First Light

Early morning, first light.

When sounds of the nighttime mix with those of the approaching day.
Birdsong from the woods, a Barred Owl’s questioning call in the distance—and persistent chattering and fussing from the yard below.
Our bedroom door, open, to the upstairs porch and the sounds of the waking fields and woods.
Our narrow road, close below, between them.


For quite some time it continued, as we lay warm beneath blankets, a disturbing, unsettling call that we decided must be a raccoon. One of many in this rural area.


Becoming pests in greater numbers to be sure, though I smile when I see the small hand-prints so like mine, left after a night’s diddling in the mud at the edge of the pond.



I fussed about inside, preparing for a day’s work.
The sound outside my door, now quiet.
Gone with the darkness.


Pulling slowly onto the narrow road, a few feet from our drive, a small someone lay still on the pavement.
How Mama must have fussed over her here, confused and scared.

While we slept beneath warm blankets.
Listening to the sounds of first light.

Unmarred by her accident,
this baby raccoon was beautiful.
Soft and small.

Click to enlarge

participating in Camera Critters

Happy Thanksgiving, neighbor!

He was on my mind as I was working last week--our raccoon and his crafty ways.

Anything that is attractive to him, whether as food or trophy, must be fastened securely. And I was sure to wrap the new suet feeder several times with a metal chain and squeeze the hanger closed with pliers. I’d made some wonderful suet cakes that were waiting in the fridge—tasty morsels containing assorted leftover bread heels, stale cereal pieces, random odd nuts and berries and peanut butter.
The woodpeckers would love it!

I had taken a good part of an afternoon getting it situated in a small buckeye which stands just off the kitchen windows—between hanging finch feeders, platforms and tubes. One stop in a semicircle of seven stations. And for nine days, Harry (hairy woodpecker) visited us often to extricate his favorites from within the mesh cage.

This morning it has disappeared.

I can imagine how tempting it must have been—luring my neighbor from his bed—the fragrance of peanut butter wafting to his loft in the hollow tree in the ravine on a balmy night. And I can almost picture him stealing the feeder and retreating to his post to enjoy its delicacies safely within.

Next time, I’ll have to remember he has tin snips—the brand new pair he stole from the barn a few years ago.

That sneaky little kleptomaniac!

I've always found this hummingbird feeder beautiful--its red, glass flowers shine in the summer sun--beckoning hummingbirds to its sweet nectar. And, on the practical side, being glass, it cleans easily, doesn't absorb odors, and never gets scuffed. I received it one year for Mother's Day--and there's absolutely no reason to need any other.
Last week, I looked out at it one day and saw that two of the red flower pieces were gone! Fortunately, one appeared in the grass below--but the whereabouts of the other puzzled me. I scoured the area--and found nothing more.
My theory? That sneaky little kleptomaniac that lives in the top of a tree in the woods.
We've had things stolen from the barn before--fancy new tin snips that mysteriously turned up under a floor board. And, now we know better than to leave temptation in his path. But my hummingbird feeder? Would he?

This afternoon I was pulling scruffy weeds from the woods--trying to take advantage of the moist soil and clear a bit of the honeysuckle that fills in every chance it gets. And, as I reached down, I saw it. My pretty little red glass flower. He must have dropped it as he walked along, not far from the base of his tree.

I wonder what else is in his collection.

Need help with this bird ID

Eastern banded-tail ruff-back? Seems flightless--must be his belly full of black-oil sunflower seeds. (notice feeder rod BENT to ground!)

Now you see him...

There he naps in the crotch of the tree--so perfectly camouflaged against the bark in the faint morning light. The short, stumpy hollow section to the right is his home. Last night I saw him emerge as the sun was setting. And minutes after taking this picture, as the rising sun wakes him from his napping, he tucks himself inside again.