by
Jean Hughes
June 24, 1996
Crickets sing their first tunes and Virginia roses bloom. The male and female bluebird sit close together on the electric wire near their nest. They have few restful moments for a bundle of blue feathers fills the bottom of the bluebird box. (I allow myself a peek a week.)

House sparrows harassed the nest for a few days, but they have given up. I assume they got tired of being dive-bombed and whacked by bluebird beaks.

* * *
This morning I sit inside near the window feeder. A new cardinal is a foot away. I do not move.

This baby has a black beak and is a pale auburn, except for the red on his wings and tail. He works and works at learning to open oil sunflower seeds. He flutters his wings, hoping for a handout, whenever he sees an adult cardinal. Baby cardinals do recognize their own kind.

The adults pay him no attention. This small creature with his fuzzy topknot has had his start and is now on his own. He has a wild life to live, a cardinal life.

* * *
We have moved the bird feeding table to a new location and the ducks are a lesson to watch. They come to the old spot and crane their necks to look and talk the situation over. Although the table has been moved only a few feet they edge toward it and go under it reluctantly.

Ducks find a lot to discuss about the goings-on of every day. Everything has to be quacked and requacked.

It is twilight all day in the woods now. I walk where squawroots look like growing pine cones and where wild leek blossoms, in masses, remind me of spring flowers.

Nesting warblers and vireos sing in the shady places. Near a ravine, a hooded warbler sings his black and gold rhapsody. He is so close that I can watch his throat throb as he makes his music.

Near the bog, warblers sing, and at the edge of the meadow, a baby cowbird hides among the leaves. A pair of scarlet tanagers hovers above him. They are probably his foster parents. At the top of the hill, a yellow-throated vireo sings his hesitating song.

Merry and I have been out among the ruellias and mints and spiderworts. We are looking for black raspberries. They are abundant, but only a few are ripe.

It is hot and humid among the raspberry tangles, but worth the trip. We do not bring back berries but we do not come back empty hearted.

A male ruby-throated hummingbird poses long enough for us to see his shiny green back and the flashes from his red throat. He is a jewel worn by the summer day.

Near my dooryard gate, a dozen great-spangled fritillary butterflies swarm over the velvet-pink aromatic milkweed blossoms, making a vignette of pulsing life.


Picnics! Picnics! Picnics! Three times a day is not too often for the children. For a breakfast picnic, try scrambled eggs served in buns and sprinkled with chili powder. For other picnics, this is a good carry-along casserole.

Carrot Casserole
Cook until tender: 2 1/2 cups carrots cut into 1/2 inch pieces.
Mash carrots, but leave chunky. Cool slightly.
Saute in 1/4 cup butter: 1 small chopped onion. Cool slightly.
Beat: 3 eggs.
Add: carrot, onion, a pinch of nutmeg, 1/2 cup canned milk and 2 cups 
finely grated sharp cheddar cheese, firmly packed.
Bake in a greased 8 by 8 inch casserole at 350o for 35 to 40 minutes.

From dusk until dawn, and intermittently through the night, the little children of the wind, the winged creatures of the earth, converse with each other: humming, buzzing, clicking, rattling, whistling, hooting and calling raucous calls.

I listen, now, to a brown thrasher. From the orchard, I can hear baby crows trying to caw. They do not sound as if they will ever amount to anything, but probably among them is a potential leader who will, one day, be directing crow traffic.

Unlike many theorists, I believe that nature does care for the individual. She gives everything its chance, but length of life is not her only criteria. Every moment of life is precious and life for life is considered a fair exchange.

* * *
Beauty, song, excitement of discovery, happiness and life-long joy are the dividends of living in the hills. They are the gifts of the wild-hearted. Gifts for all.

Forever
                 My heart is old and young and in-between.
                 So many joys of yesterdays-to-be,
                 It lives among the unseen and the seen,
                 Moment by moment through eternity.
Copyright 1996, Jean Hughes.

Jean's book of ramblings and recipes "A Country Mile of Winter" and her book of poetry "The Earth's My Home" are available for $4.95 each plus $1.30 for postage and handling. Ten of Jean's favorite recipes will be included free with each book ordered. Order from...

Country Mile Publications
616 E. Monroe
Delphi, IN 46923

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