The Misters and the Missuses

It was a glorious sunny 70+ degree day – perfect for Sunday Brunch at the Bird Feeder Buffet. this weeks special – suet served up to shy woodpeckers.

Woodpeckers are cautious and flighty. But, like most of my guests at the buffet, their appetite urges them onward in spite of their concerns. Interestingly, it seems that the females of the species are the trail blazers in this regard. If you want to know more about these feeders check out my post on feeding woodpeckers here.

The red-bellied woodpecker is a pretty good size bird, a little less than twice the size of a cardinal. It has the saddest call, but the sweetest expression. As new ones stop by the buffet, they always send a scout in first…

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She decides that I’m no threat and digs in.

These feeders are perfect for woodpeckers. Very few birds have the ability to scale tree trunks, so with the exception of the nuthatches they have these feeders all to themselves.

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She’s followed a few minutes later by her mister. He’s been here before, but is skittish and shy, so shy that he tries to sneak around the log instead of just scaling it like his mate. A lot more work for him, but it allows him a better field of vision.

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On the other end of the buffer the downies are feeding. This female is a regular visitor and has almost no fear of me. I shot this from a rocker 6 feet from her.

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Her mate was spotted at the buffet for the very first time yesterday at Sunday Brunch.

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He very carefully checked things out…

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And decided to go for the suet feeder instead.

We do our best to make our guests comfortable at the buffet, but sometimes a fella has to be prepared to eat and run.

Sunday Brunch

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Good morning, my little Chickadees, the Bird Buffet at the Stone House will be open daily throughout the winter, but make sure to stop by for our award winning Sunday Brunch!

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Dead tree trunks packed with suet for all our nuthatch…

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and woodpecker friends…

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On sunny days be sure to swing by and check out our all new winter menu…

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Wintering goldfinches, we are stocked up with fresh top quality Niger seed…

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Titmice, come prepared to feast on the finest black oil sunflower seeds…

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And dine at our special platter feeder designed to help you forget about those fickle buntings who left you to spend the winter in Mexico…

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No need to worry about squirrels at this buffet, Velcro is standing by to dispatch any rodents. Nothing will spoil your dining experience at the buffet…

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As always, we welcome cardinals, even if they are thankless snobs who lurk until we close for the night.

Requiem for Fall

The color here in the Ozarks is almost completely gone. Sometimes you’ll find a dogwood deep in a hollow – but the show is essentially over. Here are the last of the stragglers and my attempt to find something interesting or beautiful without a lot of color.

This hickory was one of the last holdouts. More leaves up than down.

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Today even these are on the ground.

Some maples hung on in spite of the recent wind and rains, sometimes the sky was visible right through them.

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Today the maples have all joined the oaks on the forest floor.

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A crunchy carpet of tans and golds a foot thick in spots is all that remains.

Driving west I saw this field full of something fluffy. The sunlight and wind made it dance.

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The puffs were actually quite delicate – like dandelion seeds. Even so they hung on in the wind.

On my way back to town I stopped by to see this old friend – fully exposed amidst its now barren trees. It makes me think of that transition from Fall to Winter.

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It’s just holding on to what little color it has left.

Fall is fleeting and I miss it already.

Ginkgo Stinko

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I was born with no sense of smell. None, nada, zilch. If someone is using a solvent like acetone or something, I can taste something in the back of my throat – but that taste is the same as someone spraying Fabreeze or perfume. If I walk into a restaurant or even into a house where someone is cooking, I cannot identify what kind of food they are making, I just get a sense of moisture in the air. Italian, pot roast, Mexican, Thanksgiving dinner – all the same.

Bath and Body Works is a mystery to me, so is Yankee Candle. I make my choices by the colors of the products – will it look good in my home? Friends are always putting things under my nose and saying how good they smell. I don’t want to make them feel bad so I just sniff away getting nothing from the experience except that there was some sort of sharing going on. That’s thoughtful and I appreciate it.

If I were picking a sense to lose, it would be smell. I hear people talk about bad smells more than good ones. It seems smell can really set people off. I hear complaints about body odor, chemicals, the chicken plant down the road. I am happily oblivious.

Sometimes I get to find the beauty in something that stinks, like the ginkgo tree.

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Last month I read a post by Mrs. Fringe about autumn in New York City. She talked about the fruit dropped from this stunning tree in terms of it’s vomit-like aroma.

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Here in Eureka Springs the ginkgo is one of the last trees to show off it’s color. We have several located downtown right near the post office. For years I have headed there late in October to take in the glorious color of the last of the fall.

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Every year I see scads of photogs milling around the fading maples on the other side of the street. I seem to be the only one who loves this tree.

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I heard a friend mention the annoying fruit – there is sooooo much of it on the ground in the late fall and they are not pretty. Apparently this friend didn’t see the need to mention that the fruit stinks. My friends always forget that I cannot smell anything.

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So every year I wander through that fruit without worry, with no clue that I am crushing fruit that smells to high heaven underneath my shoes.

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This year I took a friend with me to shoot this wonder. As I stood in the grass shooting upwards I heard her exclaim, “That smell, there is dog crap somewhere nearby, and lots of it!” You see I had forgotten all about that informative blog by Mrs. Fringe and was once again blissfully unaware of the stink I was in.

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I kind of like my fragrance free world.

Falling Fast – the End of the Show

Last Saturday I revisited some of my favorite spots I shot this fall, it was a glorious sunny day and I was taking a friend on the tour so she could capture the fleeting color. Sadly the decline was in full swing. Today, a week later these spots are almost bare. As in the beginning of the transition, I spend my time seeking color, rather than being surrounded by it.

 

Sweet Spring
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Peak color.
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Last gasp.

 

Down Magnetic Hollow
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Explosion of color.
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Fading glory.

 

Up Magnetic Hollow
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Layers in the light.
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Light passing through.

 

Don’t get me wrong, the woods are still gorgeous, but the color is literally blowing away. Down in the hollows there are still rich pockets of color.
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Fuller Street.
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Maple splendor.
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Determined Dogwood.

 

The transfer is happening from sky to earth.
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The carpeting on these Ozark hills is no longer green.

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Rich layers of carmels, tans, and browns cover it all. The thick layers also add a sweet sound to the movement in the woods.

 

The lesson of fall is to seize the day, enjoy the color, live in this moment. It’ll be gone before you know it.

The Compromise

Polarized, divided, uncooperative.

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In this second week of November it seems we are no closer to seeing eye to eye than we were a week ago.

 

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One side is down in the dumps and thinks they should just pack up their halter and move to another pasture. One where hard work is rewarded with carrots that are earned by the work of your own hooves.

 

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The other side is all up on their high horse about their recent victory and believes that they are entitled to have alfalfa delivered to their stables whether they ever pulled a cart or not.

 

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The truth is all this “self-made” self righteousness and hard work is exhausting.

 

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I like winning, but the truth is that if you left the pasture there would be no one to disagree with.

 

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I love this pasture, and I wouldn’t mind some help every now and then, maybe I have earned it. I wouldn’t want to loose the stable over my head just because of a bad case of colic.

 

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I love this pasture too. It’s not like I don’t want to work, I do. I don’t mind pulling my weight.

 

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If we all just pull together we can make this pasture a better place for everyone!

The Faces of Veterans Day

Yesterday was a glorious sunny day. Earlier in the week I saw a friend post on Facebook that she was in urgent need for a convertible for the annual Veteran’s Parade. I have a Jeep with a soft top so I responded, asking if that would help. She enthusiastically said “Yes!” So I set about getting a year’s worth of dirt of my Jeep. I view dirt as a protective coating, so this was no small run through the car wash, it was a scrub down, actually it was three, but that’s not the real topic for this post.

I grew up with a Pop who served in the Marines, uncles who served in Vietnam, and great uncles who served in WWII. I saw with great regularity the cost of that service. I also saw silent pride for having made the choice to serve. Washing a Jeep to do something small for men and women like this is simply inconsequential. I was honored to do it. I drove a man who was was a couple years younger than my Pop would have been. He served in the Marines Vietnam in the mid 60s. As we drove through the streets people shouted “Thank You!” – something this man should have heard when he came home. He waved and took it all in as his friends an neighbors cheered for him.

What follows is my exploration of the men and women in the parade, some vets, some family members, some cloning out to march to honor loved ones or even just an era. It was different for me shooting from inside the parade. I didn’t get to see much of it, just the 40 or 50 feet where I was placed.

This is Sue. The parade exists today because 4 years ago Sue asked why there was no Veterans parade in this small hamlet that has a parade for almost any reason. Her late husband was a Vietnam vet who died too soon. This parade is a labor of love that honors her Gary.

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Actually, it’s not just a parade. Sue finds new ways to honor vets each year. This year there were restaurants cooking for Vets, discounts all around town, a 21 gun salute, and even an art show. Gary is smiling on you, Sue.

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Thank you, sirs.

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This bloodhound howled in time with the bagpipes at the front of the parade.

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Thank you, Sirs.

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Marching in honor of the Vietnam era.

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Sparky marches in honor of his Grandpa

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USMC Bulldog – he wanted to take on that bloodhound

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Red white and blue.

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Semper Fi

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In honor of WWI

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Thank you, Sirs.

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Poppy Guy

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Thank you, Sir.

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Margo forgoes the clown makeup of this parade.

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Thank you!

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Welcome home.

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As the parade ended someone sang the national anthem. Everything stopped. I confess I think of that anthem in terms of baseball games. These men see it as something much more profound.

To all vets – I sincerely want to say, I thank you for your service.

The First and Last of the Dogwoods

The dogwood is a favorite of mine. It shows itself early. Before the leaves of the surrounding trees have fully opened they appear like clouds suspended just below the treetops. The open and spread their wings, and then they are gone.

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Throughout the summer, the dogwood simply disappears. It’s green leaves blending into the canopy. Only it’s dark twisted trunks give it away. For months they hide as spindly trees in forests of mighty oaks.

In the fall they fight to hold onto their green…

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Giving into the transition slower than the rest, fighting the good fight…

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Until only red remains and they alone are at the peak of their color. As the others start to fall, they take flight.

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Bursting with color as the sunshines right through their translucent leaves.

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Holding on long after the others are gone.

The first and the last.