancing in the wind - all gone in a matter of days.

Here are some photos from our local arboretum, caught just in time at the peak of the azalea bloom. They are, appropriately for this time of year, dressed to go to the prom.

What is bursting forth in a few short days of glory where you live?

Cow Outing

It’s April. It’s been a long winter, with the last snow falling earlier this month. We have already been outside staring at the cheery daffodils and the early blooming forsythia. Last week we got up early to drive to Seven Stars organic farm in Kimberton, PA to watch some 70 Jersey and Guernsey cows let out of their barn for the first time since the fall.

An annual ritual, the farmers wait for the exact right day each spring, when the grass and clover have grown and taken root and the ground isn’t too soggy. Otherwise the cows' hooves will tear it up, leaving them with nothing to graze on all summer. Finally, the “right” day came (after twice weekly phone calls to confirm, I got a “Yes! Tomorrow is the day! 8:00 a.m.!”) And so we went to watch along with some local kids who had the day off for Good Friday (and it was Earth Day – perfect!).

When we got there we wandered around until a farmhand pointed out the route the cows would take. It was a long trip out of the barn, down a lane, around some farm equipment and then around three sides of the 10 acre cooperative farm next door before they would get to their regular grazing pasture. We waited outside in the field a good distance from the barns and 20 feet back from the lane the cows use, as we were warned not to stand too close because the cows were shy and might stop moving when they see us, thus causing a big backup for the other cows coming from behind. So we stood out in the field waiting, our sneakers wet in the dewy grass, listening to the birds’ singing, rubbing our arms against the morning chill. Finally, in the distance, some of the cows appeared outside of the barn, collecting in a little group. One of the farmers standing in the field with us called out to them in a high voice. A bit confused, they stopped, mooing, not sure what they were doing outside. The farmer called again, and this time they looked over at us. Suddenly realizing they were free and recognizing the moment, they began to trot and then run down the lane, hesitating only once or twice, each stopping abruptly to look at the same black plastic pipe sticking up out of the ground. They made it all the way around the next-door farm, maneuvering three turns in the lane without a herding dog, without cowboys or prods or shocks, directed only by that early call of encouragement.

One cow limped a bit with a sore foot, another moved slowly with a stiff hip, but who doesn’t on a cold morning after being stuck indoors all winter? I am still warmed by the image of their first exit from the barn, their first gaze as at the green grass, their first realization that their new freedom was just around a few corners to greener pastures that they remembered from better, pre-winter days, and the skip in their step to get there. Happy Spring!