Hummingbird Hallelujah!

Late in the day on Easter Sunday, while Phoebe and I were tossing the softball, our sharp-eyed red-headed girl spotted the first returning male ruby-throated hummingbird.

"Mama! There's a hummingbird at the feeder. I think it's an adult male!" That's my girl!

Redhead and redbud.

I was unable to get an image of First Guy until this morning. Can I hear a "hallelujah?" The hummers are back.

Now the question in our minds is: Will any of the three males that Julie raised from orphaned nestlings to releasable youngsters two summers ago return to spend the summer with us again?

We'll know if they come peeping around us as we eat our dinner outside in the front yard. Last year all three returned. You can listen to Julie's NPR commentary, "My Hummingbird Summer" here.

Incidentally, if you live in the Washington DC area, Julie is presenting a program and signing books at The National Zoo this Thursday evening, April 20, at 7:00 pm.

My Sunday Shadow

After our fabulous Easter dinner in town at the home of the BT2's, our little family foursome retreated to our farm and went in four directions, all of us needing some alone time.

Following a failed nap attempt, I followed my shadow on a walkabout.

First, he pointed me west, toward the setting sun. It was 6:45 pm. As I entered our old, barely hanging on orchard, I naturally took the northernmost path, past our old sweat-lodge frame, past the middle-orchard bluebird box (five warm eggs), and onto my favorite path, Secree. Secree (our slang for Secret) is the section of the north orchard path that is totally closed-in in summer with grape vines, Virginia creeper, and poison ivy, creating a dark, green cave. It's a place I love to visit on summer evenings. For some reason, the wood thrush songs sound so much sweeter from this, my secret spot.

I found the Secree path blocked by a blown-down yellow poplar tree. This is a common occurrence on our farm--these poplars dislike strong wind, so they just give up the ghost and topple over. I made a mental note to get the chain saw out here soon. Must keep Secree passable.

I love the filmy yellow-green effect created by millions of tree buds in earliest spring. After a long, gray winter, it's so nice to begin our journey across nature's color palette once again.

My shadow showed me where the spring's first Blackburnian warbler will be making his appearance in a few weeks, maybe less.

There are incredible, soft mats of moss all over our farm. My shadow stretched out for a nap on this lush clump. And after taking a macro shot of the moss, I decided to do the same. No need for a blanket, the sun covered us both in its warmth.

Our oil well was the next place I caught up to my shadow. He was wondering about something--it appeared to be troubling him. This realization caused me to give an involuntary shiver. If shadows have problems, what hope is there for the rest of us?
I brushed this turn of mind off as a side-effect of too much rich food in the middle of the day. Little did I know, "a ghost was about to step across my grave," as my grandma Thompson used to say.

While checking this vernal pool for tadpoles (there were many) I had the distinct feeling that someone was watching me. Then I heard footsteps in the nearby copse of pines. And for a moment, I swore I saw a dear old friend, walking toward me, smiling. But I know that she's long gone. It's a dream, only a dream, and it's fading now.

I walked back through the meadow, sun on my bare shoulders, heading home. The house was coming back to life, and I needed very much to do the same.

Blooming Love

Love is in the air, my friends. As I staggered around the farm this afternoon, drunk from the yellow sunshine and the heady smell of plum blossoms on the evening breeze, I managed to grab a few macro shots of the flowers' best advertising efforts.

The blossoms on our plum hedge smell heavenly.

Around our plum hedge, bees, weighed down by saddlebags of orange pollen, droned about their business, mostly oblivious to the rest of the world. How I envy them. To know your purpose in life and to follow it, no matter what. How completely liberating that must be! Or bee.

Daffodil

Daffodils of every description are found around our farm yard. Some we inherited from the owners immediately previous to us. Others are very old daffodils that have been blooming here, around the old farm house site, for half a century. Some are ancestral daffodils that we dig up from our old family farm site, near where I-77 crosses the Ohio River.

Bleeding heart, nodding under the weight of its blossoms.

The bleeding heart is already advertising itself to our yet-to-arrive hummingbirds. They should be here tomorrow, according to our 14 years of spring nature notes.

Yesterday evening I heard the dee-deeeee! of a newly arrived broad-winged hawk over our orchard. After I was done appreciating him, I looked down and took this image of one of the thousands of dandelions in our yard.

I love the sunny yellow of the dandelions on the deep-lime-green spring lawn.

Back at the plum a sphinx moth (sometimes called a hummingbird moth) nectared on the plum blossoms.

Redbud blooms throughout our woods, looking like dark twigs wrapped in magenta crepe paper.

The humble violet winks at me coyly amid the grass and clover leaves.

Spring beauties. Such a perfect name for a sweet, tiny spring flower.