Suburban wildlife

"Red tail hawk...settin' on a limb"

If only I had Randy Owen's proclivity toward lyrical inspiration, I'd have a country hit quicker than Randy could get legalized gambling in the State of Alabama. Seems ol' Randy beat me to the hit, though. He wrote about red tail hawks in "DIXIELAND DELIGHT", a bucolic word picture of country back roads, white tail bucks & home grown country girls. This hawk was not the one in Randy's song because this one made his perch a limb in my backyard right behind a neighborhood of Alabama mac mansions. Poor hawk. Guess he's been away awhile. The mc mansions are perched on a former pasture which was home to horses and cows for many wonderful years and the barbed wire fence marking our back yard. Several years ago bulldozers showed up in the pasture subdividing it into prime building plots in a subdivision coined "Nature's Perfection". I'm not kidding. The horses and cows relocated. Raccoons, skunks and coyote wandered around looking for the nature that once was perfect for them. The hawks all but disappeared. About a month ago, a red tailed hawk unexpectedly swooped down into my back yard and grabbed a dove as it fed on the ground around the bird feeder. As quick as a wink, the hawk flew south with the dove in it's talons.

Perhaps he was heading for the country Randy sang about, bringing with him something delectable from the big city. Perhaps the residents of all the million dollar mc mansions are delighted with their perfect piece of DIXIELAND. As for me I couldn't feel better down on the farm where the hawks soar high above the tree line as part of nature's true perfection. Ol' Randy is down in Mon'gom'ry really tryin' to get that gambling bill through the Alabama legislature. He thinks it has a chance if we "let the people of Alabama vote". Really. He thinks so. I'm not kidding. And, I'm not bettin' on it.

"lucky as a seven...living in heaven
With my Dixieland Delight."

New Kid in Town

A week ago yesterday, this big guy was born at my cousin's place just down the road a piece in Weogufka, AL. While we weren't there for the birth, we did witness his first steps outside the barn. After taking a few tenuous steps at his mother's side, he broke into a full run, darting back and forth with remarkable agility. Seventy-five pounds of new born grace.

Home Brew

It's not a copper kettle. You won't find Dooley, slippin' up a holler. It's a Can-O-Worms Composter. This Spring we harvested our first batch of worm tea, a rich by-product of vermicomposting. Hundreds of red wiggler worms nestled in the stacked bins of the can feeding on kitchen waste, animal hair & mysterious debris from the vacuum cleaner. Yum. Yum. After about a year, the worms, acting a nature's best recyclers, produced dark composted castings for our garden soil and several gallons of tea to use in foliar feeding. The nutritious elixir is so concentrated that it must be diluted 4:1. Wow! It's better than a V-8! One guy paid all his college expenses by selling worm tea fertilizer. At least that's what we read on the website. We are happily giving friends all they want, while supplies last. Or until the revenuers catch up with us.

Follow up...

Mother peeks out the church door on Easter Sunday to assure the cross is flowered sufficiently. 100% natural. No fillers necessary!

Easter Traditions

Every afternoon around 4:30, through the wonder of AT&T's family plan, my mother & I enjoy a pleasant conversation about the weather or the latest happenings in her exercise class. It's enjoyable even when the chat occasionally veers toward the obligatory melancholia: hospitals; nursing homes; funerals; worthless doctors. Yesterday, Mother sounded uncharacteristically dismayed: "What are we going to do?" I'm thinking, uh-oh...who died? "About what, Mother?" "How can we flower the cross Sunday," she wonders, "Nothing is blooming here now!" Now there's a topic I wasn't expecting. Further conversation reveals the question had come up before. The renowned Pete of PETE'S FEED & SEED paid a visit to Mother's yard prior to 4:30 chat but after AS THE WORLD TURNS. He commented on the lack of abundant blooming around town. Pete is an eminent scholar in local gardening circles. If Pete is concerned about the shortage of flowers, then Mother is downright alarmed. "When are you coming? Can you bring something from your yard in Madison?", she asked me. Madison is in the north of Alabama- a different gardening zone. We might have a few daffodils left; some droopy hyacinths-nothing that will survive two days until Sunday. I suggested we go to Piggy Wiggly Saturday afternoon, buy a bouquet and select a few appropriate flowers for the cross. Obviously that is a bad plan. Mother has another idea: ARTIFICIAL FLOWERS-the bane of my existence! Holy Sunday, Batman! Chartreuse carnations? Fuchsia roses? Does Pete know about this? Maybe she'll buy silk Easter lilies. Oh, well. The cross will be 'flowered'. The tradition lives on.

Now for my tradition: GOOD FRIDAY by Black Crowes

I will see you on Good Friday
On Good Friday

I'm sorry I couldn't do this yesterday
And tomorrow I am busy and what
It is I can't say
And Saturday's no good
I got a show
So it's got to be Good Friday
Then it's so long...