My poem “The Calculus of Parting Lovers” posted at vox poetica on April 7. Many thanks to editor Annmarie Lockhart!
(And, because I can’t resist adding photos, here are two recent images from the yard….)
Author: Rae Spencer
Grackles, Crows, and Hawks
With so many birds building nests in the yard, conflicts are inevitable. The grackles have been particularly testy over the last few days, mobbing crows whenever the larger birds enter the yard’s airspace.
And the crows, who routinely retreat once the grackles have spotted them, will not tolerate the presence of a hawk. Sunday morning I managed to capture a few images as three crows chased a Cooper’s Hawk back and forth over the yard.
About ten minutes after the chase circled off to the north, I spotted another hawk in a tree two yards over. (Or maybe it was the same hawk, returning for another try at breakfast?) The grackles saw it, too, and began voicing their alarm. Soon a pair of blue jays arrived, also calling alarm. None of the commotion seemed to bother the hawk, until an approaching group of crows added their caws to the chorus. Then it gave up and moved off to try its luck in a quieter hunting spot.
Which led me to ponder the relationships between larger and smaller birds. Why would a larger, stronger bird flee from smaller birds? I suspect it has something to do with energy conservation, it simply being easier to leave when you aren’t hungry enough to risk losing a few feathers, but I wonder what they are all thinking as they call and chase and flee. And how will their reasoning change, when hungry nestlings enter the equation?
Photos of Spring and a Publication Note
The daffodils, all three of them, bloomed this week. As did the pear tree.
While it has plenty of bird visitors, the pear tree hasn’t seen its usual complement of pollinators.
The pear blooms usually draw bees and beetles by the hundreds, but many of the pollinators seem to be sleeping in this year. Yellow-rumped warblers are getting most of the nectar.
The pear tree’s pollinators may be sleeping in, but the carpenter bees are awake and active. Territorial males have claimed pockets of airspace near the house, fence, and deck. Their physiology must be wondrously efficient, because they patrol and defend their claims with seemingly endless vigor, never pausing to eat. They aren’t interested in nectar. They’re waiting for females to arrive.
My favorite news from the yard this week comes from the milkweed. It survived our long, cold winter, which means we might have more monarchs this year!
My favorite other news involves a publication note. My short story “Numbers” is now posted at The Blue Hour Magazine. This is my first fiction publication!
“Numbers” is the first short story I ever attempted. For nearly ten years I returned to it periodically, each time applying what I had learned since its last revision. Finally, in 2013, the story seemed to defy further revision. By then the opening had been entirely restructured and the word count cut by more than half. That year “Numbers” won Honorable Mention in the Frank Lawlor Memorial Fiction Prize at the Hampton Roads Writers’ Conference.
I let “Numbers” drift to the bottom of my to-do pile after its award, but in January of this year I decided to give the story one final edit and begin submitting it for publication. Then I selected a new practice manuscript from the archive, because I am not through learning. My journey with “Numbers” has reached a happy and satisfying conclusion, but my journey with writing will never end.
Chickadees and Writing Events
Thursday a lone chickadee decided to do a little spring cleaning in one of the wren houses.
Thick clouds were moving in, ahead of a line of heavy rain, and the little bird seemed aware that there wasn’t much time for nest clearing.
It made trip after trip into the house, sometimes tossing wood shavings straight out through the door, sometimes carrying them several feet away and scattering them in the honeysuckle.
When the rain arrived, the chickadee kept working a while longer, then it gave up and moved into the cover of the wax myrtles.
As Thursday’s rain cycled into a dreary, cold Friday, I kept watching for the chickadee to return. But there has been no sign of further interest in the nest box.
I suspect the little bird’s interest was never more than a passing fancy, mostly because it was working alone. In the past, the yard’s chickadee nests have been built by pairs of birds working together. (On the other hand, there haven’t been many chickadee nests in the yard, and all of them have failed. Maybe I shouldn’t use those nests for comparison?)
On Saturday I left the yard’s mysteries to take care of themselves while I attended Coastal Crime Fest 2015. This single-day writing conference was sponsored by Mystery by the Sea, The Southeastern Virginia Chapter of Sisters in Crime. The day’s sessions included mystery authors talking about writing and publishing, tales of real-world experience from a retired FBI agent, and a presentation about situational awareness from a pair of self-defense instructors. I’m already looking forward to next year’s conference.
What’s more, Saturday’s conference was not my first writing event this month. Last weekend I attended one of the Hampton Roads Writers’ Traveling Pen Series, a morning-long workshop about paranormal and fantasy writing. The workshop included several very helpful writing exercises, and I was excited to learn that the guest speaker, Vanessa Barger, will be presenting more workshops at the Hampton Roads Writers’ 2015 Conference in September.
After both of my recent writing adventures I rushed home brimming with inspiration, eager to write something new. Or revise something old. Or maybe, most alluring of all, read something timeless. (Hopefully I will do all three while watching a chickadee nest…)
A Few Steps Closer to Spring
I usually count the first open-windows day as the first day of spring, but this year I confused the issue by cheating. One day last week, desperate for fresh air, I opened the windows and wore a coat in the house for a few hours. Which means I can’t count yesterday as the first.
February is always a tough month for me. Its cold, sun-starved days routinely trigger new bouts of depression and anxiety. March, on the other hand, is usually a month of recovery.
And if this year’s recovery has been slower to start and harder to sustain than previous years, it has at least begun.
The weather forecast promises a return of winter before the week is finished, but the lengthening days will not allow it to stay.
Soon the yard will be overrun and winter will fall away into memory, as it does every year.
Rae Spencer 