wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.


42 Comments

Wilma and Woody

Hi, I’m Woody. Not like Woody Woodpecker. Woody, like short for Woodrow.

Have you heard the news? There’s a big food fest at Anneli’s.

This old stump has been here at least twenty years. I bet there are some well-established bugs inside.

Oof! Wa-a-a-ay inside.

Okay. There’s got to be an easier way.

Maybe I’ll check on Wilma and see if she’s found anything that’s easier to get to.

 

Woodrow, Woodrow,

Checks the wood growth,

Looking for some bugs.

Sticks his beak in,

Bugs he’s findin’,

Spears them and he tugs.

 

 

They’re elusive,

Not conducive,

To a snacky lunch.

Wilma beckons,

Food, he reckons,

Least that is his hunch.

 

 

Tried the stump here,

Bugs have no fear,

He can’t reach that far.

Wilma eats well,

That he can tell,

Finds more food by far.

 

 

Woody sweet talks,

Wilma just gawks,

Gives up her good spot.

This is great stuff,

Searching’s not tough,

Wilma, thanks a lot.

*****

 

Do you like music? Why not go to Spotify then type in The Birkenna Project in the Search bar.  Spotify – Web Player: Music for everyone

Or go to Amazon’s Music sites and do a search for The Birkenna Project. Look for three songs newly uploaded to the album with three more to come soon.


22 Comments

The Weed Eater

“Oh no! Is that who I think it is? ”

 

“Hi Jasper. What are you up to? Any lunch you want to share?”

Oh darn it all. She always shows up at lunch time.

“”Er, ah, hi Roberta. I was just going to have my VEGETARIAN lunch. Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“What is that you’re eating, Jasper? Don’t you prefer seeds and nuts?”

“Yes, well, when it’s hot like this, I like a few greens to help with the thirst.”

“Oh, what the heck. Come on over. There are plenty of weeds to spare in Anneli’s yard. I’m helping her with the weed eating.”

And I’m almost as fast manually as she is with the electric one. I’m like that song by Hall and Oates, The Maneater, except my words are a little bit different.

Oh-oh, here I come.

Watch out weeds, I’ll chew you up.

Oh-oh, here I come.

I’m a weed eater.

 

 

 


49 Comments

Flossie Flicker

“Sit still, Flossie.  I see Anneli out there with her camera again. Don’t move.”

“Oh, whew! She’s just taking pictures of her poppies. That IS a nice one though, isn’t it?”

“I hear ya, I hear ya. You don’t care about the flowers…. You’ll just have to be patient and I’ll find a bug for you.”

“Oh, this motherhood is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“But then they grow up and they make you proud. Must keep that in mind.”

 

Flossie Flicker flies around,

Making that familiar sound,

FLICK-a, FLICK-a, FLICK, she cries,

Mother’s tired and she sighs.

 

“Feeding Flossie all day long,

I’m exhausted, not so strong, 

But the child is growing fast

She’ll be beautiful at last.

 

“All my work will be worthwhile,

And I know her dad will smile,

Saying she’s a gorgeous girl,

Best darn flicker in the world.”

 

*****

Do you like music? Why not go to Spotify then type in The Birkenna Project in the Search bar.  Spotify – Web Player: Music for everyone

Or go to Amazon’s Music sites and do a search for The Birkenna Project. Look for three songs newly uploaded to the album with three more to come soon.


23 Comments

Hunting Lesson for Reuben the Robin

“A mother’s work is never done,” says Roberta Robin.

“Come on, Reuben. We have to teach you to hunt for yourself. I can’t keep doing this for you.”

“This is what we’re after.”

“Now watch carefully and I’ll show you how to hunt for these yummy earthworms.”

“First, you have to listen. That means you don’t shuffle your feet and you don’t squawk and run around. That sends them underground.”

“But they ARE underground, aren’t they?” Reuben asks.

“I meant ‘figuratively speaking,'” Roberta says with a sigh. “You’re overthinking this. It’s just a worm hunt. So you lean over like this, close to the ground, and listen. And keep your eyes open too because you might see the grass wiggle as they try to escape.”

“Then when you hear one making a run for it–”

“But they don’t have any legs. How can they make  a run for it?” Reuben asks.

“FIGURATIVELY speaking!” Roberta sighs. “Why me? Why did I have to give birth to a little professor?”

“As I was saying, when they make a ru– er… a bid for freedom, you snag ’em with your beak. You might have to dig and peck a little but if you’re quick you’ll get the worm.”

“So it’s the quick bird that gets the worm,” Reuben says. “Not necessarily the early bird.”

“Here you go, Professor Reuben,” says Roberta. “Now you try it. The next one I get will be for me, so you’d better try hard to get your own. That’s it. Get that ear to the ground.”

While I grab a bite for myself at last!

 


42 Comments

Wilma the Pileated Woodpecker

Wilma is a pileated woodpecker. She doesn’t have the red slash that the males have under their cheek. Wilma is a juvenile. Her red topknot is not yet fully developed.

She is hungry for insects, her main food.

“Oh, look! There’s Anneli’s garden,” says Wilma. “She’s always complaining about the bugs in it. I should check it out.”

“Now let’s have a look. Yup! Lots of weeds, so that’s good for my bug search.”

“Just got to make sure that dog of hers isn’t around. That Emma can be a real nuisance.”

“Okay, first raised bed. Hmm … nothing but stray poppies and weeds. What gives?”

“And over here, she hasn’t even planted anything … other than a few rocks.”

“These oriental poppies look pretty. Buzzing with bees inside them. But I’m looking for bugs, not bees.”

“Okay, so that was a bust. I think I’ll just stick to my roaming around and around these fir trees, and maybe check out a few stumps.”

“By the way, you want to hear my dad calling? He is magnificent!”


22 Comments

Giant Cedars

Do you see a tiny dark creature at the base of one of the forest giants? It’s Emma the Explorer.

Look at me, Anneli. I’m at the foot of the Empire State Tree. I can’t climb, and there’s no elevator. It sure looks huge from where I am. Click to make the picture bigger and maybe you’ll see me. I’m black and have a white nose.

Giant cedars standing tall,
Many here have yet to fall,
Others tumbled to the lake,
Fell so hard the earth did shake.

Still they keep their feet on shore,
Though they won't grow anymore,
Flooding waters soaked their boots,
And by force they lost their roots.

What these giant trees have seen,
Since they first began to lean,
Has a bear once scratched his hide,
On the cedar's sunny side?

Has a buck his antlers rubbed,
Losing velvet as he scrubbed?
Did an eagle perched aloft,
Make his nest there, downy soft?

Cedars lying in the lake,
Tangle trout that lures do take,
Lucky fish will break the line,
Swim away and feel just fine.

Silent sentinels await,
And one day they'll meet their fate,
Younger trees will then stand guard,
While the old ones fall down hard.

But the cycle carries on,
Wood in water will be gone,
Many seasons come and go,
And the young have room to grow. 


32 Comments

Location, Location, Location

A few days ago, David Kanigan posted photos of a Canada goose nesting on a dock.

https://davidkanigan.com/2021/04/20/and-the-show-goes-on/

Please visit it to see this post.

I had mixed feelings about this goose’s choice of location. It’s right out in the open, and so vulnerable to predators and the weather. I hope for, but don’t expect, a good outcome for this brood. Still, if she pulls it off and any of her goslings hatch and survive, the goose will deserve a medal for bravery and stamina.

I thought of this goose nest when the Captain came home from a trip up the BC coast, having taken pictures of a goose nest in a very remote location. This is how it should be. This goose nest is beside a river, but somehow the goose knew about rivers rising in the spring, and it has placed this nest high up out of the reach of a flooding river.

The nest is on top of this tree stump, out of sight, and out of reach of the spring run-off in a rising river. It is sheltered from aerial predators by the new growth on top of the stump.  Being up high would also give it a slight advantage over animals that might threaten it from ground level.

But even with all of the advantages the goose has with this remote nest,  it is probably at just as much risk as the town goose in David Kanigan’s blog post.

Thank you, David, for showing the city goose as compared to my country goose. I hope they both manage to bring off a nice batch of goslings.


33 Comments

Golden-crowned Sparrow

Sadly, this golden-crowned sparrow is no longer with us. He hit one of my recently cleaned windows yesterday, and reminded me why I had put off cleaning them for so long. He looked so lifelike when I found him in a planter beside the front door, so I thought he deserved to be remembered as he might have been only moments before. I propped him up to sit on the snapdragon stem.

He has dirt on his beak and his feathers are a bit scruffy from his fall into the dirt, but he still looks beautiful to me, except that he’s not alive anymore. I feel really bad when I lose a bird on my windows.

Golden-crowned sparrows have a mournful song, and today I had the distinct feeling that his friends were looking for him.

If you listen to this very short video clip, you’ll hear his friends calling for him, saying, “Where are you? … I’m so alone.”

I heard that awful sound again,

A bird has hit the window pane.

Emma perked up at the sound,

Barked and stood up, looked around.

 

On the landing it was clear,

No dead birds, not far, not near.

Maybe he survived, I thought,

Just a headache he has got.

 

Later as I watered flowers,

Wanting to avoid the showers,

I looked down to place my feet,

When I saw this bird so sweet.

 

Feeling faint, I lifted him,

Knowing that his chance was slim,

Broken-hearted, I could see,

No more would he sing for me.

 

Beautiful, he looked in life,

Wonder if he had a wife,

Soon I heard her calling sweet,

Hoping that her love she’d meet.

 

One last perch upon a stem,

Such a beauty, such a gem,

As his soul wings high above

We’ll remember him with love.


31 Comments

Hunting the Hunter

Quentin has been hanging out on the landing, looking at himself in the glass panel beside the front door. I think he thinks that reflection he sees is another quail in the house.

He must be wondering why the other quail isn’t coming out. He is so desperately hunting for others of his kind, especially if one were a female.

But he isn’t the only one who is hunting.

As I looked through the upstairs window to see if Quentin was still on the landing below, I saw, not a quail, but a quail hunter.

GASP! That’s not a quail. I ran for the camera and turned it on as I hurried across the room, hoping this predator hadn’t flown away by the time I returned. I know they are very wary.

This one was tiptoeing along the path, checking behind every little twig for the dinner of his dreams.

I was snapping pictures through the window with the zoom on because I didn’t dare go any closer lest he fly, so all these pictures are a bit “window-ish” and not the best clarity. But it was enough to identify the fellow as a sharp-shinned hawk, a very close lookalike to the Cooper’s hawk.

Moments later, he flew away.

The nearby birdfeeders were absolutely silent. No birds around. Not a peep!


39 Comments

Quentin Quail

The quince is not quite blooming yet, but I needed a picture of it for this post, so I took one from a couple of years ago.

This poor lonely quail is looking for a mate. Not sure there is one in the neighbourhood for him to find, but I made one up for him.

I quail at the thought of the poem I am going to inflict on you today.

Quentin Quail is on a quest,

He quills a questionnaire,

Querying and quizzing all,

To find a queen so fair.

Quite a queue around the quince,

For lady quails so quaint,

Topknot quivering in the wind,

Our Quentin’s feeling faint.

“That’s queer,” he quips so quietly,

“She can’t be from Quebec,

And yet she calls with quality

Out of her pretty bec.”

Quentin quicksteps forward now,

He’s feeling like a prince,

Quavering he offers quiche,

And she will offer quints.

His family quota is fulfilled,

His hopes have not been quashed,

The former quandary is solved,

Of cares, his hands are washed.

Quentin will become a dad,

Of kiddies eight, nine, ten,

But now he wonders just what kind

Of quagmire he is in.