Since we've moved up to the lake, it's become a pleasant habit to feed the birds. There are three feeders for seeds, two with mixed seed and the black sunflowers seed preferred by the Chickadees, the third has Niger seed for the Goldfinches and Warblers, along with two feeders for the Hummingbirds.
As the young birds hatched, their parents would drop them off at the feeders, and it's been fun to watch them learning. In particular the young Hairy Woodpeckers who have a hard time perching on the feeder so they hang onto the edge of the feeder and fling seeds off in their search for the ones they enjoy. This is a bonus for the Chipmunks who scurry around like small vacuum cleaners scooping up the fallen seed.
I was standing watching this whirlwind activity the other morning when suddenly a pair of wings flashed past my nose. A Hawk had seen the Chipmunks as well and was intent on breakfast. There was a flurry as the small fury ones fled for cover and the Hawk took off in disgust; a chorus of angry warnings following him as the Chipmunks let the other creatures know to beware.
With the humming bird feeders I try to remember to remove them in the evening, returning them in the morning to be sure that the little birds won’t suffer from a chilly feeder. We use a four water to one ration of sugar and renew it frequently in warm weather.
Yesterday morning I went out to fill the feeders and realized I had forgotten to bring the liquid feeders in and the feeders were completely empty, one thrown on the ground, the other had been drained all the little yellow screens removed. There were strange footprints in the sand that John had been using to adjust the patio stones, these weren’t those of the Chipmunk tribe or those of Raccoons - consulting the Handbook of Tracks they looked very much like those of the Flying Squirrel Glaucomys sabrinus .
.
We have had at least one Flying Squirrel resident in the attic that we have seen while doing renovations, the noise disturbed their slumber and brought them out.
"Their fondness for maple sap has often led to their tumbling into sap buckets in spring and drowning."
It appears that they do have a sweet tooth - which may offer an explanation of what happened to the missing eight ounces of sugar water …
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
"The King's Breakfast"
We were reminded of A. A. Milne's poem "The King's Breakfast" in When "We Were Very Young" when the King hoping for breakfast and discovers to his horror that there is no butter for "The Royal slice of bread"
It has always been something of a Sunday morning ritual, Kippers [smoked Scottish herrings], with brown bread, orange juice and strong tea; if the dogs are lucky they'd get a sandwich of bread soaked in the Kipper juice.
Like the King wanting "A little bit of butter for My bread!" we had hoped for the juicy smoked herring fillets on our bread, but this was not to be,
The Kippers in question had been purchased the day before from our fish store in the Byward Market, but when I opened the bag found some strange long dark herrings and the label read Smoked Dutch Style, in truth they had
never been near the Netherlands.
A pan was found to accommodate them and when they were poached - they had curled up and looked even worse. John was to be the first to sample and pronounced them 'very salty' but did not sob, or whimper. Sunday morning's breakfast treat was not to be.
We tried our local Market grocer, then the up-scale grocery on Beechwood without success. About to give up, we told our Bulgarian family member, Mimi of the problem and she smiled and said ' The Super Store has them!’
Our next trip into town found us entering the Super Store and without much delay, discovered the fish counter and the packets of Scottish Kippers, delighted I bought five of the frozen Kippers. These are lovely little boneless, boil in the bag with a butter ‘flower’ imprint; when I was very young they came as FISH with bones and all, and it would take a good five minutes to remove the spine and all the bones buried in the flesh.
The following Sunday morning saw us seated at the table, with the sun’s reflection off the lake playing on the ceiling and a lovely breakfast of Kippers, brown bread , orange juice and tea; with three dogs waiting for their tribute of bread soaked in Kipper broth.
It has always been something of a Sunday morning ritual, Kippers [smoked Scottish herrings], with brown bread, orange juice and strong tea; if the dogs are lucky they'd get a sandwich of bread soaked in the Kipper juice.
Like the King wanting "A little bit of butter for My bread!" we had hoped for the juicy smoked herring fillets on our bread, but this was not to be,
The Kippers in question had been purchased the day before from our fish store in the Byward Market, but when I opened the bag found some strange long dark herrings and the label read Smoked Dutch Style, in truth they had
never been near the Netherlands.
A pan was found to accommodate them and when they were poached - they had curled up and looked even worse. John was to be the first to sample and pronounced them 'very salty' but did not sob, or whimper. Sunday morning's breakfast treat was not to be.
We tried our local Market grocer, then the up-scale grocery on Beechwood without success. About to give up, we told our Bulgarian family member, Mimi of the problem and she smiled and said ' The Super Store has them!’
Our next trip into town found us entering the Super Store and without much delay, discovered the fish counter and the packets of Scottish Kippers, delighted I bought five of the frozen Kippers. These are lovely little boneless, boil in the bag with a butter ‘flower’ imprint; when I was very young they came as FISH with bones and all, and it would take a good five minutes to remove the spine and all the bones buried in the flesh.
The following Sunday morning saw us seated at the table, with the sun’s reflection off the lake playing on the ceiling and a lovely breakfast of Kippers, brown bread , orange juice and tea; with three dogs waiting for their tribute of bread soaked in Kipper broth.
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