For the past couple of weeks our property has been full of young birds chirping at their parents for food. The males of the species seem to be the parent most often on duty.
A male rose-breasted grosbeak feeds his child.
Baby blue jay.
"Dad! Feed me! Now!"
Maybe if I fluff out my wings he'll look after me.
A week ago the downy and hairy woodpeckers were being fed by their parents. Now they're trying to manage on their own.
Downy: I know I'm supposed to peck wood, but this doesn't seem to work.
Hairy: I think this is what I'm supposed to do.
"Hey, Mom, Dad, I'm a big bird now! I can feed myself!"
The Chap had his birthday yesterday. Cards and gifts, steak and cake. (They fed him cake at the office, too.) I asked him if it felt odd knowing that no one now alive was present at his birth. His dad's not here to moan about how hot his natal day was, all those years ago.
I'm laying low at the Lodge, still trying to shake off this dread disease. Also doing the necessary planning and packing as preparation for 12 days in California.
It's pointless droning on about the constant rain. I will note that there was quite the deluge this morning, the worst yet, and flood warnings as a result. The weatherman is probably the most unpopular person in the state right now. A relief to all us State Reps getting clobbered about the budget. All I can say in response is, yes, it's painful cutting programs and raising fees but the blasted thing is balanced (I hope). More than most states can say. Like, you know, California.