Scratcher of heads, rubber of bellies
After circle feeding with a female for much of the afternoon, this male northern shoveler swam near my car at the end of the day, minutes before I left to make sure I was off the refuge before the gate closed. I hate leaving when the light and the subject are so beautiful.
A small green hand reaches out from a tree bud as a dormant life awakens. Taken late on a winter afternoon, a reminder: spring is coming.
Three sandhill cranes, part of a much larger flock, fly in formation over Rest Lake at the end of a cold winter’s day. The skies above Ridgefield can be noisy in the winter, usually from the large flocks of cackling geese and tundra swans that overwinter at the refuge, but particularly early or late in the day sandhills may join the chorus.
I was walking past the dining room when I saw Sam sleeping in an unusual spot, perfectly framed on the hardwood floor by the sunlight poring through the large picture windows on a warm spring morning. I ran to my office and grabbed my camera and got the lovely picture below, one of my favorite cat pictures ever. But then Trixie came in after me and jumped up onto the window ledge, her shadow so perfectly positioned that her head is next to his and her tail curls back towards me, as though his shadow had come to life and turned around to greet him. Thankfully I got the picture above as the moment didn’t last long. I like both pictures but the top one illustrates much of their relationship in an abstract form, Sam relentlessly pursued by his younger sister who adores him. I couldn’t have posed them any better as more than anything she loves to cuddle up face to face, which he’ll often tolerate when he’s sleeping on my legs.
Sam decided he was getting a little too much attention, between the clacking of my SLR’s shutter and the newly arrived Trixie in the window, so he got up and we all retreated to my office.
As adults cats meow to communicate with humans rather than each other. I had always assumed they all had a fairly similar vocalization, but only two of our six cats (Templeton and Sam) have had a traditional meow. Our first cat Templeton could be a bit talkative so I was surprised when we adopted Scout, who was almost silent and communicated mostly with soft grunts or a plaintive bleating, especially when she was scared or upset. Emma chirped, rather appropriate given her fascination with birds. Boo too is a quiet one and has an almost childlike cry.
Trixie continues the theme not only of quiet cats but of new vocalizations.
She squeaks.
She is tiny and energetic and affectionate. She especially adores her big brother Sam, sometimes more than he would like, and they are both sleeping on me at the moment. She is a full-on lap cat like Sam, a snuggler extraordinaire, a little lover. Like Em she likes the wildlife in the yard, although her obsession is squirrels.
She is also the slowest eater who has ever walked the earth. We have to sit with her to make sure the other cats don’t steal her food, although thankfully she is eating faster than she used to. She also isn’t as easily distracted, used to be you could forget about getting her to eat if she saw a squirrel running along the fence. And she eats in one sitting now, that was a battle of wills as she’d prefer to graze but between Ellie and Boo and Sam, we can’t leave food out unattended.
She’s been with us for over a year and has been an absolute joy. I took this picture a month ago when I found her in the guest bedroom sitting in a Trixie-sized opening between the pillows on the bed. She doesn’t usually hang out up there, but this bed was where she spent her first few weeks with us, as this is the room where we kept her in isolation.
Sam and Trixie hold hands while snuggled up on my legs.
Sam can’t resist the allure of curling up on clean laundry on an unusually warm spring morning.
For those not conversant in French, “poignee de transport” translates as “mouse delivery slot” in English.
There is much of me in this simple portrait of what may be my favorite duck. Not lesser scaup in general, but this particular duck. Over the past handful of years I’ve spent many hours sitting at Horse Lake watching a female lesser scaup dive for food. I don’t know that it’s the same individual from year to year, or even visit to visit, but I’m a little disappointed if I drive by and she’s not there.
Many photographers only like to shoot on sunny days but I also love days like this, the typical winter day of the Northwest, heavy overcast with an occasional gentle rain. I often won’t go to the refuge on sunny days since it brings out the crowds, but if it’s raining I can sometimes sit quietly and enjoy the subtle beauty of this seasonal pond without the constant noise of cars driving by (or idling while parked behind me). The scaup often hangs out on the far side of the pond but if there isn’t much traffic she’ll swim over and feed near the road.
While there are often other ducks present, she’s usually the only scaup. Perhaps she enjoys the solitude of the place as much as I do. She’s tucked her feathers tightly against her head, a sure sign that even though she just surfaced, she’s about to dive underwater to feed again.
An eastern fox squirrel strips eats bark that it has stripped from a tree. It had already pulled off quite a bit of the bark near its perch. The eastern fox squirrel is not native to this area but is commonly seen in the Portland metro area.
Boolie 