Garden

The garden is in. Finally. It's the biggest garden we have ever planted, and probably our last at the farm, so we decided to go big. I hope we will have lots of extra produce to give to the food bank. The farm is getting eight new chickens, so there will be extra eggs for the food bank too.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed one of the chickens had trouble walking. Poor old peg leg had a broken foot. I have been watching her, bringing her extra feed, but every time I did, the other chickens came and took it away. Even if they had their own food, they would not leave peg leg's alone.

This week, I noticed that peg leg never went outside, just stayed around the roost, moping, so I picked her up and set her outside, and all of the chickens started to attack her. I must have looked insane, crying out "no" and "bad chickens."

I guess, I am still pretty much a city girl. When I mentioned it to Scot and his uncle, they both said the same thing, "That's nature." Nature is not always pretty. I know it's common knowledge-- a cliche even--and that I should know these things, but I guess we have to learn and relearn everything.

The Derby Peregrine Camera

Check it out.

http://195.224.106.202/peregrine/webcam.htm

White Hawk

I had good weather all weekend, so I worked in the garden. I found a part of a robin's egg nestled in the garlic patch. It was such a wonderful shade of blue. The lilacs are out now, and their scent kept wafting towards me as I planted.

Throughout the weekend, I noticed this white hawk flying over the garden. I imagine the garden must have been on its flightpath. I think it must have been trying to get at the songbirds in the nearby trees.

It was an amazing hawk. Its colour is diffcult to describe. It was, as I said, white, but a kind of chalky white--like it had been carved out of marble and then aged for centuries. That kind of white. If that makes sense?

CBC feed: Don't kill Canada geese in Kelowna,

Perhaps we should have thought about this when we eliminated their habitat.

" A humane society in Kelowna, B.C., is up in arms about the city's decision to shoot and kill Canada geese blamed for damaging city parks.

Kelowna city hall said the geese have congregated en masse in city parks and are causing damage to park walkways, turf and people's overall enjoyment of the facilities."

More:

http://www.cbc.ca/canada/british-columbia/story/2009/05/06/bc-kelowna-shooting-geese.html

Rain and Rumination

It has rained all week. Last weekend's sun seems like another lifetime ago. I am hoping the rain will clear enough to get some more of the garden in. Last week, we used the big rototiller to break up the clay laden soil. We broke two shovels trying to break-up the ground.

Last week we had a couple of good asparagus feasts. They are really starting to produce now. We also had hot and cold running rhubarb. I wish I liked it, but everybody else loves it. Scot made a couple of pies so far.

We visited our favourite vegetable stand in Richmond, Tai On Farms. So far they only have chinese greens and spinach. We bought one of everything and ate them all. The greens were picked that morning. I can't wait until they have their green onions and carrots. Fingers crossed.

From the Telegraph:Birds Can Dance

It's this kind of patronizing attitude that makes birds hate us...

"Researchers have revealed that birds – and parrots in particular – can bob their heads, tap their feet, and sway their bodies along to a musical beat. Now they believe that other "mimicking" species such as dolphins, elephants, and pinnipeds, a group including walruses and seals, may also like to boogie."

More:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/5252413/Birds-can-dance-in-time-to-music.html

From the Daily Item: Bird could have started fire

NORTHUMBERLAND -- The idea that a bird might have started Monday afternoon's fire at Strong Industries by picking up a smoldering cigarette butt and dropping it inside an abandoned area of the plant isn't as far fetched as people might think, a high-ranking state official said.

More: http://www.dailyitem.com/0100_news/local_story_119003051.html

Another Sunny Day

Another sunny day today. I went for a short walk this morning. The cherry and plum blossoms are out in full now, so are the magnolia blossoms. Even in this inner city, there is some greenery, you just have to search for it. By the new drug court there are a couple of maple trees that are just coming out with their leaves--the leaves are so new and green, almost fern-like. Behind the courts fencing, sits these small privot like plants that sweetly scent the air when they bloom in the early spring. One of the few times, I enjoy smelling the air around here. 

It is a shame there is little in the way of boulevards in this section of the city. Everything is cemented over. Once I was walking, and in a crack in the sidewalk, I noticed some grass, and stuck in the grass was a tiny sign that said, "Keep off the Grass." I know it was silly, but I think about it a lot.

Happily, I am riding out to the farm later today to finish digging the garden. I am only about a third of the way done. The weather has been so cold, that I don't think that anything I planted will be up yet. I try not to think about what life will be like without the farm. 

Spring at last

I kept waiting for spring to come. Watching the fields for new signs of life. Of course, spring truly arrived in the air first. It arrived in the Balm of Gilead and the white currant blossoms.

The snowdrops and the crocuses came up, even though it was still snowing, they surfaced none-the-less. Slowly, the ground dried out enough for us to start digging the garden.



I planted peas and kale and onions. The cold hardiest of the vegetables. The garlic overwintered nicely. Even a few sweet peas volunteered. With all the new life it was with great sadness I learned that they will be selling the farm. It may be as soon as next spring. So as I look at my garden, I keep thinking this may be the last one I will ever plant here.

It shades everything this knowledge. This may be the last spring, and so I go from enjoying the new life, to mourning its eventual absence.

CBC feed: Pastures Unsung

Every June hundreds of Canadians and Americans volunteer to participate in the Breeding Bird Survey, helping to track trends in bird populations. Four decades of these counts show that the birds that are declining the most rapidly in North America are the prairie birds at the heart of the continent — the birds that need grassland. Forty years of data is enough to prove that grassland bird decline is for real — not merely cyclical or temporary. Yet it doesn’t give much in the way of historic background. How many Sprague’s Pipits were there 60 years ago? What did the prairie sound like before it was settled, or even shortly after settlement?

For more from this story: http://www.cbc.ca/ideas/features/pastures-unsung/index.html

Violet Icing

Tree Planting

Years ago, the Government appropriated the back of the farm to build a highway. For the last ten or so years, we have been collecting trees and planting them along fence right next to the highway. We tried to collect trees that are indigenous to the area. Digging them up from lots that were being developed and from trips to the river. The trees were all young and small.

This morning, I went for a walk along the treeline. The trees have filled in, and once the leaves come out, they should completely hide the highway. One of the trees, a cottonwood, is about eight metres tall now.

Today, I saw a small downy woodpecker sitting in a birch tree. When I see birds nesting and perching in the trees that I helped plant, I sometimes think this is one of the best things I have ever done.

A Sense of Spring

It was such a beautiful day on Friday that it inspired us to ride our bikes out to the farm. This is our earliest bike ride to the farm since we have been riding out -- about five years now. Last year was our record, when we rode out on February 23rd, but we beat it by twd days.

I had a largish amount of homework, so I couldn't spend too much time outside, but I managed to prune the raspberries and tulameens. They were already producing some green buds. The crocuses were in bloom. The snowdrops are almost done, and the daffodils are poking up through the soil. The violets have greened up; this year I am going to candy the flowers and make a spring cake with candied violets on top -- maybe for Easter.

I was sad to come back to the city today, although you could still smell spring in the air, but it was spring at a great distance. As I walked through Chinatown, I passed the courthouse where they have a row of this highly scented privet in bloom. They have an amazing scent, so it was a little bit of life in an otherwise grey place.

Conversations and Understanding

I ran into my friend in the hallway of my building. She is older and wiser than I am. We had the oddest conversation, where I was sure, neither of us knew what the other was trying to say, but I was certain that eventually we would.

Mouse Trails

Since the snow melted, you can see mouse trails along the farm. It's like there are miles and miles of these trails. The mice must have made them when the snow covered the ground. It's amazing to see. And a tad scary to contemplate how many mice are underneath me as I stand gazing at their trails.

The mice populations have been increasing. I know they have cycles and they must be getting to another peak population. I think this is why we have been seeing so many different smaller raptors: Sparrow hawks, and I was sure I spotted two peregrine falcons, and there have been a couple of owls hanging around too.

Of Figs and Birds

My balcony has been filled with birds. Their calls wake me in the morning, and all day I can hear them rustling around. The balcony floor is full of husks. When it warms up, which seems to be taking ia long time, I will go out and sweep and clean. The plants are all covered with bits of fabric, towels, old blankets, whatever I had in hand, to cover the plants and protect them from frost. I know a few plants may not make it. The geraniums, which I have overwintered for years, are all dead. I am worried about the big fig tree, but I have a young cutting started, so I will have figs if worse comes to worse.

I had to stay in town this weekend, so I am trying to make the best of it, but it is not the same. I miss the long open spaces, and my walks, but the birds on my balcony carry with them an echo of the fields and skies, so I persevere.

How Far Spring?

At the Farm:

This morning I saw the short woodpecker. He was walking upside down along the bottom of the bird feeder, stealing sunflower seeds and flying off with them.

I can see the garden now. Everything has been killed by the frost and snow. I dug out the last of the beets and celery and threw them in the berm for he pheasant to eat. I am itching to start my new garden, but so far, only the snowdrops are coming up. On some clumps, I can see the small white buds forming.

I went for a walk today. The snow has melted. It has been foggy for the last couple of days and I could only see a few feet ahead on me. Every now and then a bird would emerge out of the fog and then disappear again. All I could see was a black silhouette and then it was gone.

Winter Walk

Grackles

Winter at the Farm

It was a sad time at the farm this Christmas. Gram, who started the farm with her husband 63 years ago, died on Christmas eve. We sat with her until she died. She was a tough fighter.

It was treacherous driving both to and from the hospital. There must have been a metre of snow. The farm was snowed in, and it was impossible to walk very far. We made some trails, so at least we could get to the chicken house, and walk along the berm. Later, we borrowed some snow-shoes and went for a long walk. We walked along virgin snow. It was hard work, using the snow-shoes. I thought they would be easier, and they were when we were in packed snow, and they were better than walking without them.

It was nice to go out into the land, and think about gram. She wants her ashes spread underneath the cottonwood tree where the eagles nest. The eagles watched us as we snow-shoed across the field. They were probably watching for us to scare some ducks into the air for them.

As the days are now getting longer, my mind turns to spring, and planting our next garden. It was Gram who encouraged me to garden, and taught me to can and make jams and jellies. Between the eagles and the garden, I will never forget gram. She'll be in the call of the eagles and in the soil that I plant and all the food I preserve.

Feeding the Birds

I am counting the days before I can get away from the city. I have to remember to buy more bird seed. It is snowing now, and the city birds are having a harder time finding food. I have a few sparrows and finches residing on my balcony.

Last week, at the farm, I made 2 ruby crowned kinglets and a chic-a-dee. I am going to give a kinglet to my friend, who is sick. I will tell him about the kinglet that flew into my window. How I held it in my hand, fearing it would never recover, but then, after it had rested, the kinglet flew away.

Winter in the Çity

Sap Suckers

I saw two sapsuckers today. This is a new record. We have always had a stray one come through in the winter and lately I have seen them more frequently, but this was the first time I have seen two of them at once. I hope this is a good sign.

It seems every time I am out walking, I see a different bird. Last week I saw what must have been a snow bunting and there was a herd of larks around in the fall. It's my only solace for the winter, that and the promise of spring.

Walk

Chickens II

Another chicken died. I wish I had been around so I could bury her next to Gladys. Poor old Smokey jr. I look at the chickens and the wild animals around the farm, and I wonder how it is that people can kill them so easily.

On the way out last night, the hunters were out in full force. We tried not to walk too close to the ditch, because we didn't want to flush the ducks out for the hunters. Of course, we still flushed them, they'd fly up and then a second or two later, we could hear the guns.

Golden Crowned Kinglet

A tiny male kinglet flew into the kitchen window this morning. We ran outside and found his tiny body lying on the ground underneath the window. He was still breathing, so we picked him up and placed it in a soft nest up in a tree. I felt so sad, watching his little body trembling and his tiny beak open and close as he panted. I wish he would be okay but I don't think he will be. Later, I went back to look, and he had flown away!

Mysterious White Bird

All sorts of birds are passing through on their way south. Every time I go to the farm, I see a new bird. The woodpeckers are back. They are a little hard to spot, but I can hear their odd little call, and now and then I hear them drumming.

All weekend there was a small flock of tundra swans feeding on the leavings of the corn harvest. The swans were all muddy, especially their heads from where they were rooting around in the soil. While I was out walking, I startled a white bird. I think it might have been a snow bunting. Last week there were a flock of wrens. They had such a beautiful song. I wished they would stay all year round.

Eagle Hunting

There was a small duck in the pond, that I startled as I walked by. It was a little wood duck (I think). It flew across the pond, away from me, in that long straights running flight some ducks have. Just before it reached the other side of the pond, an eagle dove after it. The eagle was amazing, its flight so quick that I feared the duck was a goner. Dive after dive the eagle made, trying to catch the duck, but the duck kept going under the water, until the eagle finely gave up. I was relieved, because I was cheering for the duck, but later I felt guilty about taking sides.

Flock

The cherry tree

We took the netting off the cherry tree,
one by one you untangled the birds from the net,
as I counted them.
I guess there was a difference in your untangling and my counting,
but it didn't matter to the birds anymore.

Monument 9

Sometimes I wish I was smarter
or a better dancer
or a better artist
or a chicken

video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dN64Q4lUl80

Saskatoon Berries

The cedar wax wings have found my saskatoon bush. They sit in it gorging themselves on my berries. When I yell at them, they just sit there eating my berries, laughing at me.

Robins II

They have spotted robins in Inuvik for the very first time. All the children ask their parents. “What are those birds?” The robins shouldn’t be so far north, but I try not to thing about what that means.

New Resident

A pigeon has moved onto the partition between my balcony and my neighbour's. He is a very disturbing sort of pigeon, and in all justice, it must be said that my neighbour is a disturbing sort of neighbour. Both pigeon and neighbour make ghastly sounds, the pigeon a sort of wheezing noise and my neighbour has periodic screaming attacks which end in a long drawn out "nooooononono". They often start up around 5:30 am. I can't decide which is worse, so I don't bother thinking about it too much. If I can't make my neighbour go, I figure I should let the pigeon alone too.

The Movie

Sounds by Anat

Eagle

Today, I am walking my dog and this man is standing on the bridge that leads to the park. He is leaning back, looking up at the sky. He turns when I am beside him, and he points up. There is an eagle sitting on a pole over the bay. He points at it and tells me that it is an eagle. He’s so excited, like he has conjured up the eagle himself. And in a way, he has.

Giant Chicken

You know, last night I dreamt that the world was ending all around me. Roads were cracked and broken and building were laying on their sides, collapsed.

It wasn't too bad thinking about everything ending. There was grass and tree roots poking up through the ground. I approved of that. I have always liked the notion of the land taking itself back.

But then I dreamt that I was the only person left alive. And that was okay too. I know it is a little bit conceited to think about being the only person in the world to survive the fiery end.

I wasn't alone though. And that was the problem, because my only company was this giant chicken. I think he was a mascot. It bothered me a bit, being left alone in the world with a giant chicken.

How would you feel stuck, alone with only a giant chicken to keep you company? I felt ridiculous. I was glad the world had ended so that nobody could see that I was such a loser that I survived Armageddon in the company of a giant chicken. I kept looking over my shoulder in case there was somebody around who could see us.

Besides, he was a very unpleasant giant chicken. Bossy and cranky too. Well, we'd walk along deserted stretches of road and when I turned left he'd say, "no! turn right." What was the point I ask you. It wasn't as if we had anywhere in particular to go. The worst part was that I'd start arguing about which direction we should go.


Even though I knew there was no point in arguing, I argued anyways. I hate when I do that. What's the point in arguing when fate has already written the rest of the story for you.

Robin

Flock

Bird in the Hand Show

The opening was lots of fun. Check out the bird footage at:

http://jewellerbau.blogspot.com/2008/01/bird-in-hand-leannejs-opening.html

Bird in a Hand

A Bird in the Hand
by leannej
Opening January 15th at 7pm
Runs to February 12th, 2008

At the JewellerBau
42 Kingsway
(at main)
Vancouver BC

Join us for the opening of A Bird in the Hand, a new show by leannej. A bird in the hand is a three dimensional graphic story. Known for her flowchart installations, leannej combines her odd tendency to tell stories in boxes with her compulsive need to make small hand-sized sock birds. In A Bird in the Hand, she explores the various meanings of habitat and home in her large flow chart stories.

This is leannej’s first three-dimensional show which features 50 life-sized replicas of birds commonly found in British Columbia with a few rare exceptions. The text flow charts provides shelter and places for the small birds to perch. Each bird is hand made using recycled socks and glass beads.

Leannej is a text based artist. She has been publishing and showing text based images in magazines and gallery spaces in Canada and the US. Her first book was published by Artspeak Gallery in 2002 and is available at www.artspeak.com. Texts in this show and bird images are also on view on her blog, Birds hate us. You can find the blog at www.leannej.blogspot.com.

(JewellerBau) is the latest reincarnation of Gallery 42, owned and operated by artists Dina Gonzalez Mascaro and Joelle Ciona. They have completely remodeled their space to accommodate local and Argentine artists and showcase the sculptures and jewellery of Gonzalez Mascaro. The “Bau” in (JewellerBau) is an evolving sculpture of display niches inspired by Kurt Schwitters' merzbau installations of the 1920's.

Gallery hours are Tuesday and Sunday 11am to 6pm, Wednesday to Saturday 11am to 8pm
The grand opening of (JewellerBau) is February 14h at 8pm.
www.jewellerbau.blogspot.com

Finches III

My mother tells a story about how gold finches were ill omens. They called these golden hued finches, canaries, and the day the telegram came to tell of her uncle’s death overseas, she looked out and the farm fields were covered in gold finches. She still can't stand the colour yellow.

Finches II

You don’t see the purple finches so much anymore, because of sprays they use to kill the Japanese spruce beetle, kills the finches that eat the beetles.We don’t build large aviaries to breed masses of purple finches to save the spruce. Instead, we build factories to make chemicals that kill everything. Why is that?

Finches I

In the spring they come calling to me on my balcony. A whole raft of finches scrapping, singing and just carousing on the balcony of my inner city apartment. They bring me such joy, watching their puffed up mating rituals. Sometimes, I see a finch that is so red and sings so well that I can see myself marrying and settling down with him.

Murder

Robber Baron

Grackle

When something is gone

I think about birds. My dad is dying so I think about birds. All I can do is stare at the sky, my mouth agape. I think its going to rain.

Gulls

Every spring, gulls build nests on the roof across the street from my house. I watch them mate, fight for turf and build nests. They take turns watching for predators, while they sit on the nests. When the young come they are very ugly and large. Larger than their parents. As they age, I think they get smaller.

Species II

A British woman called into a radio talk show and told how she trapped starlings she found on her lawn. She killed them. Snapping their necks. She said they were an alien species and they didn’t belong.

Species

Crows, bluejays, and cardinals lay in heaps along junctions with injunctions: don’t touch.

Cardinals

The cardinal is a bloody red warm presence that perches against the bleak bare deciduous wasteland. A heart perched among the bare branches.

Varigated wodpecker

A fledgling woodpecker is on the ground near a busy road. I walk past it, afraid to do anything for fear of startling it. From across the street I stand watching it trying to fly up into a tree. Each try takes it closer, I stand watching the drama my fists clenched, as car after car passes and blocks my view.

From my vantage point, I watch as the bird gets weaker and more tired. Now its attempts to reach the safety of the branches becomes more hopeless. I stand paralyzed, wondering what I can do, when suddenly a women walks by and startles the bird and it flies out onto the road and is hit by a black SUV.

Passenger Pigeon

They hunted birds in North America because they could. Birds coated the sky so thick, they were like an overhead jungle shutting out the sun. An easy sport, they hunted the passenger pigeons until they were gone.

Habitat 3

Habitat 2

Habitat 1

crows don't like you

The Vagaries of Nature Photography

I was sitting in your back yard, trying to film birds. They were the most furtive birds I have ever seen -- well technically I didn’t actually see them. The little devils flitted from branch to branch of your still over crowded back yard. Even in the new bare stretches, where they have pulled out all the trees to make room for a big patio, I still couldn’t capture an image of those birds. They were so fleeting. I think about you that way. Trying to remember you, I catch only a moment, and when I try and focus on that moment, you disappear.

They Call the Cows Mad

Reports all over the media about the contaminated cat food. The dogs didn’t escape either. It was in their bacon flavoured treats. Good boy Fido. Good bye.

The human interest stories, pictured empty collars, and teary-eyed former pet owners. The pets. Their organs failed.

The wheat flour was spiked with plastic, parading as soya. We heard about the pet food, but we had eaten the fish before we heard about the fish food. How the fish were fed the same food, and we were fed the same fish.

They told us, as we were choking up our old fish, that we needn’t have bothered. It is a chain of events, but not the food chain they say.

… and they call the cows mad.

The Battle for Crab Park

All fall they were ripping out the wild roses, leaving them to die in mass composts. Then they tore out the mock orange whose boughs had housed all varieties of birds and whose scent had democratically graced the air.

Cutting down the sheltering trees, they sought to remove all refuge for a woman or a man or a child or a coyote or a bird or a rat. (I could go on.) Grudging them all a place to sleep unexposed.

Busing in a better class of fauna and flora, they attempted to cleanse out the remaining inhabitants. Peonies were planted, behind a line of box woods. California Lilacs were brought in to stand-in for the mock orange. As if the birds wouldn’t have noticed, which they did. At first they were confused, then the blackbirds were in denial, and the robins made their feelings known, and the crows? Don’t ask me about the crows.

Then this spring, the wild roses insinuated themselves amongst the orderly peonies. The blackberries crept up from beneath the rocks where they had bidden their time, stealthily they moved across the front lines, surprising a box shrub -- it is now missing. The California lilac unable to move, was hypnotized by the sinewy morning glory undulating at its trunk, waiting to strike. The Cosmos have this look like they would rather be somewhere else. And the tulips have long since fled the scene.

Wild Birds are Organizing

Duck!

My father collected ducks. When he was younger, he used to hunt ducks. I hated when we had to eat them at dinner, as they were so full of shot. As my father got older, he acquired an aversion to hunting, instead he would just wander in fields, looking at the ducks as they gathered.

Later still, he began collecting images and sculptures of ducks. All I have left of my father now, is a small carved duck that sits on my desk.

Turkey

A turkey will drown, they say, as it gazes up at the rain clouds, its mouth open in wonder.

Chicken

They killed all the chickens in the battery. Then they took them all to the market. It was okay to eat them. They said they were no danger dead, only alive.

I think the chickens would not have agreed.

Burrowing Owl

The crows were crowing. A storm of crows gathering over the cottonwood trees next to the pond, and even the two resident mallards were joining in, as the trees filled with outraged birds.

It wasn’t about food, although they tend to fight over dinner.

I look into the trees and I see a smallish owl sitting on a branch looking all sleepy, rousted in the daylight by the vigilante crows. I am surprised to see this little owl so off course. It shouldn’t be here, in the downtown eastside. It should be on a farm hunting field mice, living in an abandoned barn. It is another world away from this urban place.

The owl is all pulled into itself and I can’t stand to watch. Normally I love crows but some things make them unreasonable. Bigoted, I guess. The ducks didn’t much like the owl either. I shoo the crows away, inadvertently startling the owl and they all fly away. The crows in hot pursuit.

I read the owls future in the sky. Hunted, with no place to alight, it will fly until exhausted and then it will fall out of the sky.

Cedar Waxwings

The yellow underbelly of the cedar waxwings flash in the sunlight as they fly from split level house to split level house, looking for trees in this barren landscape.

At my family house, they stop, perch above me. I glory in them, looking up through the bare branches of the large maple, I see the sun of their bellies. And then suddenly, as if in unison, they shit on my head.

Cuculidae

Starling

Chic-a-dee

In the spring, the chic-a-dees will come down from the mountain. They are trusting little birds. If you hold you hand out with some seeds, they will land on your hand and feed. Their touch is so featherlight and quick. One minute it's there and the next it's gone.

Afterwards, you can't remember exactly what it felt like, only that you remember it was alive.

Brds hate Us

Birds hate us.

Wild birds are organizing.

Chickens and ducks plot revenge.

... and turkeys are not as dumb as you think.

Westnile

A woman, now paralyzed, said they should have warned her about the pool. They should have warned her about the mosquito larva in the pool.

When the Spaniards came to sack the new world. They had to bury themselves in the sand when they landed in Florida. The mosquitos stung their eyes. The Spaniards were stranded, blinded and lost in the keys. Faces buried under sand.

Wild Birds

Now the wild Birds are migrating. In their wake fear and paranoia rides on their wings.

They culled. They killed. The destroyed 60,000 chickens in the battery. Then they took them all to the market.

They are killing birds in Vietnam, China, Canada, Lithuania Greece and Turkey.


When something is gone, is it gone forever?