Vultures

The hay came in a while back. It was odd to be so cut off from it. (Did ya catch that pun there?) I was stuck with the baby, so not helping with the haying. Our hay crew had a couple of new people this year though, so my work wasn't missed. 

About two thirds was baled in round bales, and the remaining third in square bales. My husband personally threw about 350 square bales from the back of the truck up to the loft of the barn! (If you don't know what that means, or don't know much about hay, you should check out this old post of mine. It's full of useful hay information, as the name implies.) Our barn is now stuffed full of hay! It was a bumper crop since we've had so much rain. Plus, we let our neighbors store some of the hay for their horses in the "lower" barn along with ours for a small fee.

This year there were a lot of turkey vultures on the field as the hay was drying. I imagine that the cutters disturbed some rabbit nests. (We've had a bumper crop of rabbits too.) The vultures "tussled" and hustled about like overgrown chickens, stealing from each other. They returned a few days later after the hay was baled too. Probably the baler picked up some snakes that were staying cool in the windrows. 

We see turkey vultures a lot from our place, but usually they are flying. Today there were seven or eight of them turning slow circles in the sky. They like to ride thermals. When they do, they look much smaller and turn in lazy loops and spirals, teetering now and then and only making a flap or two once in a great while. 

As you saw above, turkey vultures are large, dark birds. The look black from far away, but are actually dark brown with a bald, red head and a pale beak. Much of the underside of their wings is light colored. Speaking of wings, theirs are broad, and they "finger" at the ends. When soaring, these wings make them look like the quintessential painted bird (like a "v".)  They have long tails too. They extend past their feet when they fly. I think the only raptors bigger than turkey vultures are eagles and condors.

As you've probably gathered, turkey vultures are great scavengers. If it weren't for the vultures, the rural roads 'round these parts would be littered with roadkill. Apparently, the hay fields would be littered with carcasses at times too. So I'm thankful for nature's garbage pickers, and I love to see them sliding and swooping through the sky on these sultry summer days.

"Funny Bird"

A few days ago, as I changed my six month old's diaper, my middle son (who was standing at the window) said, "Mom, there's a funny looking bird outside."

"Oh, yeah?" I replied absentmindedly, "What color is it?"

In true four year old fashion he responded, "It looks like an owl! It's sitting on the fence."

When the baby was all put back together, I scooped him up and we went to see the "funny looking bird". This is what we saw about 6 yards away.

How awesome is that? (I'd feel differently if we still had chickens.) This hawk even scanned the ground long enough looking for his breakfast that I was able to walk down the hall to get the camera in order to pull off this one-handed shot with a squirmy babe in arms. We live in a virtual nature preserve.

August Evening

This time of year it is lovely here to be outside as darkness falls. A typical night goes something like this. The heat of the day is dissipating, but the humidity is still visible. There is a misty haze hanging over the hay field, and an abundance of greenness. The last light filters through the trees to the west. 

The hummingbirds are vibrating the air with their aerial acrobatics as they skirmish over the impatiens. Their buzzing swerves near you, temporarily raising the hair on your arms. A catbird mews regularly, hopping from the birdbath to the brush to the fence and back. A brown creeper calls. It perches alternately on waist-high items near the house (the handle of the seesaw, the back of the wicker chair, the grill) and with it's tail erect, it cocks it's head and looks up at the stone wall of the house, searching for supper. Its short and sudden movements after insects are punctuated each time with a loud whir of wings. 

A duo of deer are grazing lazily in the hay field. You notice them because one doe stops chomping. She lowers her head and walks tentatively toward something. She is cautious and curious. Then she gets spooked and raises her tail and trots off a piece before looking intently at the same area that she had been approaching. 

And then there begin a series of rasping fox barks from the direction of the place she was headed: a "peninsula of woods" that juts out into the pasture at the top of a ravine. The fox keeps up his barking at intervals, each bark startling, strange, and other-worldly. You know that a spring surfaces at the head of that particular gully and cascades over shelving rock in a small waterfall, and you imagine him sitting near the top of the falls on his haunches, raising his head from time to time to croak out his strange cry.

After a time, a vixen begins her wailing response. It sounds like a frail woman lamenting in the distance. She cries over and over again. He adds his harsh squall to her sad song intermittently as the bird calls and movements gradually cease, the insects seem to get louder and louder, and the light continues to dim. 

You scan the edge of the field along the woods in the twilight and can barely make out two frolicking shapes circling one another in the shadows. And then, even as you strain your eyes, darkness falls, and you see them no more. You are in the night with the bugs' sounds assaulting your ears, thinking of how very many insects there must be to make so much noise, wondering if the foxes were only a dream, and considering going inside, as soon the 'possum and 'coon will make their rounds past the very place where you stand.