Trespassing?

It was a relief this morning to be spared Lily’s 0430 wake-up call, although a loud altercation had got me out of bed at 0350. Usually, such things turn out to be a pair of raccoons fighting on the porch or patio and there is nothing to be done, but in a befuddled state, I am always fearful that it could be Little Man tormenting one of the aging girl-cats.

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“What! Me?”

He sometimes pesters a little, wanting them to play, but in truth he has never yet done anything really naughty.

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However, when you are caring for cats that are advanced in age and somewhat fragile, it makes you protective and if I consider ignoring such altercations, I remind myself of how dreadful it would be to later on discover Lily had been injured. It is most unlikely, never the less – better to check, even at 0350.

Who needs sleep?

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Evening skies have been less dramatic of late, though I always keep an eye on a window.

When tempted to go out for a proper look, I have to remember to check that I will not be disturbing deer. A lone doe has taken to visiting after supper, pulling apples from the tree.

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Most deer activity these days is captured by the trail-cam down in the lower field.

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A splendid Friday afternoon took us on the road once more, heading for a birding trail we’d been told of, near Fort Edward.

We found the parking area with no problem but the entrance to the trail was less obvious, being somewhat concealed by long grass, so we followed a different path.

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We ended up clambering down a hill over rough terrain that offered to twist ankles and I am not entirely sure we weren’t trespassing, but no-one challenged us, so we kept going and eventually came to the path where I rested momentarily on a conveniently placed bench.

This was clearly not the right time of day for bird-spotting, but we really were just checking the lay of the land and we decided to press on.

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Eventually, the path leads to a boardwalk through a marshland but, uncertain how far it might be and knowing that we would have to re-trace our steps, we decided not to go too far, given the hot sun and the antiquity of my legs.

In fact, I was doing fine. The problem is that I always am, right up to the moment when my legs/feet/spine call HALT! which, when in remote places, is a little perplexing.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. It was good exercise and we saw a few butterflies and some bees as well as a few wild flowers. With a gusty wind, I only managed a handful of photographs.

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Purple loosestrife.

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A Monarch butterfly flitted back and forth, resting briefly on clover.

The yellow flowers are Bird’s foot trefoil.

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American blue vervain.

Squinting, in harsh light through darkened glasses, at subjects that danced about in the wind, proved rather a challenge, with results not worth sharing.

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As we climbed back up the hill, Grant spotted a bird on a twig that obligingly stayed put until I was able to get a not-very-good photograph from which to identify it.

A Bluebird, as it turned out, with a large grub.

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On the way home, we came across the largest cattle I have ever set eyes on. Grant told me they are called “Oreo”, but officially they are Belted Galloway.

As I took its photo, it turned its huge head:

“You’d look fat too in these clothes!”

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