It rained pretty much all day yesterday and this morning we awoke to fog, but this afternoon the sun came out. There was no wind, so I could not stop moving while walking the beach. 🦟 Consequently, I was the first one down the beach and then back again. We saw the eagle when we stopped to talk with Judd. Anne got engaged in conversation, while I tried to get closer to the bird. Eventually, I got too close for the eagle’s comfort, and it took off. It eventually passed over the gulls pictured in the background and flushed them too. There were seiches everywhere.
Returning to the cabin, I soon spied the fawn looking in through the windows. No sign of mama today, but she and the youngster have toured our cabin before. I am rather pleased with the pic.
According to T. S. Elliot, April is supposed to be the cruelest month, but not around here. Instead of baby birds being plucked too soon, we seem to have a bumper crop. It started with the Mouning doves. They traditionally roost on our southside neighbor’s house and as is their like, mournfully call to us from there. This has been the situation for years. This year though, they seemed to have jumped the driveway and our now roosting on our house. This morning, I spied two doves on our dining room windowsill and while lying on the living room couch, I could hear them calling. I suspected that they are nesting either on the real chimney or the fake chimney, both of which are at the front of the house. Both masonry structures are too tall to see what is happening on top of them, but such lofty perches also seem too exposed to hawks. According to Wiki, Mourning doves are known for building very flimsy, minimalist nests made of twigs and grass, typically completed in few days. They often nest in trees, shrubs, or on human structures like gutters, with both parents sharing incubation (male by day, female by night) and raising multiple broods per season. I still have not located their nest, but while looking for it, I easily found the pictured Robin’s nest, at the back of the house, where breakfast is served all day long.
We went to a potluck dinner party. This event was originally scheduled for tonight, but then someone realized when the big game was. Bill and Mary, our usual hosts had convened another meeting of Team Kaldis, our longtime charity bicycle team. The team is still active, though most of us in attendance are not. We have all turned old and grey. Catching up with each other, last May’s tornado was discussed. Where we were dining and where many of us live was along its path. We were all fortunate. One member had been cycling in Forest Park as the storm approached and had to ride into the storm to get home. Another perennial topic these days was a memoriam for team members who are no longer with us.
Last night, our culinary offering was a salad, persimmons and pomegranates, a NY Times recipe, with ingredients from our local Schnucks. Many at that party shop at this same store and opinions varied. Compared to the Schnucks that it replaced, it represents a big improvement, but time has not been kind to the place. Gone is the live trout tank. Further west this store is both dwarfed and out shone by newer and larger stores in the chain. My store still outsells all the rest. Perched above the food desert that is the City of Saint Louis, it no longer requires a holiday of a snowstorm to fill the parking lot. This winter, I have had opportunity to be impressed twice with its produce department. Last November, it stocked fresh rhubarb from the Netherlands, so that Harry could have his pie. And in January, I just bought fresh persimmons and a pomegranate from Spain. “She may not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts, kid.”
