BIRDS OF THE AIR

Eagle's are quite common in the Dungeness area and it seems that I cannot get away from them. The following picture was in a former home and there is a story to it.



This picture was taken after a courting event that hits close to home. Eagles have exquisite courtship rituals and sometimes they come to naught. The male tends to perform aerial loops before the female perched in her tree. She is appreciate and signals for more. Eagles chirp/talk a lot. This time the male was quite proud of his performance and came in for a landing just above the female.

The branch broke, and both it and the male landed on the female below. She took off and so did the male --in opposite directions. By then I got out my camera and waited. Only one eagle had returned. Was it the male, or the female, returning to give him another chance? It certainly was not a seven eagle day!

I can relate to that event.

This old moose, once sat next to this beautiful gal from Newfoundland. It was at an American Rock Garden symposium. I made small talk, and finding out where she was from I gallantly added some Newfie comments. Jeesh what do you grow, ice flows, moss and primroses? Just then my friend John edited my brilliant commentary, by kicking me in the shin. Sharply, I might add.
In the next moment the Creator chimed in -- The speaker announced his great privilege in welcoming the curator of the Newfoundland Botanical Gardens. I felt much as the following creature I found in my garden. What am I?



Today, "IT" and I live right across from the raptor center and listen to their talk all the time. I also work in the Dungeness area and this garden is right across from an eagle’s nest. It is quite a show!

Footnote: Eagles are not the bravest or most noble of birds. On the same Meadow brook home I witnessed an amazing attack. Near the same tree an eagle swooped down to snatch some baby geese. The mother launched herself upwards from a dead start and put her body smack into the Eagle. It was major CRUNCH time. Both were of equal size, but her body weight was much greater. The mother won and the eagle flew off in a crooked and puzzled daze.

© Herb Senft

NORTHWEST BEAR STORY

Living in the Pacific Northwest I have many bear stories This one involves a mother bear tossing apples down to her cub below. That is one thing. What people do not know about bears is that they talk. Yes, they talk. All the time she was tossing the apples down to her child, he/she was gobbling away and they- they talked.

I was not smoking anything! But this was communication in a form I had never witnessed ever before amongst animals. I am not talking about woofs or snorts; I am talking about sentences and paragraphs that involved emotion. I do get upset about their killings, their stuffing, mounting and disrespectful display of their bodies. It really bothers me. Bears are very special creatures, so are raccoons. I suspect if we monkeys ever exterminate ourselves, I hope the next replacement might come from these two specie.

Two days earlier, I had been in this pasture picking blackberries. I come to this apple tree and felt something strange about it. I look up and see this big black blob in it. I have no understanding of what it is. Suddenly I see a big flash of white teeth. Slow, learner that I am, I now put it all together. That is one angry bear, and it is right above my head. I scream and run to the road, hurdle (swear to god) the barb wire fence and keep running up to my driveway.

Looking over my shoulder I see the bear running in the opposite direction. Both of us were equally scared of each other. A few days later I watched the activity I described above. Not mentioned is that I also took my rifle and started shooting at the tree, hoping to frighten them off. In WA. State (at that time) there were no restrictions on hunting a bear. Even if it is a female with a cub.

Thankfully things have changed and one must now obtain a bear tag in order to kill one. The season overlaps deer and elk seasons, beginning in Sept. Most hunters pick up such a tag, just in case they come across a bear while hunting deer or elk. The meat, depending on what has been eaten is far better than deer. I have also eaten cougar, which was surprisingly good. Just recently, there was a story about a hunter who stumbled into a 7ft,.six hundred pound black bear while hunting deer. The picture reminded me of a Grizzly. I would not have wanted to meet that big guy. A local paper, printed that story and laid out that bear picture on the front page. This created a stir of controversy, as one Dolores was to find out.

http://m.kitsapsun.com/news/2008/nov/09/letter-to-the-editor-front-page-bear-story-was/

I agree with one poster. “Maybe Dolores would have liked it better if the article had included some recipes for bear meat.” Oh, I near forgot … the mother bear with the cub was shot within the week.

(c) Herb Senft 2009

BEES TURN ON THE HEAT

Okay we all know that some plants have scents that delight the human nose. Sadly we are mere Jimmie-come-lately’s, to a relationship that began between plants and insects. A relationship that is some 150 million years older than our own.

Many early morning or late evening flowers generate this heat to make their scent more powerful. Cold sluggish bees associate this aroma with a relished snack of warmth as well as promise of nectar or pollen. On cool days this is an added incentive to come hither first, thus furthering the plants chance of being pollinated and setting seed. Providing this extra heat in these extended hours of the day, also encourages the bee to lengthen her workday.


Tricky little things aren’t they! Their manipulation and cultivation of human beings is ongoing. That is why I avoid having any plant in the same room with me. Outdoors, I trust them, but not when I close my eyes. When little Gladiolus tristis flounces her sexy ways, it’s out the door with her. No watering, no pollinating from me. Let the bugs have her, I say! Those flowers that do not have scents use other tricks to fool the insect. Many plants such as Forget-Me-Not’s, Tradescantia, Pulmonarias, Yesterday-Today-And Tomorrow’s fade from one color to another and are educating the bee that at one stage of the game, I am more attractive. I have pollen or nectar. Don’t come back when I’m blue.

Actually, bees like both colors. Blue to Pink, or vice versa. No matter-upon returning to the hive, they chat with the rest of the gals, this is a great plant—but go for the ”” first, and leave the other color alone. The faded color, of course is older and contains less nectar or pollen.

The males are never told anything. Bees tend to work on very specific nectar sources at certain times of the day. It was always fun to label shallow supers as to what plants they where working upon. I used to do this on a daily basis, making notes as to what was blooming and being worked. Poison Oak, for example made a great honey, and eating it may have made me partially immune to the plant. Then again, I used to consume much honey.

Maybe that is why someone addressed me as SUGAR today. Gee golly, I don’t think anyone ever called me that. Not white and fluffy, nor even that white pourable kind. Guess she meant that dark brown congealed stuff. :-)





(C) Herb Senft 2009

A TAXIDERMY STORY

Not really an animal story but I must add a taxidermy note.

I had a VERY bad hiking date in CO. Long story, made short. I dropped her off to get her NAILS done for Christ sake and while waiting, I meandered up to an antique store. The owner was a small gal, pregnant and we began to talk.

I happened to mention the date. She asks, "Where is she?" I pointed down the road and said . I dropped her off down there. They said they should be finished in a few hours.
That’s why I’m here.

What I unwittingly had pointed to was the local taxidermy place, which hid the beauty salon just behind.

She actually turned white and started to look for some protective piece of weaponry. I have that way with women!

Actually, upon reflection I think that was an odd pair of business to be next to each other. Then again, the weather in AZ and the deserts of CO, do that to their women.

It is a close call -- which one you would send your wife to!

TINA and the Seagull

I struggle with birds, crows especially but a recent seagull near miss with my beautiful truck car reminded me of one of my many miss-stumbles in life.

And such accidents do sometimes have tree-soaring consequences!


Tina was a friend of mine, who helped construct a medicine wheel garden. She had the most beautiful hair.

A seagull flew overhead and relieved itself. Not on my bald head mind you but on her. I couldn't help but to break out in laughter. The look she gave me could have killed! He mother Eleanore also did not appreciate my commentary.

In my defense it could have been worse. At the same property I was privy to be watching the soaring of an Eagle above. It was so beautiful. Then it pooped. The vertical lift gained from that weight loss was breath taking. That movement lends itself to much commentary, I would think. I have so many eagle stories, someday I will gather them together.

As penance, I wrote a poem to Tina’s hair. It was accepted; I few days ago I found a picture of her. Today it is off to the photo place to get it digitized. Her Mom gave me a framed picture. It is of her and it is in my living room ever watching me.

Accidents do happen and one simply has to make the best of the situation as the next picture proves.



This picture came from a Canadian, blogging on an English garden blog. We were buddies. When they booted me out he wrote me the most wonderful, if somewhat excessive and glowing obituary. Loved it! I can't even thank him as they have "banned me!" Half of these blogs would have been flagged! :-(

Herb Senft

ANIMAL STORIES

While pruning today, I remembered this racoon story! Thank you Ray.

Terror at night!

A few years ago I heard some suspicious noises in my moved out daughters bedroom. DAMN, those cats have got into the food bag again! I get out of bed -- and to set the stage, must make note that without my glasses I'm kinda blind. I'm only wearing my underpants as well.

I slam open the door expecting to find my two cats wolfing down the large sack I always keep in her room. Instead I find a huge furry critter making all sorts of angry, squealing noses. I start chasing it around, and realize my own exposed and vulnerable situation.

This was not my cat! I close the door, get dressed, put on my glasses. I open all the other doors in the house and return to the bedroom ...
Upon opening the door I suddenly realize that this is one VERY BIG and VERY ANGRY Mama Raccoon staking firm claim over the cat food bag. Closing the door, I retreat once again.

I return, now well armed with a broom. MAMA RACCOON stands up on her hind legs and takes me on. SWAT, SWAT, swat ... I retreat once again.

Realizing that I have encountered more than bare feet should ever be asked to face, I put on my boots and get a flat bladed shovel. I enter and wack the raccoon once again. This time I beat her out of the bedroom, down the hall and out through the backporch.
WHEW!

I return to bed, lay down, and all of a sudden hear a familiar munch, munch, munch. I open the door and find five or six raccoon children taking their pleasure with the food. I open the other doors of the house (NOT! the back porch door.) and return with the broom. SWAT, SWAT, SWAT! -- raccoons are flying all over my house, over the kitchen table, over the couch, under the table -- until I finally got all of them out!

I return to the back porch to see them all chattering at me, as if to ask, why I had been so RUDE. That MAMA was a good hefty sized creature, and with her fur flying out she looked like some Stephen King nightmare. All she had been doing was protecting her young!

Herbert Senft (c)2009