The hammering stopped. My husband opened the lid. A 20-pound bag of peanuts spilled into the new bird feeder. He stepped back to join me.
Dappled sunlight filtered through the cedar branches landing on the feeder. A Stellar’s Jay’s raucous call danced between the trees. Branches rustled. Wings fluttered overhead.
Woodpecker Lumber Buffet. Peanut, peanut, who’s got the peanut?
A young raccoon climbed down the cedar behind the feeder. He tiptoed the ten feet to the 4” X 4” post, climbed eight feet to the new banquet center and straddled the roof.
With his man-hand paw, he reach under the eave and extracted the first peanut. Our first customer.
Woodpecker Lumber went out of business four years later when all forty pounds of Bob— named for the loss of his tail to a motorist—straddled it for the last time.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
The fasteners buckled. The banquet center teetered. Bob squealed. The feeder rocked backwards with Bob, and the earth caught them.
Bob laid on the ground and took a deep breath. He shook his big head and pushed the feeder from his belly. He righted himself like he waded through jelly. He pried open the feeder’s top and finished his last meal. He burped long and low, and a squirrel dashed up a tree with zeal.
Bob washed his face in the birdbath and sauntered into the greenbelt.
We stopped feeding the birds.
The mist embraced the coastline like lovers watching the sunset. The waves caressed the beach with whispered promises. Wafts of warm, salty air strolled up the hillsides, seagulls calling in the distance.
The Oregon coast outside Tillamook, Oregon.
This little blog site launched six years ago today. It is no where near where I started with it, an outlet for short stories. In the last several years, care giving for my wonderful, elderly family members engages my free time. But I couldn’t give up this blog.
I turned to my favorite quote from Napoleon Hill, “Effort only fully releases its rewards after a person refuses to quit.”
Thank you for blogging and sharing and following. Write on.
I placed the warm blankets on the bare mattress. Not a cat to be seen. One more load of laundry and three flights of stairs to our apartment in West Seattle. Basket on my hip, I entered our apartment, crossed the living room, and entered the bedroom.
Bed linen washing day, a not so grim furry tale.
The cats materialized on our bed, drawn by the warmth magnet. The princess late to the party. The king pea snug in his blanket cocoon.
Never underestimate the power of a cat to commandeer warm blankets.
The Little Big Horn River wends it way through grassy knolls and rolling hills. Great expanses of blue sky dome the coulees and valley on either side of the river. Heat mirages wavers in the air. Herds of sun soaked wild horses wander among the grass meadows. Horse flies buzz and rattle snakes rattle in the symphony of the great plains. Mingled in the air, faint wafts of sweet grass and sage brush and horse manure.
A herd of wild horses graze the great plains of Little Big Horn National Monument.
Tombstones, cairns, and markers speckle the hillsides and valleys. Monuments to the fallen.
A monument to the animals who served.
One such monument to the horses lost in the Battle of Little Big Horn. Their riders used their bodies like shields from the overwhelming volley of ammunition from the native Americans defending their way of life.
A monument in motion.
The memorial, “Peace Through Unity” sitting atop a hill traces three warriors, representing the three tribes. The ever changing sky, a back drop representing the home of the Spirit. The Lakota (Sioux), Cheyenne, and Arapaho lead by Sitting Bull won the battle but forever lost their nomadic culture, lost their self-sufficiency, lost their war.
Large snowflakes danced in the air, landed on fir branches and the green and golden aspen leaves. A snug September quilt.
September snow in the Canadian Rockies.
Kananaskis Country, nestled in the front range of the Canadian Rockies due west of Calgary. Near Nakiska, the site of the 1988 Winter Olympics for alpine and cross-country skiing. It’s now part of the Alberta provincial park system.
Kananaskis Lodge near Nakiska, Alberta.
Thin clouds filtered the sunset over a canal in Kyoto, Japan. Water gurgled under the foot bridge. The cool air drifted across the water and carried the fragrance of cherry blossoms.
My mother always told me I looked at the world through rose-colored lenses. I purchased a pair of rose colored sunglasses and used them for this photo so she could see the world as I did.
Kyoto through a rose-colored lens.
A stroll along the Walk of the Philosophers, in April, blooms with inspiration.
Kyoto’s Walk of the Philosophers inspired this.
And the Japanese equivalent to the Miracle on 34th Street . . .an empty train car in the late afternoon. A miracle indeed.
An empty train car in Kobe, Japan during the late afternoon, priceless.