Eagle Days at the Riverlands

I don’t know what I did. I don’t know if it was clipping my toenails or bending down to pick up some dirty socks that one of the boys gifted us, but I screwed up my back this morning, my lower back that is. Yep, it was a real pain in the ass. I soldiered on, but at times it was difficult. Anne and I, now a pair of gimps, drove up to the Riverlands to attend their Eagle Days and to do some serious birding.

The accompanying photo gallery tells the tale of the day’s take. It was a target rich environment. The recent spate of cold weather has iced over most of the local water and much more to the north. The Kestrel is my proudest shot, all of the other birds I had already photographed. There is a tale to be told about this bird. It was almost the one that got away un-snapped. We were in the Prius, which makes for a great bird blind. It is stealthy quiet and black to boot. We had our scopes trained on an eagle a ways away. I looked up and there right next to the car, on a street sign, not ten feet away was this Kestrel. We fumbled frantically to get a shot off, but it flew away before any pictures could be taken. Later though we re-encounter this bird, not once, but twice, the displayed photograph is the best of the lot.

We had lunch at Just Desserts in Alton. It is fast becoming our favorite Alton eating establishment. Fast Eddies will always be our favorite biker cyclist bar. It was crowded and we’ve learned from past visits that the reason that they write the day’s menu on a chalkboard is because when they run out of something, they can simply erase it. Consequently, when we placed our luncheon order, we also placed our dessert order, a shared piece of radical cherry pie.

The Riverlands is run by the Corps of Engineers. Since, the Great Flood of 1993 the Corps has gotten religion. If you can’t beat the river, then join it is now more their new motto. ’93 taught the Corps that nature’s wetlands make for pretty good flood control methods. We stopped and spoke with a Corps ranger, who was running a remote spotting scope, away from the maddening crowd. He explained that the Corps now has over 100,000 acres on wetlands that they manage in the greater Saint Louis area. That is a lot of land. He also explained the two kinds of ducks, not male and female, but diving and dabbling. Diving ducks, like the pictured Coots, disappear underwater. The Mallards are representative of dabbling ducks, when they feed; they just stick their heads underwater, but leave their butts above the surface. We’ve all seen duck butts-up in the water before.

Herd Immunity

Thermonuclear Monterey Sunset

Thermonuclear Monterey Sunset

Saturday’s relatively balmy temperatures are now a thing of the past. In their place winter has installed itself, along with a bone freezing chill. This week’s chill is both external and weather derived, but just around the corner is the season of internal chills and pains, the season of the grippe, flu season. The CDC is forecasting an early start to this year’s flu season. Five southern states have already reported influenza outbreaks. It is also predicting a nasty flu season this year. The N3H2 strain of avian flu seems to be dominant. While flu vaccines are still plentiful, over 90% of the available supply has already been distributed. I got my vaccine last month and after a bit of badgering from yours truly, Anne got hers last weekend. So we are now protected, are you?

Thermonuclear war, pestilence and semis barreling down on unsuspecting baby ducklings, how more scary can this be?This world now seems a whole lot scarier place than it use to be when I was a child. Back then, Mom would read to me Robert McCloskey’s “Make Way For Ducklings”. Maybe if we stick together and look out for one another, we’ll make it through the day, through this winter and across the road.

Make Way For Ducklings, Robert McCloskey

Make Way For Ducklings, Robert McCloskey

To Kill a Mockingbird

Neighborhood Mockingbird

Neighborhood Mockingbird

And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt. – Matthew 26:39.

Being a juror this week has been a horrible and awful experience. I seriously considered and reconsidered being sick. But this has been an experience that I would wish on no one, not even the alternates. This ordeal is over and I am now permitted to speak about it. I have a lot to say and the complete story will eventually dribble out. For now, I look forward to going back to work today. Back to my mundane routine and then a weekend’s respite.

Atticus Finch: I remember when my daddy gave me that gun. He told me that I should never point it at anything in the house; and that he’d rather I’d shoot at tin cans in the backyard. But he said that sooner or later he supposed the temptation to go after birds would be too much, and that I could shoot all the blue jays I wanted – if I could hit ’em; but to remember it was a sin to kill a mockingbird.
Jem: Why?
Atticus Finch: Well, I reckon because mockingbirds don’t do anything but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat people’s gardens, don’t nest in the corncrib, they don’t do one thing but just sing their hearts out.

There is one exception to the kill a mockingbird prohibition. That would be the mockingbird that use to poop all over my front porch. There was never any gunplay involved with his disappearance. I’ve always suspected the alpha predator, the cat that lived across the street, but I have no proof.