The Nursery (SWF)

Soft morning light filters through the sheer curtain--
lace doilies hung to soften the harsh wood of the beams above,



and the sweet smell of hay, bales stacked in wait.
The pastures beyond the barn,
now lush and lively and green.

This cozy room, with its low, whitewashed ceiling and several east-facing windows, is home to our herd of goats, growing smaller each year. Its few elderly members continue their contented existence--trimming the fence lines, chewing their cuds, reclining in spring warmth beside an overgrown cinder block “mountain,” once easily bounded up and over, now best for scratching the itch of winter’s wool.
Barn Swallows build here each spring, nests of mud and straw, firmly plastered to the beams, inches below the white ceiling, and facing the morning light.
Trimmed with long, graceful feather blankets, they appear empty--until I cross before the wall of windows, my shadow creeping over the room.


Five wavering heads rise in silence and thrust orange mouths forward to greet the expected offering of food—
but it is only I.

Barn Swallow nestlings

And so, the lazy slumber reclaims them.




Mother waits outside until the chores are finished here,
watching, through the windowpane, ready.


Her shadow enters and nudges them to wake.
Then she is gone again to the sky.

See more Skywatch here.
And,
more Camera Critters are here.

Up and under

The Loft

Up a narrow stair, flat and steeply pitched against a loft above goat stalls below, the dusty floor opens broadly. The empty space, scattered now with just the few remaining bits of clean straw left from winter’s stacked bales, glowing warmly--the barn board walls, ages old and built around heavy beams of hand hewn oak, lit softly by the first morning rays.




Through one of the pair of small, east-facing windows looking out over the pasture, I have watched a Phoebe perch on the sill above, then, seconds later, disappear into the dimly lit interior. This expansive old barn, no longer housing the dairy cows it was raised to shelter a hundred years ago, but a collection of tractors, plows, mowing decks, garden tools, items to be recycled—and, apparently, one phoebe nest.


I wait and watch quietly, eyes struggling between the bright spikes of light and the shadow just beyond their reach, and see her fly from her silhouetted form, across the loft to the highest point within the gambrel roof. Beside the round vent, 30 feet above the barn floor, she has built her nest—held steady on the old track where pulleys ran back and forth, lifting to the lofts, heavy hay.


Safe, it would seem from most anything.
Up and under.

The Old Barn

Phoebe in the East Window

View more ABC Wednesdays here!

Old Mother Maple

I love the big, old trees on our property.

Arriving from upstate New York, they were the first impression of our new southern home. Where, from a canopy above, birdsong greeted the weary travelers and broad branches sheltered an old brick house safely beneath.
A large hickory stands guard in the back, reminding us with intermittent showers of nuts upon the tin roof, that he’s still standing strong.
In the front, a large hollow Sycamore and 2 Sugar Maples line the drive.
We are well surrounded by their interlacing, graceful branches.
Safely at home, on the top of our little hill.

Maple Sugaring Time
Sugar Maple, Acer saccharum

In early spring, we tap the Sugar Maples—the first step in a month-long process that yields the sweet amber syrup I remember from my grandfather’s farm in Vermont. Only several quarts, from just 3 trees scattered across the yard. But, a sweetness like no other, that tastes of strength and purity—and home.

The largest of the three, Mother Maple, reaches out toward our porch.
Her twisted trunk bears the scars of large fallen limbs. And the many slender branches grown in their place are crooked, giving her a lop-sided profile.
She is the character of an old, proud tree.
Gnarled, and with bark covered by lichens.
Greeting visitors to the hill, in her place by the front walk.

Mother Maple

Every spring, her arms welcome nesting birds.
Last year, a family of Summer Tanagers and this spring, Ruby-throated Hummingbirds.
On narrow leafy branches, with a gentle slope--such a welcome place to make a home.

female Summer Tanager at nest

Ruby-throated Hummingbird nest with tip of beak showing above

pair of baby hummingbirds in nest

This fall, her leaves have grown brown and withered. They litter the ground beneath her, barely changing to their golden tones.
I wonder if she will be with us much longer.
Or if there will be a gap in this landscape.

The hot, dry summer is hard on a more northern girl.

Mother Maple and our home

View more ABC Wednesdays here!