Some day I will not have a cold again
Mar. 17th, 2014 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thanateToday we had about six inches of snow (though it was an odd sort of snow that mostly melted off the pavement & stayed extra fluffy and deep on everything else) which just goes to show why the only things showing more green than a little basal rosette are evergreens or non-natives. The plants know this is a perfectly normal contingency. We've also added white breasted sparrows to the yard & feeder list, which make a nice change from the stupid english sparrows.
When the weather is nicer, the Megatherium & I have been wandering the neighborhood, either up and down the sidewalk with the pitter patter of little feed and a joyous waving of little arms (I'm working on teaching her that when she picks up sticks and leaves they get carried over and dropped on the grass again) or somewhat longer distances with the new outward-facing sling. She's mostly got over the joyous waving of hands at all times, but after a while she'll start to sing.
I, on the other hand, have been reading Sara Stein's Noah's Garden, and am therefore even more inclined than usual to look balefully upon the vast wasteland of lawn, pavement, and imported ornamental shrubs. I've started visualizing the Diary of a Migratory Bird:
Day one, entering suburban wasteland. The woodlot where I stopped last fall has been clear cut; found a seed feeder in a backyard five miles further on. Very tired.
Day two, detoured slightly to fly over parkland; high traffic, and most of last year's berries are already gone.
Day three, lovely stopover in wildlife garden, but very crowded...
And so on. It ought properly to be a silly little video game a la the Oregon Trail where you get to pick your species and start dates, and possibly migration routes.
When the weather is nicer, the Megatherium & I have been wandering the neighborhood, either up and down the sidewalk with the pitter patter of little feed and a joyous waving of little arms (I'm working on teaching her that when she picks up sticks and leaves they get carried over and dropped on the grass again) or somewhat longer distances with the new outward-facing sling. She's mostly got over the joyous waving of hands at all times, but after a while she'll start to sing.
I, on the other hand, have been reading Sara Stein's Noah's Garden, and am therefore even more inclined than usual to look balefully upon the vast wasteland of lawn, pavement, and imported ornamental shrubs. I've started visualizing the Diary of a Migratory Bird:
Day one, entering suburban wasteland. The woodlot where I stopped last fall has been clear cut; found a seed feeder in a backyard five miles further on. Very tired.
Day two, detoured slightly to fly over parkland; high traffic, and most of last year's berries are already gone.
Day three, lovely stopover in wildlife garden, but very crowded...
And so on. It ought properly to be a silly little video game a la the Oregon Trail where you get to pick your species and start dates, and possibly migration routes.