turkey
kingfisher
carolina chickadee
tufted titmouse
bluebird
phoebe
osprey
gulls. . .
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| Revitalized Jetty Point |
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| Weird fungus in Pine Ridge |
Showing posts with label CK. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CK. Show all posts
Sunday, September 09, 2012
Brief Bird List
Several of us participated in a work day at Kittamaqund yesterday. Birded by ear as we painted Sleepy Hollow's shelter, and saw turkeys; saw and heard an osprey. List:
turkey
kingfisher
carolina chickadee
tufted titmouse
bluebird
phoebe
osprey
gulls. . .
(The paint dries less ... yellow-green than this, I promise!)
turkey
kingfisher
carolina chickadee
tufted titmouse
bluebird
phoebe
osprey
gulls. . .
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Places I Remember
A Visit to Camp, Part 2
There are places I remember, all my life
Though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments
Of lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I loved them all.
Because I live an observed life, I had ideas of what I would blog about camp when I got home: memory, connectedness, smell as a memory-trigger, songs that are exactly the same, songs that have become dirge-like (seriously, "On the Loose"* is up-beat!), snapshot views that are real, etc.
But then stuff happened, and I have forgotten the thread. Impressions that remain: it feels good to see my former campers in leadership roles; I can see that the Council put money into the site this year, but not much love or attention to detail**; and that moment when I stared pointedly into the dark until Tent 12 showed itself against the sky, blank over the river.
I also remember sharing my little Friendship and Quote Books with the CITs and being caught off guard when I saw how much of my 18 or 20-something year-old self they captured. I remember weeping dramatically as we left one or two Augusts, but geeze! I feel that strongly, still, but quieter, maybe?
Click the "CK" tag below for more, and see also my poorly-maintained maroon website. Here's another "name the view":
*For instance, there's an awesome new low-ropes course in the little playing field. A volleyball net is still there, but you'd be hard-pressed to use it because some kind of pegs or poles have been left there so long that two or three pine trees have grown up around them, a strange oasis in the mown*** grass.
**Searching the song online was a mess, so I will give you two links, here: My first search I included "Lefty" -- with out my CIT notebook I could recall only her camp name-- and a I found a comment here [search with "lefty" to find it fast] got me the name of the camp. A search with the camp name got me here, where a comment includes the words.
***Really, spell check? I can't use "mown"?
A Visit to Camp, Part 2
There are places I remember, all my life
Though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments
Of lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I loved them all.
Because I live an observed life, I had ideas of what I would blog about camp when I got home: memory, connectedness, smell as a memory-trigger, songs that are exactly the same, songs that have become dirge-like (seriously, "On the Loose"* is up-beat!), snapshot views that are real, etc.
But then stuff happened, and I have forgotten the thread. Impressions that remain: it feels good to see my former campers in leadership roles; I can see that the Council put money into the site this year, but not much love or attention to detail**; and that moment when I stared pointedly into the dark until Tent 12 showed itself against the sky, blank over the river.
I also remember sharing my little Friendship and Quote Books with the CITs and being caught off guard when I saw how much of my 18 or 20-something year-old self they captured. I remember weeping dramatically as we left one or two Augusts, but geeze! I feel that strongly, still, but quieter, maybe?
Click the "CK" tag below for more, and see also my poorly-maintained maroon website. Here's another "name the view":
*For instance, there's an awesome new low-ropes course in the little playing field. A volleyball net is still there, but you'd be hard-pressed to use it because some kind of pegs or poles have been left there so long that two or three pine trees have grown up around them, a strange oasis in the mown*** grass.
**Searching the song online was a mess, so I will give you two links, here: My first search I included "Lefty" -- with out my CIT notebook I could recall only her camp name-- and a I found a comment here [search with "lefty" to find it fast] got me the name of the camp. A search with the camp name got me here, where a comment includes the words.
***Really, spell check? I can't use "mown"?
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
A Visit to Camp, Part I
A few years ago, I started to work on learning to identify birds by ear. I'd call myself an advanced beginner, at this point. For example, every spring, I need to relearn the red-eyed vireo, a common self-chatterer in these parts; and once I do that, I name it with confidence (and, I hope, correctly) until it migrates again.
The last time I stayed at Kitty overnight in the summer, I had mastered the difference between a chuck-will's-widow and a whip-poor-will. And also, having had them try to nest in my tent flaps more than once, I knew all about the songs and calls of Carolina wrens. But beyond that, I wasn't too knowledgeable.
This past weekend, I heard so much that was familiar, or nearly so, that I had to remind myself more than once to concentrate on listening to people not the riot of birdsong! It was very distracting - how on earth did I live with all that chatter for so many years?
As I learned at a lecture at Maymont this spring (or was it last?), osprey (and eagles) have made a strong comeback from a 1970s die-off, and this was very evident along the Great Wicomico. An opsrey's was the first call I heard as I clambered out of the car behind the dining hall. It must have been one of the pair with the nest on a platform near the mouth of Blackwell's Creek that I could see from my tent in Pine Ridge. We used to make such a drama, in the 80s, of finding the one nest for miles right there on our own Jetty Point. Now, I imagine, like elsewhere in the Bay region, their nests dot every platform, dock, promising tree and buoy from camp to the Chesapeake.
As well as the osprey, wrens and a wood thrush welcomed me to Pine Ridge. Once settled, I was off for a day with the CITs.
I felt a little overwhelmed, as we talked at the Tree House, by the calling of pewees, and, later, of the chuck-will's-widow. Come on, y'all, I am trying to train, here! Binocular-less for this short trip, I spotted birds most clearly there on the lake, too. A male goldfinch flashed through the reeds in the afternoon sun, bluebirds tended to a nest in the pilings, and phoebes and pewees snatched up bugs and returned to the power lines or the rope along the Tree House bridge.
Sunday morning's cacophonous wake-up call included herons, wrens, chickadees, cardinals, osprey, and a woodpecker's squeaking. When the woodpecker finally moved round the tree so I could see it, I saw that it had to be a hairy woodpecker, since I didn't hear the downward trill of the similar-looking downy woodpecker. Good, that's settled, now I can look at people when they talk to me.
At a Girl Scout's Own, making eye contact with other congregants (as it were) is not required, but listening to the ceremony is. But, really, the pewees were shouting and diving about the walnut trees in the most distracting way! And surely someone else was with them -- several someones? -- none of which I could ID.
When I packed, I decided not to pull out my binoculars, knowing that the goal of my trip lay elsewhere, but, wow, what a list I could have had! As it stands, my unofficial list is made up of birds I identified by ear:
osprey
great blue heron
chuck-will's-widow
hairy woodpecker
eastern phoebe
eastern wood pewee
carolina chickadee
carolina wren
blue-gray gnatcatcher
eastern bluebird
wood thrush
red-eyed vireo
American crow
cardinal
goldfinch
A few years ago, I started to work on learning to identify birds by ear. I'd call myself an advanced beginner, at this point. For example, every spring, I need to relearn the red-eyed vireo, a common self-chatterer in these parts; and once I do that, I name it with confidence (and, I hope, correctly) until it migrates again.
The last time I stayed at Kitty overnight in the summer, I had mastered the difference between a chuck-will's-widow and a whip-poor-will. And also, having had them try to nest in my tent flaps more than once, I knew all about the songs and calls of Carolina wrens. But beyond that, I wasn't too knowledgeable.
This past weekend, I heard so much that was familiar, or nearly so, that I had to remind myself more than once to concentrate on listening to people not the riot of birdsong! It was very distracting - how on earth did I live with all that chatter for so many years?
As I learned at a lecture at Maymont this spring (or was it last?), osprey (and eagles) have made a strong comeback from a 1970s die-off, and this was very evident along the Great Wicomico. An opsrey's was the first call I heard as I clambered out of the car behind the dining hall. It must have been one of the pair with the nest on a platform near the mouth of Blackwell's Creek that I could see from my tent in Pine Ridge. We used to make such a drama, in the 80s, of finding the one nest for miles right there on our own Jetty Point. Now, I imagine, like elsewhere in the Bay region, their nests dot every platform, dock, promising tree and buoy from camp to the Chesapeake.
As well as the osprey, wrens and a wood thrush welcomed me to Pine Ridge. Once settled, I was off for a day with the CITs.
I felt a little overwhelmed, as we talked at the Tree House, by the calling of pewees, and, later, of the chuck-will's-widow. Come on, y'all, I am trying to train, here! Binocular-less for this short trip, I spotted birds most clearly there on the lake, too. A male goldfinch flashed through the reeds in the afternoon sun, bluebirds tended to a nest in the pilings, and phoebes and pewees snatched up bugs and returned to the power lines or the rope along the Tree House bridge.
Sunday morning's cacophonous wake-up call included herons, wrens, chickadees, cardinals, osprey, and a woodpecker's squeaking. When the woodpecker finally moved round the tree so I could see it, I saw that it had to be a hairy woodpecker, since I didn't hear the downward trill of the similar-looking downy woodpecker. Good, that's settled, now I can look at people when they talk to me.
At a Girl Scout's Own, making eye contact with other congregants (as it were) is not required, but listening to the ceremony is. But, really, the pewees were shouting and diving about the walnut trees in the most distracting way! And surely someone else was with them -- several someones? -- none of which I could ID.
When I packed, I decided not to pull out my binoculars, knowing that the goal of my trip lay elsewhere, but, wow, what a list I could have had! As it stands, my unofficial list is made up of birds I identified by ear:
osprey
great blue heron
chuck-will's-widow
hairy woodpecker
eastern phoebe
eastern wood pewee
carolina chickadee
carolina wren
blue-gray gnatcatcher
eastern bluebird
wood thrush
red-eyed vireo
American crow
cardinal
goldfinch
Monday, June 16, 2008
Friday, August 24, 2007
Reading
I finished Cabin Pressure the other day. In many places I found it infuriating: men who are supposed to role models to boys use "girls" as the ultimate put down; counselors don't seem to curtail swearing around boys and don't seem to curtail boys' use of "fag" and the like as put downs; counselors drink on property; and the favorite camp roadtrip involves driving campers around New England looking for bridges to jump off -- and calling the kids who won't do it names. I'll echo his former camp counselor-then-fiancee told him during one phone call, "'I'm not sure I like the way boys relate to each other.'"
Yet what Wolk loves about his camp, and what campers love and get out of it, shines through in so many moments of warm familiarity. For instance:
With my last several summers at CK being ones of decreasing numbers of nights living there, I made those same high steps and flailed wildly at innocent branches that snuck up on me. But as the skill came back, I'd feel so good, so safe and clever.
Over all, I enjoyed this book. I reached August with him, just as my internal clock (and the shorter days, and the yellowing tulip poplars, and the singing crickets) is saying it's time to put the trunk in the car and drive home. I don't know to whom I would recommend Cabin Pressure. Wolk mentions at some point that there are camp people and non-camp people. I'm not sure that there would be any point to suggesting it to non-camp people: why would they care? Would this give the impression of Camps I'd want? (No: too much crudeness and unsafe behavior. I wouldn't send a child to that camp) As for handing it to camp people, I bet they'd have some of the same reactions I did: MY camp is better for X,Y, and Z -- but, oh, his descriptions of A, B, and C are so spot on that it makes me feel at home/camp.
I finished Cabin Pressure the other day. In many places I found it infuriating: men who are supposed to role models to boys use "girls" as the ultimate put down; counselors don't seem to curtail swearing around boys and don't seem to curtail boys' use of "fag" and the like as put downs; counselors drink on property; and the favorite camp roadtrip involves driving campers around New England looking for bridges to jump off -- and calling the kids who won't do it names. I'll echo his former camp counselor-then-fiancee told him during one phone call, "'I'm not sure I like the way boys relate to each other.'"
Yet what Wolk loves about his camp, and what campers love and get out of it, shines through in so many moments of warm familiarity. For instance:
Non-denominational services in a grove on Sundays "were built around themes that all came back to what was important about camp. . . . When I was a camper and counselor, I heard the same life lessons week after week, year after year. But they always moved me, because I felt the same things.Or his description of that feeling of pride, self-sufficiency, and calmness you get when you walk back to your campsite without a flashlight:
. . . slowly inched down the hill, lifting my legs comically high with each step to avoid my feet catching on phantom tree roots. I flinched wildly when my head grazed a low branch. . . . and if I looked straight up, I could stay on the path by using the sky in the break between the tops of the trees on either side of me as my guide. My springy steps lowered, as the latent instinctual memory of the obstacles on this route came back to me.
With my last several summers at CK being ones of decreasing numbers of nights living there, I made those same high steps and flailed wildly at innocent branches that snuck up on me. But as the skill came back, I'd feel so good, so safe and clever.
Over all, I enjoyed this book. I reached August with him, just as my internal clock (and the shorter days, and the yellowing tulip poplars, and the singing crickets) is saying it's time to put the trunk in the car and drive home. I don't know to whom I would recommend Cabin Pressure. Wolk mentions at some point that there are camp people and non-camp people. I'm not sure that there would be any point to suggesting it to non-camp people: why would they care? Would this give the impression of Camps I'd want? (No: too much crudeness and unsafe behavior. I wouldn't send a child to that camp) As for handing it to camp people, I bet they'd have some of the same reactions I did: MY camp is better for X,Y, and Z -- but, oh, his descriptions of A, B, and C are so spot on that it makes me feel at home/camp.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Reading
Read: William Gibson's Pattern Recognition: loved it. Cool-hunting, conspiracy, globe-trotting suspense, internet intrigue.
Reading: Cabin Pressure, by Josh Wolk. I almost turned it back in: if I am feeling a little Camp sick, why would I read about a fellow's last fling, at thirty-three, as a camp counselor? Because, it turns out, as ever, it's nice to "know" someone who gets what you're talking about if you say you missing living outside all summer. His camp is the kind that boys go to for a full eight weeks! I didn't know those still existed: Girl Scout families began complaining years ago that a full two week session was too long, Didn't we have a three night program for twelve year olds? Cut the apron strings, lady, I did not shout.
Capital City weather: Cloudy, now. Storm again last night, will the lib have power? I work Day schedule today, so will see, shortly.
Read: William Gibson's Pattern Recognition: loved it. Cool-hunting, conspiracy, globe-trotting suspense, internet intrigue.
Reading: Cabin Pressure, by Josh Wolk. I almost turned it back in: if I am feeling a little Camp sick, why would I read about a fellow's last fling, at thirty-three, as a camp counselor? Because, it turns out, as ever, it's nice to "know" someone who gets what you're talking about if you say you missing living outside all summer. His camp is the kind that boys go to for a full eight weeks! I didn't know those still existed: Girl Scout families began complaining years ago that a full two week session was too long, Didn't we have a three night program for twelve year olds? Cut the apron strings, lady, I did not shout.
Capital City weather: Cloudy, now. Storm again last night, will the lib have power? I work Day schedule today, so will see, shortly.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
News
New: birds on our feeder! Phiance reports sparrows, cardinals, and juncos (the latter on the ground).
New book: Wintersmith, by Terry Pratchett. If you like Douglas Adams, give Pratchett a try.
News at 11: "See why these Girl Scouts are angry" -- or somethin' -- was the teaser. Fox 10:00 news gave us one leader and Senior Girl Scout sharing their reasons for protesting Kittamaqund's pending sale. I'd say there were about 100 of us on Hanover Green Drive protesting that decision as the board of directors met.
Oh -- channel 8 did a nice job: called it Kittamaqund (I think all girls and all their signs said "Kitty"), got a good blurb from a former Council president (dialog needed), included singing, and some good girl quotes.
New: birds on our feeder! Phiance reports sparrows, cardinals, and juncos (the latter on the ground).
New book: Wintersmith, by Terry Pratchett. If you like Douglas Adams, give Pratchett a try.
News at 11: "See why these Girl Scouts are angry" -- or somethin' -- was the teaser. Fox 10:00 news gave us one leader and Senior Girl Scout sharing their reasons for protesting Kittamaqund's pending sale. I'd say there were about 100 of us on Hanover Green Drive protesting that decision as the board of directors met.
Oh -- channel 8 did a nice job: called it Kittamaqund (I think all girls and all their signs said "Kitty"), got a good blurb from a former Council president (dialog needed), included singing, and some good girl quotes.
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