#we saw a yellow crowned night heron :]

[wretched-mog]

bird watches birds

[magnetothemagnificent]

Proud to announce that I spotted 60.5 species of birds in my week trip to Florida (copied-and-pasted from my Big Year google doc, so the FA stands for Florida):

Marsh wren FA

Limpkin FA

Great white heron FA

Cattle egret FA

Anhinga FA

Snowy egret FA

Great blue heron FA

Black-crowned night heron FA *was on a boardwalk trail and saw a bunch of people crouching down and looking at something and I thought they saw another gator (on this trip we saw 32 gators in total) but it was something better! A bird! And then I saw another one the next day hiding under brush.

Wood stork FA

Common moorhen FA

Blue-gray gnatcatcher FA

Turkey vulture FA *was looking for wild turkeys and unfortunately didn't see any this trip but one of these guys was stalking on the side of the rode and for a second we got exciting thinking it was an actual turkey.

Black vulture FA

Yellow-rumped warbler FA

Tufted titmouse FA *my grandma's favourite bird

Little blue heron FA

White ibis FA *we were ambushed by them because people at the park would feed them so they expected us to feed them but we wouldn't so they just surrounded us and we thought they would attack us but they didn't.

Cooper's hawk FA

Cardinal FA

Green heron FA *my grandpa was walking a little ahead of me and whispered for me to come and there was this gorgeous green fishing. Moved so slowly and gently that he didn't make a sound, it was incredible.

Carolina warbler FA

Pine warbler FA

Sandhill crane FA

Carolina chickadee FA

Bluejay FA

Osprey FA

Chimney swift FA

Red-tailed hawk FA *saw this lovely lady perched on a fence as we drove out of my grandparents' neighbourhood

Prairie warbler FA

American kestrel FA

Glossy ibis FA

Pied-billed grebe FA

Double-crested cormorant FA

Grey kingbird FA

Brown pelican FA *we weren't anywhere near the ocean but a storm was likely brewing and huge flocks of brown pelicans and white pelicans flew inland

Fish crow FA

Royal tern FA

Bald eagle FA

Painted bunting FA *didn't think I'd see one this trip because the nature garden we went to last year that had a lot of birds, including the painted bunting we saw last year, had too many people this time around so there weren't many birds. But then I saw a painted bunting at a different trail and literally forgot to be quiet and freaked out.

American white pelican FA

Common grackle FA

Boat-tailed grackle FA *did you know that these grackles make a clicking sound when they see humans or predators that sounds like a turkey gobble sound? I didn't until these guys wouldn't stop yelling at my while I was just trying to rest my legs on a bench.

American purple gallinule FA *gorgeous birds. gorgeous.

American coot FA

Brown-headed cowbird FA

Tricolored heron FA

Mallard FA

Black-bellied whistling duck FA

Eastern kingbird FA

Yellow-billed cuckoo FA

Muscovy duck FA

American bittern FA *my grandma and I saw this one and at first thought it was a green heron but then realized it wasn't haha.

Ring-billed gull FA

Feral American Pekin FA

Mallard-Pekin hybrid FA *spent so much time trying to identify these weird ducks until I went on my laptop later that evening and read up way too much on duck genetics and realized that they were hybrids. They were probably second-generation hybrids from my brief scan of pedigree charts of ducks, meaning their grandparents were a mallard and a pekin, but their parents were a hybrid and a pekin.

Eastern bluebird FA

Yellow-bellied sapsucker FA *went to a park my grandparents recommended and there weren't really any new birds there and my legs hurt from walking but then I heard this guy tapping around in a tree and there he was. Still wouldn't recommend this park.

Red-winged blackbird FA *was complaining to my grandpa that I hadn't seen any red-winged blackbirds yet and my trip was almost over when a bunch of these guys literally flew down in front of us.

White-eyed vireo FA

Mottled duck FA

Broad-winged hawk FA *saw this guy as my plane was literally taxiing out of the runway to go home. I was looking out my window cause I was nervous and there he was! Just perched on a sign!

[swede1952]

Good morning. 🌞🌞🌞

11 August 2023

When I was a marine, we wore green cotton fatigues. We would take them to the cleaners and have them starched so that when we put them on, we had to "break starch" by parting the legs and arms so that we could push our legs through. We also had black combat boots that we usually spit shined every day.

A few years later, in the Army, it was mostly the same, but the uniforms were lighter and were supposed to be permeant press, they weren't. In 1980's the camouflage battle dress uniform became the approved work uniform.

After retiring, I still worked on Army posts in Europe and Louisiana. I saw the uniform change three or four times during those years, and they wear ruff brown boots that don't need shinning.

“Those of us who have never been in the military don’t understand what it is like to serve in the military.” - Gina Barreca

The photo is of a flock of yellow-crowned night herons (Nyctanassa violacea) flying over the Caribbean Sea, miles away from land.

[infodumpingaboutnature]

Part 2 with all the birds we saw!!!

So in the park we saw lots of cool birds since they’re weren’t many people out! We saw:

• pied-billed grebes

• common gallinules

• a red-shouldered hawk who kept making appearances throughout the trip

• ruddy ducks

• double-crested cormorants

• a pair of mystery ducks that might have been subadult blue-winged teals or even a hybrid of two species since they’re coloration was just a little off

• American coots

• a snail kite who got chased off by the hawk from earlier

• little blue herons

• a turkey vulture

• tricolored herons

• white ibises

• a whole bunch of anhingas nesting

• a green heron who I swear was in the exact same spot last time I visited Green Cay

• a really cool yellow-crowned night heron who was sitting super close to the boardwalk and was such a rare find since they’re not out much during the day

• snowy egrets

• glossy ibises

• a great egret

• Florida mottled ducks which both the males and females look almost identical to female mallards (male mottled ducks have olive colored bills tho)

• swamp hens/purple gallinules

• cattle egrets

• an American bittern which was surprisingly big and also another cool find since they’re pretty shy

• a male common yellow-throated warbler

• some boat-tailed grackles

• a group of painted buntings that we saw eating from a bird feeder as we were leaving (apparently there was a male that some people before us saw but he flew away and we didn’t get to see him despite waiting for him to come back)

Overall it was a really cool trip and I’m grateful for all the cool birds I saw and for my bf since he’s way better at IDing birds than I am!

Merry belated Christmas everyone!!! I’ve been wanting to make a post for a while now but things have been pretty hectic between coming back from my trip to Florida and helping my family with last minute preparations for Christmas. After that my brain needed a few days to just be goop but I’m back now and want to talk about something pretty cool! So while I was in Florida me and my bf went to go visit this wetlands called Green Cay where you can walk around a board walk and see some pretty cool birds and reptiles. The day we went was pretty cold and cloudy (it was like that for most of the time I was there) so that meant there weren’t many reptiles out but it also meant there weren’t many people there either so we got to see a lot of really cool birds!

As soon as we pulled up to the parking lot we were seeing birds such as blue jays, northern mocking birds, common grackles (of course), a red-bellied woodpecker, mourning doves, and a bunch of squirrels. I know none of those species are rare so it makes sense that I would see them but I think it’s so cool to see species that I’m used to like blue jays, squirrels, and woodpeckers hanging out in palm trees.

(Red-Bellied Woodpecker)

Next, we went into the visitor center where they had a few exhibits with animals. The first was a display about native frogs Vs invasive frogs that had Cuban tree frogs and cane toads for the invasive species and green tree frogs, pig frogs, and southern toads for the natives. Sadly, I could only find the Cuban tree frog, cane toad, and pig frog since the glass was super foggy and the frogs like to hide anyways. They also had an American kestrel named Kilee and an Eastern screech owl named Oliver in little flight cages. Both birds were born in the wild but now have injuries that prevent them from flying so they have to live the rest of their lives at the center. The sign said Oliver had been hit by a car and for Kilee it just said she had problems with her wing feathers so idk what happened to her. There was also two tanks one that had turtles (peninsula cooters, Florida softshell, and Florida red-bellied) and a second tank that had some baby American Alligators.

(Pig frog, Cuban tree frog, Kilee the American kestrel, Oliver the Eastern screech owl, peninsula cooter, and American alligator babies)

In the actual park we saw lots of cool species since there weren’t many people out. Like I said no alligators though since it was pretty cold out but we did see plenty of iguanas, a massive Florida Softshell in the water, and a basilisk lizard sitting in a tree!

(Large male green iguana and either a brown basilisk or a green basilisk who isn’t showing off his coloration we couldn’t tell)

That’s all the pics I can add to this post so I’m gonna make a part 2 with all the birds we saw.

[anonsally]

Day 4 of family vacation

Nice weather, lots of birds, and a walk with a college friend!

I got to bed sort of late last night, but woke at 8 and couldn’t fall back asleep (my room is right below the kitchen, and my dad (the only early bird) is not light on his feet). So I was out at the beach to do my abstract photography by 10:30am. It was sunny! I alternated taking photos with birdwatching, and there were lots of birds out. I saw 18 species in about 75 minutes! So that was very fun, though I did get sort of chilly at the end.

Around 1:40, one of my friends from college came and we went for a long (2.5-hour) walk with his little dog. The dog walked at a very fast pace--at first, I had trouble keeping up! We spotted a few interesting birds, but mostly just walked and chatted. It was good to see him. 

In the early evening, I heard great horned owls outside! Of course I couldn’t see them (it was already dark), but it was still exciting. After dinner, we played Codenames without keeping score. It’s the first game I’ve played on this trip that I haven’t lost! 

Everyone seemed to get along well today, but maybe that’s because we all went off and did our own things.

Wildlife spotted today: Morning: a seal swimming near the shore; lots of brown pelicans and surf scoters, various unidentified gulls and cormorants in addition to a Heermann’s gull and a double-crested cormorant, snowy egrets, a red-tailed hawk and another hawk of some sort, black phoebes, crows, bushtits, a ruby-crowned kinglet, white-crowned and golden-crowned sparrows, California towhees, and a yellow-rumped warbler; Afternoon: black-crowned night heron, red-shouldered hawk, some other bird of prey, dark-eyed juncos. I also heard a veritable cacophony of frogs in the morning, and the great horned owls in the evening.

[saurons-pr-department]

I was a bit confused about Tom Bombadil and I read somewhere that he was a rapist? Is this true ?

Hey anon, I think I've heard this being mentioned before. It's related to a section in the poem I've put under the cut (The Adventures of Tome Bombadil). I've highlighted the relevant spot. I'll admit, that bit doesn't sound great (it's about how he caught Goldberry), but like, the poem also involves him getting captured by a tree and then some badgers and then a wight, so like... I don't know how much normal, everyday logic we're expecting here... She also catches him at the start of the poem and address him by name, so she seems to already know who he is. We're given no context for their relationship and we're not given much in the way of details about the whole matter other than this poem-ified version of events.

I don't know about anyone else, but for me, saying that he's outright a rapist, sounds like an overly literal reading of fantasy poem, you know?

(Also, so for asking if this was a real ask, it just came out of no where and I was afraid it was someone just trying to start shit XD)

Old Tom Bombadil was a merry fellow; bright blue his jacket was and his boots were yellow, green were his girdle and his breeches all of leather; he wore in his tall hat a swan-wing feather. He lived up under Hill, where the Withywindle ran from a grassy well down into the dingle.

Old Tom in summertime walked about the meadows gathering the buttercups, running after shadows, tickling the bumblebees that buzzed among the flowers, sitting by the waterside for hours upon hours.

There his beard dangled long down into the water: up came Goldberry, the River-woman’s daughter; pulled Tom’s hanging hair. In he went a-wallowing under the water-lilies, bubbling and a-swallowing.

‘Hey, Tom Bombadil! Whither are you going?’ said fair Goldberry. ‘Bubbles you are blowing, frightening the finny fish and the brown water-rat, startling the dabchicks, and drowning your feather-hat!’

‘You bring it back again, there’s a pretty maiden!’ said Tom Bombadil. ‘I do not care for wading. Go down! Sleep again where the pools are shady far below willow-roots, little water-lady!’

Back to her mother’s house in the deepest hollow swam young Goldberry. But Tom, he would not follow; on knotted willow-roots he sat in sunny weather, drying his yellow boots and his draggled feather.

Up woke Willow-man, began upon his singing, sang Tom fast asleep under branches swinging; in a crack caught him tight: snick! it closed together, trapped Tom Bombadil, coat and hat and feather.

‘Ha, Tom Bombadil! What be you a-thinking, peeping inside my tree, watching me a-drinking deep in my wooden house, tickling me with feather, dripping wet down my face like a rainy weather?’

‘You let me out again, Old Man Willow! I am stiff lying here; they’re no sort of pillow, your hard crooked roots. Drink your river-water! Go back to sleep again like the River-daughter!’

Willow-man let him loose when he heard him speaking; locked fast his wooden house, muttering and creaking, whispering inside the tree. Out from willow-dingle Tom went walking on up the Withywindle. Under the forest-eaves he sat a while a-listening: on the boughs piping birds were chirruping and whistling. Butterflies about his head went quivering and winking, until grey clouds came up, as the sun was sinking.

Then Tom hurried on. Rain began to shiver, round rings spattering in the running river; a wind blew, shaken leaves chilly drops were dripping; into a sheltering hole Old Tom went skipping.

Out came Badger-brock with his snowy forehead and his dark blinking eyes. In the hill he quarried with his wife and many sons. By the coat they caught him, pulled him inside their earth, down their tunnels brought him.

Inside their secret house, there they sat a-mumbling: ‘Ho, Tom Bombadil! Where have you come tumbling, bursting in the front-door? Badger-folk have caught you. You’ll never find it out, the way that we have brought you!’

‘Now, old Badger-brock, do you hear me talking? You show me out at once! I must be a-walking. Show me to your backdoor under briar-roses; then clean grimy paws, wipe your earthy noses! Go back to sleep again on your straw pillow, like fair Goldberry and Old Man Willow!’

Then all the Badger-folk said: ‘We beg your pardon!’ They showed Tom out again to their thorny garden, went back and hid themselves, a-shivering and a-shaking, blocked up all their doors, earth together raking.

Rain had passed. The sky was clear, and in the summer-gloaming Old Tom Bombadil laughed as he came homing, unlocked his door again, and opened up a shutter. In the kitchen round the lamp moths began to flutter; Tom through the window saw waking stars come winking, and the new slender moon early westward sinking.

Dark came under Hill. Tom, he lit a candle; upstairs creaking went, turned the door-handle. ‘Hoo, Tom Bombadil! Look what night has brought you! I’m behind the door. Now at last I’ve caught you! You’d forgotten Barrow-wight dwelling in the old mound up there on hill-top with the ring of stones round. He’s got loose again. Under earth he’ll take you. Poor Tom Bombadil, pale and cold he’ll make you!’

‘Go out! Shut the door, and never come back after! Take away gleaming eyes, take your hollow laughter! Go back to grassy mound, on your stony pillow lay down your bony head, like Old Man Willow, like young Goldberry, and Badger-folk in burrow! Go back to buried gold and forgotten sorrow!’

Out fled Barrow-wight through the window leaping, through the yard, over wall like a shadow sweeping, up hill wailing went back to leaning stone-rings, back under lonely mound, rattling his bone-rings.

Old Tom Bombadil lay upon his pillow sweeter than Goldberry, quieter than the Willow, snugger than the Badger-folk or the Barrow-dwellers; slept like a humming-top, snored like a bellows.

He woke in morning-light, whistled like a starling, sang, ‘Come, derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!’ He clapped on his battered hat, boots, and coat and feather; opened the window wide to the sunny weather.

Wise old Bombadil, he was a wary fellow; bright blue his jacket was, and his boots were yellow. None ever caught old Tom in upland or in dingle, walking the forest-paths, or by the Withywindle, or out on the lily-pools in boat upon the water. But one day Tom, he went and caught the River-daughter, in green gown, flowing hair, sitting in the rushes, singing old water-songs to birds upon the bushes.

He caught her, held her fast! Water-rats went scuttering reeds hissed, herons cried, and her heart was fluttering. Said Tom Bombadil: ‘Here’s my pretty maiden! You shall come home with me! The table is all laden: yellow cream, honeycomb, white bread and butter; roses at the window-sill and peeping round the shutter. You shall come under Hill! Never mind your mother in her deep weedy pool: there you’ll find no lover!’

Old Tom Bombadil had a merry wedding, crowned all with buttercups, hat and feather shedding; his bride with forgetmenots and flag-lilies for garland was robed all in silver-green. He sang like a starling, hummed like a honey-bee, lilted to the fiddle, clasping his river-maid round her slender middle.

Lamps gleamed within his house, and white was the bedding; in the bright honey-moon Badger-folk came treading, danced down under Hill, and Old Man Willow tapped, tapped at window-pane, as they slept on the pillow, on the bank in the reeds River-woman sighing heard Barrow-wight in his mound crying.

Old Tom Bombadil heeded not the voices, taps, knocks, dancing feet, all the nightly noises; slept till the sun arose, then sang like a starling: ‘Hey! Come derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!’ sitting on the door-step chopping sticks of willow, while fair Goldberry combed her tresses yellow

[fatehbaz]

We have driven past them more often than I can remember and more often than I can forget: ten-foot-high flames burning off gas from BP’s oil refinery in Whiting, Indiana. My sister called them “volcanoes” when she was six and the name has stuck; now we drive through a ring of fire that has become as natural as it is pretty. My parents have memories of a sky that was perpetually orange; my tongue has a memory of the air that is thick enough to taste. A process of invisibilization: you look at something for so long that it disappears. This is how landscapes are made. People too.

The volcanoes cluster a dozen thick in what the newspapers call the Calumet region’s Rust Belt: an area that spans the Indiana towns of East Chicago, Hammond, Gary, and Whiting as well as the outskirts of industrial South Chicago. Rosa Estrada can see the volcanoes from her front door. “It seems like an imminent threat,” she says. [...]

When I was younger, I looked at the long drive through the region to visit family on either side of it as wasted time spent going through a wasted place. This is a passenger’s view of the world: outside is nothing in itself; the eyes glide over it.

Today we are driving to Wolf Lake, an 804-acre body of water on the Indiana/Illinois border divided in half by a floating I-90 highway and half again by the Harbor Belt Railroad causeway. We count volcanoes as we go. [...]

“Mayor Thomas M. McDermott, Jr. Welcomes You to Wolf Lake Memorial Park -- Open Water, with a Real Lake Bottom!” The guidepost is your first introduction to the lake, The water is nestled between two ArcelorMittal and a U.S. Steel works, a BP oil refinery, AmeriStar and Horseshoe casinos, Exxon Mobil and Marathon Petroleum Bulk operations, and a Unilever chemical plant. On upwind days, my parents had picnics here growing up, accompanied by the roar of passing cars.

Most lakes in the area -- including a large portion of Lake Michigan and the wetlands surrounding Wolf Lake -- were man-made for mill usage, or were filled with excess slag during the region’s steel heyday. In fact, until we saw the welcome sign, my family had assumed for decades that Wolf Lake was another fake. A Real Lake Bottom: Wolf Lake is sold as the more natural nature; it’s presented as a glimmer of real in an expanse of postindustrial fiction.

If you wanted, you could put on your rose-colored glasses and call this scenery an example of Rust Belt magical realism. But to do so would be to miss how very everyday this is.

Those who visit the lake regularly say that you only have to block out the towering power lines, the 400,000-gallon oil tanks, lines and lines of billowing smokestacks, and distant red flames, and you can find yourself truly in nature. Transported to another time. [...]

Now speed up time as human histories of genocide and segregation spill into the nineteenth century. Illinois, Miami, and Potawatomi peoples are “removed.” Immigrant Slovak, Polish, and Serbian workers first arriving in Chicago’s settlement houses lay down tracks for nine different railroad corporations, making the area North America’s largest center for freight shipping. Standard Oil’s Rockefeller and other robber barons build debt-backed cartoon towns for their company men to live in -- or better, to die in. [...]

All the remediation plans that have taken place at Wolf Lake have been focused on what is visible at close range: making Wolf Lake a nicer park, a cleaner environment. This is, of course, extremely important. Yet this has also had the effect of creating Wolf Lake as a small island of relative ecological health in the middle of a toxic sacrifice zone—a “puddle in the middle of a parking lot.” [...]

And so: standing at the edge of Wolf Lake, you feel like you are choosing whether or not to take and put on the blindfold held out in front of you. You can look at the water itself, the beautiful birds, the snail shells, the crabs. All of this is here. The lake has become a nesting site for endangered species like the crowned night heron, the little blue heron, and the yellow-headed blackbird.   [...] And yet: lift your eyes a little higher, and you’ll find a roaring highway. Turn around, and you’ll see four volcanoes burning bright. Dig a little deeper under the soft silt of the Real Lake Bottom, and you’ll release a small plume of toxins. [...]

Ghosts come in many different forms: chemical traces that bend you like invisible hands, a sense of timelessness that nevertheless passes too quickly. At the doctor, I watch my own blood as it is slowly drawn into transparent tubes. Compartmentalized. They want the black-red liquid in these bottles. My breath in these. I label the tube “Sample 1” and write my name on the glass as if I am identifying a body, which, after all, I am. Ask my father if he thinks working in the mills killed his parents.

-

Ava Tomasula y Garcia. “Northwest Indiana’s Slow Burn.” 2017.

(Header photo 1: The boardwalk at Wolf Lake, from indianatrails dot com. Header photo 2: Infrastructure near Gary, Indiana. Photo by Ryan Schnurr. Header photo 3: The 1955 fire at Standard Oil refinery in Whiting, from Times of Northwest Indiana file. Header photo 4: Lake Michigan, via NASA. Final photo: The contemporary Whiting refinery near Lake Michigan’s shore. Photo by Ryan Schnurr.)

[cgasue]

The Slow Times

Wow - it has been over a month since my last update! I had to sit down and really think about what I have been doing since we got back from our marathon birding trip to Rainy River.

When we returned home, I was sitting at 299 Ontario Birds for 2022 and over a month later, I am still only at 302 birds! My highlight of the month was finding Big Year Bird #300 on June 15: a Kirtland’s Warbler. Jim and I volunteered to be Rare Bird Ambassadors in Essa Township to assist visitors and fellow birders with seeing this endangered species. After four hours, I was lucky enough to catch a quick glimpse but unfortunately no photograph. A week later, my sister Linda and I went back to see if I could get a photograph and this time it only took 5 minutes to get a great view!

It’s been tough going for sure! I have missed a few rare birds which was a little hard to take - mostly due to bad timing but not for lack of trying. I went to Pelee Island to look for a Yellow-breasted Chat when a Yellow-crowned Night Heron suddenly showed up in Hamilton. A big miss! Plus, I also dipped on the Chat! A few days later, an American Avocet showed up in London but Jim and I were in Toronto for the day so we missed that one too :-(. Several days after that, my sister and I were in Windsor for a few days when a Neotropic Cormorant was being seen nearby in Amherstburg, We looked for that silly bird for 3 days again with no luck. It was getting quite depressing!

Since I wasn’t having any luck with adding to my list, I started to focus on improving my photos from previous sightings or, in some cases, getting photos of birds that I missed in previous sightings of the birds in 2022.

On May 10, I added a Blue Grosbeak to my list when we saw one fly overhead at Point Pelee but I wasn’t able to get a photo. Since my goal for 2022, is to see and photograph 300 birds, I still have some work to do. Fortunately, my luck finally changed a little when on July 14, I drove to Tilbury and photographed a Blue Grosbeak that had been reported a couple of days earlier.

Since I have had no new birds to chase, I have found myself relaxing more and just watching birds. July is a great month to sit in one place and just watch the activity. There are juveniles crying in the trees waiting to be fed, newly fledged birds learning to swim or fly, or herons learning to fish. There is always something interesting to see if you have a little patience.

Northern Flicker

Red-winged Blackbirds

Red-necked Grebes

So even though it has been a slow period for reaching my big goal, I have still spent a lot of time enjoying birds and fulfilling my challenge of posting a photo a day in Facebook.

Thank you for reading my blog and for all your likes and comments on Facebook!

[taraenglish]

South America - Galapagos (day 2)

We woke up early for breakfast (scrambled eggs and fruit), before our hike on Darwin’s Bay in search of a variety of birds - red footed boobies, Nazca boobies, great frigate birds, Galapagos mocking birds, finches, shallow tailed gulls, sandpipers, & yellow crowned night herons. We also saw from sea lions and their pups at the shore. We returned to the boat to get on our swimming gear and boarded the dinghy’s for our next snorkeling activity. This one was in a sunken caldera, so we followed along the vertical walls searching for hammerhead sharks, manta rays, hawks bill sea turtle, and dozen of types of fish.

We then returned to the boat for - buffet lunch (soup, beef stir fry, pasta salads, rice, salad, chocolate pudding, watermelon), and a nap before our afternoon hike.

Our afternoon hike took us by dinghy along the cliffs of Genovesa in search of boobies,fur seals, & white tropic birds. We arrived at Prince Philip steps (El Barranco), and climbed to the top to see hundred of red footed boobies, nazca boobies and frigate birds, and were in search of the incredibly csmmoflaged Short eared owl. We came across one who had just caught his prey (storm petrals), and. we stayed for about 20 minutes in awe of what we had come across. We continued along the hike. We saw many male frigate birds with their chest puffed out to attract a mate - very appropriate for Valentine’s Day. We also saw three more owls and some finches and mocking birds.

We returned to the boat for our briefing for the next day and supper (Avocado & broccoli soup, garlic shrimp, veggies, ice cream cake). Another early night and sailed to Bartolome.

[survivemiddleearth]

Cast Reveal- Tribe Perian

Perian is of the Sindarin language used in Lord of the Rings, and is the word for Hobbit; this is the tribe of hobbits:

Dennis (he/him, cest): Heyyy! I'm Dennis and a 24 yo german from Berlin. Timezones should be a problem, but luckily I'm an honorary internet american, so I can be active!!! LOTR is my childhood and most likely the universe I feel the most connected to (love HP tho but what is a starwars?) I remember growing up, reading through the hobbit and the lotr and having multiple fanarticles and posters in my room (yes I am that kind of nerd). I am looking forward to meeting you all, except for the one person who stole my original Character. He shall burn in hell (or be firstboot)

Stephen (he/him, Australia)

Bodhi (he/him, est): Old Tom Bombadil was a merry fellow;bright blue his jacket was and his boots were yellow,green were his girdle and his breeches all of leather;he wore in his tall hat a swan-wing feather.He lived up under Hill, where the Withywindleran from a grassy well down into the dingle.Old Tom in summertime walked about the meadowsgathering the buttercups, running after shadows,tickling the bumblebees that buzzed among the flowers,sitting by the waterside for hours upon hours.There his beard dangled long down into the water:up came Goldberry, the River-woman’s daughter;pulled Tom’s hanging hair. In he went a-wallowingunder the water-lilies, bubbling and a-swallowing.‘Hey, Tom Bombadil! Whither are you going?’said fair Goldberry. ‘Bubbles you are blowing,frightening the finny fish and the brown water-rat,startling the dabchicks, and drowning your feather-hat!’‘You bring it back again, there’s a pretty maiden!’said Tom Bombadil. ‘I do not care for wading.Go down! Sleep again where the pools are shadyfar below willow-roots, little water-lady!’Back to her mother’s house in the deepest hollowswam young Goldberry. But Tom, he would not follow;on knotted willow-roots he sat in sunny weather,drying his yellow boots and his draggled feather.Up woke Willow-man, began upon his singing,sang Tom fast asleep under branches swinging;in a crack caught him tight: snick! it closed together,trapped Tom Bombadil, coat and hat and feather.‘Ha, Tom Bombadil! What be you a-thinking,peeping inside my tree, watching me a-drinkingdeep in my wooden house, tickling me with feather,dripping wet down my face like a rainy weather?’‘You let me out again, Old Man Willow!I am stiff lying here; they’re no sort of pillow,your hard crooked roots. Drink your river-water!Go back to sleep again like the River-daughter!’Willow-man let him loose when he heard him speaking;locked fast his wooden house, muttering and creaking,whispering inside the tree. Out from willow-dingleTom went walking on up the Withywindle.Under the forest-eaves he sat a while a-listening:on the boughs piping birds were chirruping and whistling.Butterflies about his head went quivering and winking,until grey clouds came up, as the sun was sinking.Then Tom hurried on. Rain began to shiver,round rings spattering in the running river;a wind blew, shaken leaves chilly drops were dripping;into a sheltering hole Old Tom went skipping.Out came Badger-brock with his snowy foreheadand his dark blinking eyes. In the hill he quarriedwith his wife and many sons. By the coat they caught him,pulled him inside their earth, down their tunnels brought him.Inside their secret house, there they sat a-mumbling:‘Ho, Tom Bombadil! Where have you come tumbling,bursting in the front-door? Badger-folk have caught you.You’ll never find it out, the way that we have brought you!’‘Now, old Badger-brock, do you hear me talking?You show me out at once! I must be a-walking.Show me to your backdoor under briar-roses;then clean grimy paws, wipe your earthy noses!Go back to sleep again on your straw pillow,like fair Goldberry and Old Man Willow!’Then all the Badger-folk said: ‘We beg your pardon!’They showed Tom out again to their thorny garden,went back and hid themselves, a-shivering and a-shaking,blocked up all their doors, earth together raking.Rain had passed. The sky was clear, and in the summer-gloamingOld Tom Bombadil laughed as he came homing,unlocked his door again, and opened up a shutter.In the kitchen round the lamp moths began to flutter;Tom through the window saw waking stars come winking,and the new slender moon early westward sinking.Dark came under Hill. Tom, he lit a candle;upstairs creaking went, turned the door-handle.‘Hoo, Tom Bombadil! Look what night has brought you!I’m behind the door. Now at last I’ve caught you!You’d forgotten Barrow-wight dwelling in the old moundup there on hill-top with the ring of stones round.He’s got loose again. Under earth he’ll take you.Poor Tom Bombadil, pale and cold he’ll make you!’‘Go out! Shut the door, and never come back after!Take away gleaming eyes, take your hollow laughter!Go back to grassy mound, on your stony pillowlay down your bony head, like Old Man Willow,like young Goldberry, and Badger-folk in burrow!Go back to buried gold and forgotten sorrow!’Out fled Barrow-wight through the window leaping,through the yard, over wall like a shadow sweeping,up hill wailing went back to leaning stone-rings,back under lonely mound, rattling his bone-rings.Old Tom Bombadil lay upon his pillowsweeter than Goldberry, quieter than the Willow,snugger than the Badger-folk or the Barrow-dwellers;slept like a humming-top, snored like a bellows.He woke in morning-light, whistled like a starling,sang, ‘Come, derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!’He clapped on his battered hat, boots, and coat and feather;opened the window wide to the sunny weather.Wise old Bombadil, he was a wary fellow;bright blue his jacket was, and his boots were yellow.None ever caught old Tom in upland or in dingle,walking the forest-paths, or by the Withywindle,or out on the lily-pools in boat upon the water.But one day Tom, he went and caught the River-daughter,in green gown, flowing hair, sitting in the rushes,singing old water-songs to birds upon the bushes.He caught her, held her fast! Water-rats went scutteringreeds hissed, herons cried, and her heart was fluttering.Said Tom Bombadil: ‘Here’s my pretty maiden!You shall come home with me! The table is all laden:yellow cream, honeycomb, white bread and butter;roses at the window-sill and peeping round the shutter.You shall come under Hill! Never mind your motherin her deep weedy pool: there you’ll find no lover!’Old Tom Bombadil had a merry wedding,crowned all with buttercups, hat and feather shedding;his bride with forgetmenots and flag-lilies for garlandwas robed all in silver-green. He sang like a starling,hummed like a honey-bee, lilted to the fiddle,clasping his river-maid round her slender middle.Lamps gleamed within his house, and white was the bedding;in the bright honey-moon Badger-folk came treading,danced down under Hill, and Old Man Willowtapped, tapped at window-pane, as they slept on the pillow,on the bank in the reeds River-woman sighingheard Barrow-wight in his mound crying.Old Tom Bombadil heeded not the voices,taps, knocks, dancing feet, all the nightly noises;slept till the sun arose, then sang like a starling:‘Hey! Come derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!’sitting on the door-step chopping sticks of willow,while fair Goldberry combed her tresses yellow.

JG (he/him, est): Hey y'all, I am so excited for this season but first a little about me. I live in the Pittsburgh Metro Area. I am currently a Department Manager at McD’s until I finish my degree in writing with a focus in screen writing. While not at work or doing homework, I love to play video games, socialize with friends, and go see a movie (or two). The only other thing that I think is important to mention is that I am a huge Star Wars fan like read every book, seen every movie/tv show, etc. big time fan. Anyways, I look forward to getting to meet and know y'all, may the odds be ever in our favor. 

Roxy (she/her, Australian): "Frodo is goo....who is that?”

Sammy (he/him, est): hi guys this is my first game back in a little bit but I’m excited to play with you guys and I’m hoping to see some new faces! I am pretty outgoing and love conversation so hmu I’m usually up( but i am in college so if i don’t respond, I’m prob in a class!)

[finchbeak]

Galapagos Days 1 and 2 - 13-14 July 2021

Safely arrived at Baltra airport after a very early start to the morning. I was the first of my group to arrive and had to kill some time with a cerveza and fried plantain chips at the outdoor airport cafe. Very happy the annoying French family on my flight and the incredibly annoying group of loud Americans at the cafe were not part of my group.

Carlos, our intrepid guide, and Ricardo, one of the sailors and panga drivers, met us at the airport. Our group at the airport was 9 strong - another solo traveler like myself, two women who have been friends since middle school, and a family of five (adult children, thank god). I was pleasantly surprised as to how young our group skewed. I fully expected to be the youngest person on board, but I wasn’t even close! Solidly in the middle. Our final group rounded out to 10, with another solo traveler already on board the yacht (she would be with us for four more days as she did the tour of ALL of the available islands. I was jealous.)

After being shown our rooms, lunch, the required safety drill, and a lecture on the rules of Galapagos National Park, we took our first panga ride to Mosquera - a larger than average sand bar (or very tiny island). We were greeted by a group of boisterous sea lions and our first temptation to break the rules of Galapagos national park: so. many. seashells. and. coral. But, to the best of my knowledge, we were all good visitors and took nary a shell, rock, or coral with us. It was eye-opening, discovering how beaches would look without humans. We also left the skeleton of a long-since dead whale (according to Carlos its been there at least 30 years).

We sailed 6 hours that night to the island of Genovesa. Genovesa is the northern most island visitors can set foot on and most boats don’t opt to take the time it takes to get there and back. But not seeing Genovesa** was a dealbreaker (finding a ship that sailed to Genovesa and had a single berth!? Needle in the proverbial haystack).

Genovesa is (to the best of my knowledge) the only island in the Galapagos where you are all but guaranteed to see the Red-footed Booby. The lesser known counterpart to the Blue-footed Booby, I think the Red-footed Booby is far more charming. Or maybe it’s just because, when you get to Genovesa, you are practically tripping over them and their nests and their entirely too cute babies.

Are you afraid of birds? Even a little bit? Do not come to Genovesa. As we approached the shore that morning, the sky, the rocks lining the shore, the cliffs, the beach: filled with birds. And not small birds. In addition to the aforementioned Boobies: Giant Frigatebirds; Magnificent Frigatebirds; Swallow-tailed Gulls, Nazca Boobies; Red-billed Tropicbirds; Yellow-crowned Night Herons; and Striated (or Lava) Herons. And that’s not counting the tiny birds I actually made the trip for: Darwin’s finches. (The other small birds are the Galapagos Mockingbird and Galapagos Dove).

Genovesa is home to the Genovesa Ground Finch and the Genovesa Cactus Finch, unsurprisingly, only found on this island. (I won’t lecture you on the Finches but if you want to know more: click HERE or read “The Beak of the Finch” by Jonathan Weiner). The one thing I was a tiny bit disappointed about: my fellow yacht-mates and intrepid guide, Carlos, were not birdnerds like myself. But, by the end of the trip? I had Carlos downloading eBird and other people IDing birds, so maybe I made some converts.

Pro-tip: when you put on sunscreen this close to the equator, then go wash your hands? Yeah. Put more sunscreen on the back of your hands. Over a week later and my hands are still fucking burned.

We got back to the boat and immediately suited up for some snorkeling in Darwin’s Bay. I saw a shit-ton of fish, but I’m not a fish person, so I couldn’t identify more than the King Angelfish and Moorish Idol. But it was fucking cool. If you come to the Galapagos, go snorkeling. And don’t be whiny about the water temp. It isn’t that bad (I never used a wetsuit, but most of my shipmates did, except for Barb, my fellow badass - BUT NO JUDGMENT).

In the afternoon we made our way to Prince Phillip’s Steps and climbed our way to the top of Genovesa. Genovesa is a shield volcano. A caldera formed at some point (a crater-like hollow that forms after a magma chamber has emptied and collapsed) leaving a horseshoe shaped rim. We traversed the rim to see all of the birds we saw on the shore and added the Galapagos Shearwater, Wedge-rumped Storm Petrel, and the diurnal (!!!!) Short-eared Owl.

We made our way back down the steps and onto the pangas as the sun was setting.

Birds seen: Dude, no way I could keep track, so my eBird is probably not accurate

Miles traversed: 8.26

Juvenile Red-footed Boobies who joined us on the sundeck of our ship at some point: 3

** You think you know how nerdy I am, then you learn that I named my Animal Crossing island “Genovesa.”

[natureisnurturenet]

Today’s Neighborhood Photo - Yellow Crowned Night Heron Four evenings in a row I’ve come across this Yellow Crowned Night Heron while walking Barney. It reliably comes out at dusk and hangs out within 2-3 houses from ours-one night it was in our yard. Of course, I have to restrain Barney when we see it and it is a bit skittish nonetheless (blurry photos are the result). Last night it came again and I left Barney inside to attempt to capture a photo. As soon as I snapped, I saw another tall bird -this one running toward me. Awww-its her baby! Yellow Crowned Night Herons are typically water birds but they will venture inland at times. They eat crabs and mollusks and those living inland will eat frogs, lizards and insects. I suspect the ones in my neighborhood (that probably live by the neighborhood pond) are feasting on nocturnal insects landing under the street light in front of our house. (at Carrollton, Texas) https://www.instagram.com/p/CQqaFuonBjY/?utm_medium=tumblr

[shepaintsred]

One Circle

I gripped my steering wheel, as the slope took me down the winter hill to the river bottom and then up again, more momentum on the icy roads than I wanted. I did not dare to tap the brakes. I pulled into the parking space, that over years, became mine, and felt tension in my neck subside. Pushing against the door, I felt release, and headed down toward the pond. My feet are still cold, here, writing, and I am a part of the complexities of the circle, even as I have left the urban pond, sandwiched between what is now called Stoney Trail and Bishop O’Byrne High School in SW Calgary. (see fig. 1)

A murmuration of black Eastern Starlings created strong contrast against the primarily frozen landscape. The water, the circle that remained open, was of the deepest shade of Phthalo blue, and Buffleheads, both male and female, landed in great numbers as I made my way to the bush at the pond’s edge, its translucent yellow leaves, frozen. Enjoying the visit, I was reminded of how distinctly my perceptions evolved through a period of years, walking a circle at this specific place each day from 22 Sept. 2011 until 26 Jul. 2016. Kathleen Stewart, in her 2013 essay from the series, Studying Unformed Objects, addresses, in very specific ways, these experiences of place.

Fig.1. Southwest Ring Road Construction began 2016. Black dotted line to indicate one circle. Single black dot to indicate bush.  Screenshot from the cityonline.calgary.ca/GISMap/MainMap.

The social-material world as a composition is a world made of entities that are not simply present and knowable but prismatic, flickering, and gathered into lines, angles of light or motion, for people who are attuned to them, or identified with them, or hostile to their existence, or tired of them, or excited to see their outline on the horizon, or sharply excluded from them (Stewart 2010).

Digging deep into personal documentation; blog, journals, photographs, and poetry, I will begin my recollections of circling one pond in 2012.  By that time, my mother was suffering the end stages of Alzheimer’s disease.  I met her every evening, on Skype, at five o’clock, and took one screenshot some time during every conversation. These visits took place every day, without exception, for five years. I purchased my camera the summer of 2011, before my drive to visit my parents in Belleville, Ontario. While there, I took daily photographs of my mother’s hands.

Returned to Calgary, I explored the pond, as unformed object (Stewart), and thought that the act of walking this circle daily began with walking my dog, Max, a ‘prismatic’ (Stewart 2010) relationship and experience unto itself. Now I realize that, along with Max, the act of ritualistic and daily documentation of my mother’s hands over the course of two months, was leading to a transformative investigation. Something about this place provided an exploration of memory, ritual, and an almost obsessive compulsion to document.

The shape of this documentation included, daily, one poem and one photograph (see fig. 2) posted to my blog, sometimes, alongside a piece of music. In Sun Dazzle, written on 30 Jan. 2012 and in third person, initial sensory relationships are made.

Romp! Run! Go! Laughing woman and smiling dog, up to their knees, racing! Crunching through the snow’s skin, wind blown and captured in waves; the weatherman’s story from yesterday.

Muskrat, perching on pond’s edge, dark form instantly sliding into water at the burst of their movement. Energy is joy exploding!

Blue sky stretches canvas on a white sea of ice. Yellow-gold grasses etching a circle around the pond. The dog following, explores hidden places.

Sparkle. Dazzle. Squinting, tears roll down her cheeks, light echoes on everything. She cries for the beauty of it all. [1]

Fig. 2: Moors 30 Jan. 2012, Accessed 22 Oct. 2020

Rituals of walking began with very general observations of my natural surroundings, but from the beginning, I felt that this was somehow magical or just-for-me. I rarely, at this point, noticed anyone else. I noticed birds as a general category. At that time, I did not make distinctions between different species. Later, I saw sparrows, ducks and geese, a progression after months of seeing birds.

Patterns of documentation began to emerge, particularly on themes of light and atmosphere, water reflections and wind. I captured a series of photographs of clouds reflected in pond water and created my first slide show, watching with great enthusiasm, back home, at my desk, while the series scrolled past, again and again.

Years later, I would discover, not only an interest in documentation and recording, but also, the collection and creation of objects in series, series of journals, green glass vases, photo books, porcelain hotel creamers and photograph archives. Just as Kyo Maclear, in her book, Birds Art Life, refers to spark birds (113), I received new revelations (sparks) on a very regular basis while walking one circle.

The habit of writing and posting poetry, images and music was not sustained, but became intermittent. This practice saw me transition from wide-eyed observer to steward.  By February of 2012, I knew the difference between a Ruddy Duck and a Red Necked Grebe. My language around bird and plant species was becoming more specific. I poured over new birding books in the evenings. Instead of capturing vistas, I was zooming in and trying to focus and make-clear the subjects of my photographs. I was capturing strings of video and I was noticing my evolving knowledge around the camera. It became a treasured object, not merely functional.

Fig. 3 Moors, Findings: 20 Tim Horton’s drink cups, with plastic lids, 14 plastic bags of various sizes, 15 pieces of industrial insulation of the foam variety (likely blown from the construction area, an extension of the sports center), a large sized plastic bucket from the same site, burned book pages, fast-food containers and hamburger wraps, two bags of dog poop and a large purple plastic hoop. 28 Feb. 2020, Accessed 22 Oct. 2020.

What became evident through the camera lens was the fact that this was not a pristine environment. I took a photograph of a red-eyed, Black-Crowned Night Heron and arrived home to find, visible on my computer screen, the wondrous bird standing on rounded stones and a Tim Horton’s cup. I became hostile (Stewart 2010) when I noticed the human impact on my self-constructed and utopic experience. Like my growing knowledge about birds, I was noticing this negative relationship. (see fig. 3) It seemed insurmountable and a feeling of helplessness came with one circle. I decided to fill a large bag with litter while walking daily, to write about it, and archive possible shifts in the aesthetic of the place. I had conversations with people, those teaching classes in outdoor education, City of Calgary Parks Management teams, politicians, seniors participating in outdoor exercise, homeless people and business owners in big-box and fast-food outlets. I became more a citizen than a tourist. Interactions through phone calls, electronic mail and even business meetings, stretched the unformed object (Stewart), one circle, and it became both political and social, as well as spiritual in its being.

While human connection and communications were sometimes disappointing, many were incredibly positive. I met a man who was sleeping under the stars through warm weather.  Frank had plans to move to Vancouver for winter. He overlooked the flats, daily, and drank six beer while watching me pick. At the end of each circle, we exchanged pleasantries and then he passed me, each day, his six cans knotted up in a plastic bag. He always expressed his gratitude. Over time and together, we named the location, Frank’s Flats and soon, people in public positions began to refer to this location as Frank’s Flats. I was interested in how access to human connection contributed to an act of naming.

One other noteworthy human connection involved the manifestation of a constructed relationship. This construction surfaced out of the next series of investigations while circling the pond.

On 8 Oct. 2015, I began to capture an Instagram photograph of one bush, the same bush, every day. It is situated at the edge of the pond. (see figs. 1 and 4) Weather, time of day and atmosphere were impacting the appearance of the bush and so, I logged these conditions as a brief caption on my posts. Published to Instagram and then, Facebook, the bush became a familiar character until the final day, July 26, 2016. Friends ‘liked’ the bush/image and wrote comments over almost 300 days. An artist-friend in one of these forums, after some months, named the bush, Bianca. Toward the end of 2015, I noticed a young man slept on cardboard and under an evergreen tree and two sleeping bags. A shopping cart contained his possessions. We never spoke, but he was aware of me and I, him. Moving into December, I decorated the bush, adding ribbon first, then ornaments and finally, solar-powered Christmas lights. The young man would be able to see the bush from above the flats. I filled his cart with gifts, warm socks, hoodie, scarf and thick work mitts, chocolate, and candy canes. That Christmas I felt connected in a new way to this place, through sentiment. The ornaments remained, lighting up the landscape until Epiphany that year.

Fig. 4 Moors, Merry Christmas beautiful light the hawk is perched in the evergreen tree. Instagram Bush, 25 Dec. 2015 Accessed from Desktop Photo Archive 25 Oct. 2020.

My last Instagram photograph was snapped the day before my mother’s birthday and minutes before I headed for the Trans Canada highway. My mother died in May of 2013.  I did not want to circle the pond on July 27, 2016 nor did I wish to archive the bush.  I wanted to be in the van and driving toward my father.

Returned to Calgary, that autumn I hired a videographer to archive Max and I through the seasons. While filming, I struggled with the destruction of surrounding ecosystems and the impact of the Southwest Calgary Ring Road development and so, the following spring, I left this circle for another on the edge of the Bow River. I used references from the pond to create paintings in my studio and these art works continue to this day, recently taking a new direction, in the world of pandemic.

In series, I am layering reverse transfers of the Instagram bush images onto panels, in chronological order, beginning with the practice on 8 Oct., five years after the first Instagram photo was taken.  These images are placed one on top of another and create a container for memory. An Instagram account has been opened (see fig. 5) to record this progress.

Fig. 5 Moors. Instabush_bianca. 25 Oct. 2020

The pond, Frank’s Flats, the bush, all remain forms, but they have also become vivid constructs, numerous material objects that push up against my imagination and likely, always will.  Christopher Witmore, in his essay, Archaeology of the New Materialisms (221), quotes Rosemary Joyce in What Eludes Speech.

Then describe and describe some more—all this descriptive detail one can unpack later, if there is time, in a space where hesitation is possible. Dozens of hours of ambient video walks along routes of transhumance, along paths, streets, walls, or through museums; video diaries of those confounding moments of contact with weird stuff will pay off later. Still, anything we do in documentation is always a translation. We can only manifest something of the style of things; much will always remain beyond reach. There is always a trade-off. There are always gains and losses. And there is always more to be said and done (Joyce 2011).

  Works Cited

Joyce, R. 2011. “‘What Eludes Speech’: A Dialogue with Webb Keane.” Journal of Social Archaeology 11(2): 158–170. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/1469605311403836

Maclear, Kyo. Birds, Art, Life. Toronto, Doubleday Books, 2017.

shepaintsred.com. Accessed 22 Oct. 2020.

Instabush_bianca. Accessed 22 Oct. 2020.

Stewart, Kathleen. 2010. “Afterword: Worlding Refrains”. In The Affect Theory Reader, edited by Melissa Gregg and Gregory J. Seigworth, 339–53. Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press.

Stewart, Kathleen. 2013. “Studying Unformed Objects: The Provocation of a Compositional Mode”. Member Voices, Fieldsights, June 30. culanth.org/fieldsights/studying-unformed-objects-the-provocation-of-a-compositional-mode

Witmore, Christopher. 2014. Archaeology and the New Materialisms. Journal of Contemporary Archaeology. 1. 203-246. 10.1558/jca.v1i2.16661. DOI: 10.1558/jca.v1i2.16661

[1] See shepaintsred.com, 30 Jan. 2012 et al.

[sarahbellotti]

Tanzania: Serengeti

From Ndutu, we drove into the Serengeti National Park, another UNESCO World Heritage Site; we took a shortcut to the Naabi Hill Gate instead of backtracking too much.

On our way across the plains, we saw a swarm of Land Cruisers circling a pride of lions. At the center were two brothers and a young zebra. Alladin reckoned one of the nearby lionesses had caught it and that the two males were now fighting for it. We parked and watched them growl and maneuver over different body parts for about 40 minutes.

Finally, the big brother broke the head and torso free and the little brother got the rump. They spread apart peacefully and ate the meat face to face lying in the grass.

We stayed at the luxurious Nanyukie — near the border of the Simiyu and Mara regions — for two nights, the longest we’d stayed anywhere since in arriving in Tanzania.

I was so exhausted I wanted to cut the Friday drive short so we could enjoy our lodging in all its splendor before flying across the country to Zanzibar on Saturday. Alladin urged us to be flexible and take our lunch on the road. We initially asked to have lunch at the camp; the second option was to have a nice hamper lunch in nature as opposed to our typical boxed lunches at one of the more frequented picnic sites. We agreed to option two and retired to our tent where we watched the sunset, ordered room service in our robes, and gazed at the stars until the fear of the lurking resident leopard drove us inside.

From bed, we could hear a nearby lion rumbling in the darkness. 

The next morning we awoke to dense fog. The staff said they had never experienced anything like it there. It felt mystical. 

We had breakfast after the fog lifted and headed out for our Friday drive. Throughout our safari, Alladin had been communicating with others on his radio, mostly in Kiswahili. Guides exchange tips on what to see and where. He knew I wanted to see leopard badly, the final of the Big 5 to see on this one trip. 

After stopping to try and help another truck that had gotten bogged down in some mud, we made our way to a kopje — a small usually rocky hill — where there were several other vehicles. Alladin said a mother leopard and cubs had been spotted but retreated behind the rocks or into the bushes. We parked, took out our binoculars, and waited. Other vehicles came and went. We stayed. Many of them had to return to their camps for lunch. We had ours with us so could remain and wait for the cats to reappear. Eventually, they did, and we were the only ones there at first. The mother leopard appeared, then one, and then a second cub, hardly a month old, if even. They climbed up a tree, lazed around, snuggled; the mother gazed out onto the plains while her babies nursed. We stared. It was stupendous!

We also saw jackal, eland, wildebeest, zebra, hyena, bloats of hippopotami, elephants, slender mongoose, banded mongoose, hyrax, Coke’s hartebeest, parades of elephants, towers of giraffes, herds of Grant’s gazelle, impala, troops of vervet monkeys, warthog, a serval about to pounce on a confusion of guineafowl, topi, and leopard turtle. Ostrich, stork, white-headed buffalo weaver, hornbill, secretary bird, gray heron, the shiny blue superb starling we’d seen perhaps almost every day, lizard buzzard, and black-chested snake eagle rounded out our feathered friends, in addition to the yellow barbet at our hamper lunch picnic site Friday.

After lunch Ben was determined to stop at a scenic spot to snap some photos since we didn’t get the picturesque lunch we’d imagined. He asked Alladin to pull over near an oncoming parade of elephants, to which he laughed dismissively. After passing the sign to our camp, he eventually circled an acacia tree to check for any predators in the grass and asked if it would do. Ben agreed and we stepped down from our vehicle. I asked if I could tinkle and was told this was not a bathroom break. 

Ben knelt down, reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out my great grandmother’s diamond ring, which he had taken from my nightstand before we left Tunisia. He said something along the lines of, “What do you say we spend the rest of our lives making adventures together?” to which I replied, “Sure, why not?” (We both kind of blacked out and don’t remember exactly.)

Alladin had been in front of us with the camera Ben borrowed and his iPhone. He said sorry, I had it on video; you’ll have to do that all again, which made us all laugh. We hopped back onto our magic carpet, smiling and trembling as we made our way back to camp.

The CEO of Lemala had been with us the past few nights. She greeted us with some of the local staff, asking how our drive was and what we saw. I said I couldn’t even remember as Ben had just proposed. She congratulated us, asked to see the ring, and ordered a bottle of bubbles to be sent to our tent. She had a special dinner spot set up for us overlooking the sunset (which we unfortunately missed as we watched it from our deck).

We had dinner and sat by the fire for a bit before heading to bed. 

At some point on safari, though I can't remember where and when, I am pretty sure we also saw wydah, dove, northern white-crowned shrike, magpie shrike, red-billed hornbill, Abyssinian Ground-hornbill, Von der Decken’s hornbill, francolin, and most of the animals profiled in this album.

Saturday morning we packed up and had breakfast. Alladin drove us to Seronera Airstrip along with the pilots who also stayed at our camp. We sat toward the front of the plane. We picked up a couple of passengers at the Ndutu Airstrip and then flew over the NCA, Great Rift Valley escarpment, and on to Arusha.

[mahalkita-0612-blog]

June 25th, 2020

Went on an early morning walk with Grant. We saw some yellow-crowned night herons in their nests and it was so cool. One adult was feeding its baby, and it dropped a feather when it was flying away to get more food :)

The rest of my day was spent working on more clay earrings. I haven't gotten any new orders, but I'm thinking having more variety will help my shop :)

Grant was also offered a paid internship for a civilian job with the Army for engineering!!! I'm so so so proud of him :)) he's not sure if he wants to take it bc of the commute (about an hour). Still, I'm still so proud of him with whatever decision he makes

[heppchas]

While I am saddened by the fact the nest across the street is vacant due to the cycle of nature, I continue to be vigilant for other birds. This afternoon, my 7 year old and I heard the calls of the yellow crowned night heron. We stopped what we were doing and searched the skies. We saw two adults fly by and this juvenile perched at the top of our magnolia. Fortunately, the bird kept still long enough for me to set up my camera. Very exciting. #charlesheppner #yellowcrownednightheron #juvenilebird https://www.instagram.com/p/BymKaeAlUJE/?igshid=f9ak6b18jon5