Just as I was sinking back into a strange dream where I was attempting to attach feet to porch furniture, the dratted alarm went off.
Yesterday I had set it. And turned it off.
Blasted thing.
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Never mind. It was a dopey dream anyway, not even worthy of interpretation.
Anyway, it was getting light and the feeders needed to go back out.
One wouldn’t want to keep friends waiting.
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We had become careless about the feeders, believing our visiting bear had moved on. But yesterday morning the suet feeder pole by the garage had been flattened again.
The porch feeders had not been raided, which makes us suppose something must have scared the bear off, though it’s hard to imagine what would, in the middle of the night.
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The bear had made off with the suet holder which Grant found behind one of the apple trees, at the same time noticing impressive claw marks!
In a different environment, we would happily feed the poor creature. But with farm animals and horses nearby it would likely get shot, so we must religiously bring the feeders in at night and not get lazy about it.
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With days getting longer, the feeders are in demand until later and later and then one is inclined to forget them.
A nuthatch came by after I brought the feeders in last night and I thought how disappointed it looked!
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Next month hopefully the hummingbirds will be back. Another feeder to bring in?
Perhaps not?
It’s a drippy, sticky sort of thing!
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“Hey Fatso, leave some for me!”
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How is one supposed to keep up with demand?
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It was so fine yesterday afternoon, I took the initiative of popping down to the lower field while it is yet un-awakened and therefore navigable by doddery old feet.
Picking my way beneath the hedges, I pulled out brambles and vines. They will grow back, but why allow them a head start?
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Master Sparrow offered encouragement since he knows I am trying to preserve his hedge.
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I even grovelled under the pine tree to discourage vines that grow up it.
That tree is also part of Master Sparrow’s domain since that is where his lot roost.
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This morning Grant decided to deal with our re-located driveway. He moved the pile of gravel back up so it can be raked flat.
There is another storm in the offing, but barring an unexpected return to freezing temperatures, it is unlikely we’ll need the snow plow again.
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While we were outside it was impossible to ignore the sound from down on the state route where roadside thrashing continues.
What else would you call it?
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Grant thinks they are supposed to be tidying the edges.
What they are actually doing is making a horrible, depressing mess. It irritates me so much, I had thought of trying to find out.
But what difference would it make?
Those chain flail mowers really are nothing but destructive beasts. All for the sake of saving money!
At least we don’t have to take feeders in and out here. No bears! On the narrower roads around Beetley, that kind of hedge cutback is essential, otherwise we would all be scratching the sides of our cars to bits. But they don’t use flails, more like huge cylinder mowers attached to poles on trailers. However, I am sure it ruins the habitat for wildlife, to save us having to have cars resprayed.
Best wishes, Pete.
Oh, those scratches on the tree bark are beautiful … reminds me that a bear is not just made up of soft fur! I was wondering what will become of the pile of gravel at your driveway (so I presume that’s the “not-so lovely part” of snow then).