Tuesday, August 9, 2011


A windy storm that roared in weeks ago blew out a screen on the "tree house" porch outside our bedroom.

We hadn't gotten around to putting it back, and early this morning I found Bob out on that porch trying as carefully as possible to "herd" a juvenile robin back outside through the open section. The little bird was clearly exhausted; perhaps from fear or perhaps because he'd spent the night trying to find his way out of the porch.

Bob had noticed the bird when it had begun tossing itself frantically against the porch walls and our sliding doors. Now clearly terrified, it was breathing with great difficulty as it settled to the floor, defeated.

I walked slowly to the little bird, crooning softly, and it didn't resist as I bent and gently picked it up and set it outside on the wide rail of the open deck.

Then Bob and I sat silently inside the porch, watching to see if the little bird would recover enough to fly away; we were also on the watch for predators that might be eyeing the little robin as an easy mark for breakfast.

As I had set the bird on the rail, an adult robin had flown in and settled on the glass top of a nearby table. Soon another robin---a juvenile---flew up to the gutter overhead, and yet another young robin perched itself on the edge of the awning. Now as we humans sat quietly watching the little bird, they seemed to be doing the same.

After a little time, the little guy on the rail began moving its head slightly, and after another few minutes he recovered enough to execute tentative flight into the thick branches of a nearby tree.

He was immediately followed into that same spot in that same tree by the robins who had been standing watch.

Can you blame me if I choose to believe they were the little bird's mama and siblings? Can you find a better explanation for this quiet little episode?

I share this because, though I have watched many robin families raised in nests in the eaves and evergreens around our country home, I never seen such evidence of family solidarity among them after the babies have left the nest.

My husband Bob, in support of the happy ending, made a point of replacing the screen immediately.

Sunday, August 7, 2011


We lowered our flag to half-mast yesterday the 6th of August, 2011, to honor our fallen that day in Afghanistan. It will remain at half-mast until after the return to U.S. soil and interment of all these fallen heroes.


This postcard photo was shared with me by my son Bryan Moore, a resident of the northwest coast who was vacationing recently at a scenic lake community in the state of Washington.
The lake accomodates a tiny community, and that community and its lake can be accessed only by water or aircraft.
I send this photo less for the picturesque nature of the winter schoolhouse scene than for Bryan's accompanying note:
"The schoolhouse you see in the picture is still in use... Washington's smallest school district. Three kids graduated from 8th grade there this year. For 9th grade and beyond, the kids either home-school or stay with relatives somewhere else (for their high school education).
"Reportedly, they do quite well, which just goes to show that big money and technology aren't really the key to education.
"It's absolutely beautiful here, and everyone says the fishing is good. (Not for me, though)."