Away

I have been away from this blog a long while. Life has presented me some pleasure time and some work time; I have taken both rather well although I have not been posting. But, away is a good thing sometimes, a word that tells of mystery and adventure with its vague hint of activity in different places.

In my case nothing so glamorous is hidden behind the ‘away’, but I am enriched from my time spent elsewhere, ignoring my duty facing the monitor, writing here in the office. Among my happenings away I turned 45 years old, saw my first indigo bunting, picked and ate my first wild blueberries of the season, and got a real Frisbee–a toy I haven’t had in years. I also bought a tired old small pickup to get fixed for the road again. In fact, I will call a towing service this morning to get my ‘new’ ride to the garage to be gone over. With luck, my vehicle will soon offer me away time I have sorely missed.

I have long pined to take a good hike among the quiet wilderness trails up north again. I will be able to plan a long weekend away, with arthritic old Deebs well cared-for in my absence, so I can spend solitary nights in nature’s surrounds. I look forward to awakening early mornings, damp and cool, to pack up and trek further on my excursion after a cook stove breakfast. I will certainly smile deep inside while away. Away–ahhh.

©2008 Stumpar Scribbles

 

Seventh Heaven

I had the opportunity to witness a birth; in fact, seven births. My dear friend who raises purebred Maine Coon cats noticed her expecting mother kitty was in labor and brought me to her home to witness the spectacle. I soon became thankful I was a male and a human.

I have long understood (as much as a man can) the pains and physical taxation a female undertakes when giving birth, and I know a litter of kittens can be numerous compared to a typical human pregnancy. I have heard many tales of women, and female animals, who give birth with bravado no man can match. And there I was, just the other day, watching such a feat with the one-by-one birthing of seven lively newborns.

Mommy cat for this litter happens to be my favorite of the bunch my friend cares for. She is a lovey cat–the type that enjoys much attention from her humans. And most adoring: she rumbles a sweet, heart-melting high-pitched, singsong purr I have never heard before. If you enjoy cats, this one takes you straight to dotage with one good bout of her delicate Siren song of throat and nasal reverberation. As I watched her during birth, she would look up with her intelligence piercing through to my heart of hearts and she would reveal silent images of her agony to shatter my emotions and pull on my instinct to nurture. She could make the world weep with that feline glance. I am proud to know that elegant cat.

I will never forget the event: hours seemed to drag at times then time passed too fast to measure. I was glad to see the last kitten was born and actively searching for a teat after being cleaned by a mommy’s tongue. I was exhausted after a day of simple observation. Seven tiny squeaking, squirming kittens are a touch of heaven.

©2008 Stumpar Scribbles

 

Bobbing Robin

Yesterday morning I woke a bit after sunrise. We had a pause in the rainfall that has continued to shower our area for over a week, and nature’s damp landscape looked that much more beautiful with glistening drops blazing in early sunbeams. I popped into the kitchen and took a look out back to check on the swimming pool water level after a night’s drenching. I saw what I thought was a group of old, brown maple leaves clustered on the far side of the pool, but then it moved and made waves.

There was one of the robin’s second brood, struggling slowly to kick its legs and stay afloat on the surface. The poor little bird with short wings, newly fledged, had taken flight into a watery trap. I shot out of the house, ran up the stairs to the pool deck and grabbed the tired, cold, bobbing robin. It didn’t have much energy, didn’t struggle while I dried it quickly in my shirt then brought it back to the shelf below our second story screen porch where one of it’s siblings still lay in the nest. As I placed the cold little kid up there, I frightened the other bird to chirp alarm and fly out.

Mom and dad robins dive-bombed from trees on opposite sides of me as I quickly made an escape back home. The family gathered itself out there while I continued my morning with a coffee and new hope for a bird that would otherwise have perished in the pool.

I don’t know if the bird made it. I will probably never know, but with so many natural dangers for young robin to face, it would be a tragedy to see it pass on in a human-made pond. With luck, that little fledgling will grow to maturity and perhaps come here another year to nest as mom and dad robin have done.

©2008 Stumpar Scribbles

 

Boy Stuff

We have guests staying for the summer. My brother-in-law’s grandson and the child’s mom will stay through August so the family can spend time to know the little boy who lives in Arizona. The two have been here over a week now, and the sixteen-month-old is getting much more comfortable with me.

I never had children of my own, never cared for an infant except for a few occasions. It is a fascinating and rewarding experience to uncover parenting instincts. I think I’d make a great dad–now that I’m of a ‘well-seasoned’ age! The other morning I got to greet the waking child, feed him, change his diaper then keep him company till his mom arrived home from an errand. Last evening I spent quite a long time with him to give mom a break. You see, my brother-in-law had some musicians by to practice and she wanted to sing a few songs. She has a great voice; the house was filled with her and the band while I bopped around with baby. And you know I just had to explore outside while I had him.

Although wet and rainy, we had a nice pause in the downpour last evening so I sauntered out with the boy on a hip and took him for a granduncle nature walk. We touched damp tree leaves and shook branches to watch the drops fall; we saw the blue spruce needles and touched funny prickly grass seeds beside the water. We talked about the robins feeding and the red-winged blackbird couple complaining of our presence near the pond where they plan to nest again. We hunted for and found several good-sized bullfrogs that allowed up-close introductions. I padded barefoot through the rapid run-off rivulets gurgling out of the swollen pond as he watched the scintillating waves and listened to soothing music only dancing water can produce.

On our return to the house we smelled the roses: rich, pink blossoms on the bush out front. We bounded over puddles on the gravel driveway then settled on the front porch swing for some fun with motion. I got giggles from him for the swinging. Next we took a quick jaunt around back and talked about the pool, visited Stumpar’s carving and sniffed a fresh-plucked spearmint leaf. His mom appeared after her sabbatical to the music workshop, and we returned to the house where everyone settled for the night well-contented.

This morning he woke before five and struggled to stay asleep. I dropped in to see him in his crib, but he wanted mommy this morning so she has now taken him to bed with her to get a bit more rest. With the kid around for the summer I know I’ll have many more adventures to walk about and talk over the outdoors, and of course, boy stuff.

©2008 Stumpar Scribbles

 

Adventures About

A dear friend brought me to a local pond recently. We were the sole visitors to the town beach of that quiet community I used to live in. Although breezy, the afternoon was sunny and warm as we sat in the sand and watched pollen-laden waves lap rhythmically shoreward. I drifted in and out of daydream serenity while we sat there plunking pebbles into one of my shoes. We had a surprise visitor too.

From some point off to our right came a water bird skirting the shoreline toward us. I thought it was a loon at first, but soon realized it was a merganser. She was not alone: six hatchlings bobbed on her back, hitching a safe ride on mom while she stuck her head beneath the surface searching for food. She swam calmly by us, taking short peeks then paddling on, perhaps as close as ten or fifteen feet away from us. I was thrilled to see a common merganser (I’ve only seen one before), and I have never seen one with chicks atop her as I have witnessed with loons I’ve watched. So we had a great afternoon with a rare sighting to make a lifelong memory. I will never forget my first sighting of a mobile merganser family. It is another rarity to add to my animal eyesightings.

This past Friday my friend and I adventured to a wildlife preserve on an estuary by the Atlantic. It was a tough walk along the paths of the historic farm, for the mosquitoes were terrible. We hoped to see many birds we wouldn’t usually get to see but they were hidden well and we were forced ever onward by the biting bugs. We did see the common yellowthroat (I’ve only seen them a few times before) and we saw several cedar waxwings. We saw a few pretty wildflowers I have yet to look up. One was pink, looked like an orchid, but was not a ladyslipper. I believe I saw European buckthorn too; I haven’t seen that since I took a college course in New Hampshire about seventeen years ago.

Once we broke out of the trees to the ocean, all those nasty bloodsuckers left us to our beach. Again, we were nearly alone there by the soothing sea, roaring and foaming her incoming tide toward us. I found and was given flat rocks to skip. I love skipping rocks; something I do now and then for fun when visiting the water.

After some exploring time, we sat on the sand and let the tide roll in. I dug and moved the fine sand, lost in happiness and memories that reach deep. I need to visit the ocean once in a while; it calls me, pulls with an invisible line attached to my soul and I feel fulfilled after I spend time along the shore. Eventually the air got colder and the sand steamed as the cool passed over. The horizon slowly dimmed then disappeared in fog from the warmer waters as that briny-scented cool breeze persisted. We moved along quickly and returned to humanity just before rain settled in for the afternoon. 

©2008 Stumpar Scribbles

 

Seeing Red Again

This morning has brought patchy sunshine to our drenched landscape. It isn’t supposed to last, for we should continue to experience rain through this week. Deebs was glad to get outside without being hammered by falling moisture. By the birdfeeder out back a pair of grackles wrestled with large corn kernels while mother robin dug up worms to feed her second brood; a chipmunk darted in and out of the area to carry off booty to store. Nuthatch creeps up and down a large oak to stash seeds as chipmunk does, and the bob-tailing flycatcher couple is still flitting around–even after raising a family. I will guess they intend to try a second clutch of eggs. Right now a blue jay is screaming while visiting the feeder area briefly.

I don’t know where the gray squirrels are today. I usually see four of them getting along somewhat peacefully under the feeder, and the turkeys haven’t come around yet–it is too early for those bachelors. The red squirrels have gone.

I remember seeing one or two of them earlier in the spring, so I figured I would watch them through the summer months, fighting and chasing away the larger grays like little Napoleons determined to win a great battle. But this year something changed, and those feisty little reds are not about. The last few years there was one red that had a stub tail. He was the most easily identified red of them all and was the scrappiest of the bunch. Even that old salt has gone. Maybe all the reds packed up and moved elsewhere–a better place in squirrel society where they now receive red carpet treatment among the finest fruiting trees of the forest, recounting tales of great battles with grays and glorious spoils of war that brought them to their hard-earned wealth.

Life rolls along like this. Losses are common–inevitable. Flora and fauna populations shift out there according to circumstances only Mother Nature knows. Life rebirths in some fashion somewhere every day too. For that, I am very grateful. Some day I’ll see red again, I’m sure. Those little tufty-eared twitters will make me laugh and send the grays running for cover.

©2008 Stumpar Scribbles

 

Deebs Passes Inspection

Deebs was a very good boy during his imaging Friday. I recommended a muzzle for him, for he can get nippy if he is really scared. The vet fitted him with a leather muzzle and with the studs on it I thought Deebs looked a bit like Hannibal Lecter. I was glad this was a pain-free procedure–a good vet experience for Deebs. There was no trouble from him; he lay quiet and allowed the vet to patrol his guts with her wave-emitting wand. And she found nothing.

Not a thing was wrong with Deebs internally, except for a small gallstone. Deebs was prescribed an appetite stimulator/anti-depressant that I bought at Rite Aid. That medication seemed to work after the first night: I noticed he ate with no struggle the next morning and he bounced puppy-like on the yard with a squeak toy.

So, one can imagine my deep relief to find Deebs was not being eaten by cancer again. I bought some bitter apple spray to curb his licking behavior on his right front wrist, and that seems to be working fairly well as the skin heals up. All is as well as can be so far. I have my Deebs back with a good bill of health and he is cheering up with his new happy pills.

©2008 Stumpar Scribbles

 

 

Deebs Woes

For some time Deebs has been refusing to eat. It is an adventure to get him to his dish and is approaching a critical phase. Today he will go to a scheduled appointment at an emergency veterinary clinic that has MRI technology so we can take images of him internally. As much as I hate the thought of finding something, I’d be relieved to find out definitively what the issue is.

Over the past four years we’ve made it through two bouts of Deebs cancer; I have the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that this is another, more dangerous instance. Not knowing is such a debilitating feeling–I have no ability to communicate with my loving doggy to get specifics about how he feels, and the vet I frequent for his care has few suggestions.

So this action, to take images and get a clear view of my Deebs under his skin, is the best way to eliminate many possibilities and clarify what needs to be done to ease his aged woofer woes. I’ll let you know how it goes from here.

©2008 Stumpar Scribbles

 

Nephew’s Milestone

One of my nephews is graduating high school this year. Now my hindsight kicks in: I want to tell him of all the mishaps in life out there I stumbled upon. That would be a heck of a story–a tome, truly! But I know young men and women must step forward in their own directions and cannot be specifically navigated through all the rough eventualities that will sprout up. I realize inevitably my nephew will make his own way no matter what others’ wisdom offers; and that is exactly what will make him a man, gathering his own sapiens.

Most of his life I have been an absentee uncle: busy with my own strife, issues and ills, missing out on a brilliant developing mind. He is preparing to study history in college: I can see a sophisticated genteel, an expert in his preferred era of study. Maybe I’ll see him on the History Channel some year.

What could I possibly say to this young, ambitious man? Perhaps suggest that he follow a different path from mine; that he engage life sooner, to focus positively on his mind and thoughts to know himself–the core of true success, never fear failure since it is an integral aspect of growth, and to remember love of family and friends is more precious than any paycheck could ever be. Yeah, that might be good advice.

So, Robert, I can’t attend your graduation (big surprise there) but know I do think of you, I am proud of your accomplishments shared by your mother’s emails, and I sincerely hope you are happy to move on to your future. If I were a betting man, I’d wager that you’d be successful and fulfilled in life. I wish you nothing less.

©2008 Stumpar Scribbles

 

Flying Queens’ American Dreams

Today a mass of queen ants dots the sky; it is a scene both remarkable and tragic.

Here these tiny young female ants–royalty–have found mother nature’s conditions right to sprout temporary wings and take flight to move to distant lands where no ant has gone before (or at least they hope). The sky is rich with clumsy, plump queens that struggle to gain distance and start their own colony, mating with their miniscule male counterparts attracted by pheromones along the way. This is an insect world’s Plymouth Rock American dream. And like our earliest European settlers, the queens’ voyages are rife with danger.

Bodies lay compacted atop one another in the pool filter basket; countless tiny six-legged ladies lay still, while expiring dames panic on the shimmering liquid surface–capillary action keeping them only partly dry, their abdomens gasp for life-sustaining air, spiracles clogging with water and pool chemicals; their wings and body parts submerge, stuck to water molecules as their life struggles weaken. Red-black dots float or make tiny ripples across the calm chlorinated ocean: hundreds of pilots downed like tragic war casualties. Flycatchers swoop the surface–sharks from above–capturing those helpless segmented souls. For the dead their morphological term seems to mock them: exoskeleton. Those who have made a safe journey will face many more challenges, I’m certain.

One day this season I’ll be out there moving logs, weed whacking around old stumps, getting scrap wood from the wood pile and I’ll see a group of disturbed ants panic and run for cover. I’ll wonder: Were they a success story from this royal race event? Welcome, little friends. Oh, and don’t you dare try to colonize my house!

©2008 Stumpar Scribbles