Our hawk decided to pay another visit to Marn & Paul's All U Can Eat Bird Buffet this morning.
Having sampled our delicious mourning dove, today it selected red-headed woodpecker tartare for it's Sunday morning treat.
I missed the strike, which is just as well, but when I was looking out the window for Zubby --who was sitting on our porch watching the hawk with a "if you think I'M tangling with that bad boy, lady you got rocks for brains" expression on his face--I happened to catch the aftermath.
Paul and I are now debating whether or not we should leave our feeders up. On one hand, we know that we're helping literally hundreds of tiny finches and chickadees make it through a very tough winter. On the other hand, we know we're making life easier for this hawk.
The spousal unit points out this has always been nature's way, that hawks cull out the unwary and the stupid. I know he's right, I just wish our hawk wouldn't do it right in my face.
Speaking of nature's way, that fine woman Mommy Nature decided to toy with us, give us a glimmer of spring on Friday by making it warm and rainy all day, and then lay a can of winter whup on our butts Saturday.
The whup started out around 5:30 in the morning when 100 km/h (60 mph) winds smacked our house upside the head with such force that both Paul and I sat straight up in bed. You hear wind like that growling outside and you know it's not a matter of IF the electricity is going to go out, it's just a matter of when. For us, it was about half an hour after the storm hit.
At this point the wind was gusting so hard that not only had it spun the pole around that holds our birdfeeders, it's actually began to batter it enough to make the pole tip over.
We've been through this before. Blankets on the freezer, perishables outside in boxes also covered with blankets while the thermometer is still above freezing. Wait a few hours, fingers crossed, hope Hydro Quebec can get the juice back on. When the teensy transistor radio said 250,000 folks without power, we realized it would take way more than a few hours.
With the unending winds came temperatures that began to drop into the range best described as stupidly cold. I could see my produce turning into fruit and vegicicles if we didn't do something soon.
No worries, we have a generator for these long outages.
So Paul drags this insanely heavy thing out of the shed, does whatever it is you do with generators and it basically says, "What?? You want me to RUN? Oh, stop it. You're making me laugh so hard I'm getting an owie in my side!"
Thirteen hours without power, sitting in the glow of kerosene lamps and candles, trying to decide just how much extra crispy lettuce one woman should have to eat, a miracle occurred.
Hydro Quebec said, "Let there be light."
And there was light.
And it was good.
Which is more than you can say about this entry, eh.
There has been an outpouring of sympathy for the plight of one small moose. The incredibly cute and deeply talented Paul of Rilting fame has even made a button for the Do It For The Moose Campaign.
Here's where the instructions are on how to get it.
Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -
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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine. Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.
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