Heady Day In Heaven - 777 Photos

Lady's Slipper orchids, the largest colony I have ever seen. May, coastal Maine 2012
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This is an iris without a name, but none the less for glory, in my coastal Maine garden. Years ago, I received it as a cull from a customer's garden. The name had long been lost to her, and has remained so for me. If any of you know what kind it is, would you please let me know?

 A Flower Crab spider waits on a Tree peony petal to ambush its prey. These spiders are smaller than my tiniest fingernail. I took this with a 60mm macro lens.

This is a male Bobolink in flight. It's the first one I've ever photographed, though I've seen them before. I stood for over an hour in an open field to get this shot. I wasn't wearing a hat and it was HOT out there!

This vintage Chevy with boys in ball caps went by on the country lane where I was standing in the field photographing birds.

There were several pairs of Eastern Bluebirds cruising the field for insects. A farm nearby had Bluebird houses on posts which were all occupied by these fabulous birds.
 

     On Memorial Day, I went for a ride to see Lady's Slipper orchids in what had been reported to me to be a huge colony. I didn't have to go far from home, only twenty or so miles. They werent' kidding about the enormity of the colony, either. The elderly couple who owned the land said that they had counted 346 blossoms on their single acre.

     I drove through numerous meadows, what we in Maine call "hay fields." Twice a summer, they will be mowed for hay. Before they are mowed the first time, Bobolinks make their nests there. Lots of other birds cruise the fields for food, too. I saw Savannah sparrows, Meadowlarks, Tree swallows, Barn swallows, Brown Headed cowbirds, Red-winged blackbirds, Mourning doves, Blue jays, Eastern Bluebirds, Starlings, Crows, and a Broad-winged hawk, all in one field. They zoomed and zipped from grass tops to utility lines, snatching bugs and seeds and arguing with each other. Shimmering, hot air rose from the grass and buttercups. I stood in the field in the blazing sun for about an hour, long enough that the birds forgot that I was there.

     A dog was let out from a nearby farm. In typical farm dog fashion, it barked incessantly while trotting along the farm's fence line. The chortling and cheeping of birds nearly drowned it out. A vintage, orange Chevy pick up went by, the cab crowded with ball cap stereotyped farm boys. On the breeze the aroma of manure was carried from a barn. I got one good, solid whiff of hot dogs on a grill somewhere. Mixed with the bird songs, girls laughed in the distance.

     Up the road from where I stood is a put in for small boats. When I drove by, headed home, people were putting canoes and kayaks in the water. A woman in cut off shorts, her recently exposed to daylight thighs already sun burned, craned her neck to kiss a man in Teva sandals. Two kids struggled a red canoe from a car roof while swallows swooped across the stream surface.

     At the end of the day, I had taken 777 photographs. I had started in my garden amongst the flowers, up close looking for insects, travelled through woods, fields and streams for more flowers and birds. I was richly rewarded. I saw birds I've not had the pleasure to photograph before and flowers familiar to me but more numerous than I'd ever imagined possible. It was a heady day in heaven.

       

The Psycho Season

Spring, ‘The Psycho Season’ is upon us. I wish it would just make up its mind and stay sunny and warm. But, oh no, one day it’s fifty and I’m thinking about applying sunscreen to my face; then the next, it’s twenty-five and snowing. The day I took the photo of the crocuses in the snow, it had been in the low fifties. Those sunny, dear little flowers emerged opening their faces to skyward. They were so naïve. WHAM! The next day, we had a blizzard that dropped a foot of wet, heavy snow and buried them. I thought for sure that they would be crushed, probably done for - much like I was. How does a person plan a wardrobe when the weather does this every year? Not that I plan a wardrobe. It’s just that I do so admire women who have seasonal wardrobes. It sounds so grown up. In summer, they pack away winter clothes and vice versa. Me? I have to have all of my clothing available at all times. Had I put away my winter attire when that blizzard hit, I would have been flapping around yelling “The sky is falling!” in a tank top. A tank top? Now that’s wishful thinking! If I had been wearing a garment as absurd as that, my sagging upper arms would surely have knocked senseless any passerby. I’ve never had a healthy body image, but spring brings out the worst of my neurosis. As the trend toward warmer days becomes more consistent and I get busier in the garden, I start to shed layers of clothing. Down vests, fleeces, doubled-up socks come off. They aren’t far way, only shed along the way toward full blown summer. Like the skin of a snake that has rubbed its body past rocks and sticks, my clothing can be found in chairs, slung over the newel post, hung on door knobs from one end of the house to the other.
Three days ago, I went outside in full, cold spring weather regalia and started pulling weeds. There was a biting north west wind coming across the water, but the sun was high in the sky. Working up a sweat, I started to peel off layers of clothes. I tossed a fleece over the passenger’s side rear view mirror of my car. Later, having forgotten about the fleece, I decided to take a run to the post office. When I turned out of the driveway onto the main road and picked up speed, in my peripheral vision I caught a great black flapping movement that scared the be-Jesus out of me. For an instant, I thought there was an eagle on my car. But, that was wishful thinking. How can I hope to be less erratic if the planet isn’t? I swell and shrink just like the planet, too. Just how much I swell is obvious every time I bend over to pull weeds. I think I might pass out! Over the winter, I’ve gotten fat. One advantage to a climate where bulky clothing is required is the degree of denial it affords. In the fall, as the clothes pile on, it creeps up on me - evil little fat monsters sneaking up and jumping onto my body, clinging to me until spring. Then, when the sun comes out, they are revealed. As my activity increases, they fall off, but for a while, I have to live with them. Secretly, sometimes, I’m thankful when the weather turns foul along the way to summer. I can put clothes back on, cover up my monsters, and sit and write.