Lightning Strikes Twice

I can't believe my LUCK! Seems like just about every other day on my logging road ventures to or from my house, I either see an owl, or in this case, an Al....


Uh-oh. The Al sees me. Yet remains, cautiously transfixed on the creature with that strange contraption pressed to his face, making clicking sounds. What could it be?, he thinks to himself. Will it hurt me? Should I stay? Or should I go? Phight, Phlight, or Phone Phor help?

You're up, Joe. Which Al is this? Genus and Species, please. The white crown and dayglow orange breast should give it away. But I'm.......(sorry).....STUMPED.





This explains it all. Nesting. The female of the species must be out looking for food. The DQ is 10 minutes away.


As you can clearly see, the Al is still looking at the spot I so stealthily (how else could I get these incredible shots?) vacated. Little does he know that his awkward fledglings are completely safe. And that there are plenty of cones for them to eat. In fact, this is the very picture of.......(sorry again)........chipper.

Hoo You Lookin' At?

Three days ago, just as I was about to turn up from the logging road onto the driveway proper, this caught my eye. Leaping out of a red alder, and with a smaller, darkly plumed unidentified flying object in hot pursuit (smaller than a robin), the stealthy and normally nocturnal B-1 Bomber of the forest made its way across the logging road, left to right, and lighted in another alder, giving me time to furiously fumble for the 300VR and get it swapped out with the 28-55 before the next leg of the flight. Just as I stepped from the car, the bird flew from right to left, over the logging road/driveway junction and lighted in one of my doug firs. Perfect. We spent some time there, eyeball to eyeball, while the lens sucked in the beauty of this very rare opportunity, yet just one of many that remind me why I live where I do.

Time To Cut The Cheese

Pecorino Romano, many say, smells like baby's barf. My father buys a 55 pound wheel every couple years. He buys one. My Uncle Charlie buys one. We drove over to Redwood City from Turlock yesterday to claim our wheel. Can you say, "I'd like to buy a vowel, Alex"? The fortune comes in the knowing that a 55 pound wheel of Pecorino Romano, at 8 bucks a pound, and after adding the sales tax, rings up at $479.16. My cousin Denise said she only brought nine hundred and fifty dollars with her to the deal that went down in San Francisco. Hey, did you know that San Francisco is both a city AND a county? Yeah. Cool, huh? For this reason, it can never expand geographically. Where was I? Oh yeah. Not enough money. She was ten bucks short. But the guy at the counter said, "Fuh-GET-uh-BOUT-it" and sent her on her way with her 110 pounds of cheese. Yeah, I'm in California again. I'm home. And once home, it's time to cut the cheese. So what, you might ask, does one use to cut the cheese? We're Sicilian, remember. What else? Piano wire...









This is my Uncle Charlie, eldest of the five Sicilian brothers, all born in New York prior to coming to California in 1940. My father says they stopped at a dairy on the way over and bought ice cold milk for 10 cents a gallon. Many dinners came about thanks to road-killed pheasants, rabbits, "whatever we came across, we barbecued it."

Uncle Charlie took me fishing in the ocean when I was very young. He smoked Cuban cigars. Turned me on to exotic foods (like those caterpillars in a can that came from Mexico) and he made GREAT red wine. He is 85.



We got a tour of the huge garden. That is my Aunt Amada. She is from Quito, Ecuador.




This is a tomato tree. Yes, a tomato TREE. They grow in Ecuador and they produce tomatoes just like the vine. I laughed and called my father right after seeing a sign in the produce section of the local market in Newport that read, "Vine Ripened Grapefruit." Don't be so quick to laugh when you start seeing signs reading, "Tree Ripened Tomatoes," because as Judy Tenuta would say, "It could happen."

The next day, ask Mr. Gawpo, Sr. and I were going through the photos from his brother's place, we looked at each other and said, "Dang. We shoulda brought some artichokes back." There were plenty that were in perfect shape. We did snag about four pounds of cherries, though. My father makes the best cherry brandy this side of Camporeale.

"I knew I shoulda taken that left"

There aren't many people who don't remember Bugs Bunny's famous line when I tell them I am going to Albuquerque. Or, "Albuhkoikee," as Bugs would pronounce it.

So yesterday I flew to Albuquerque. The lovely Amber was waiting for me at the foot of the escalator and not much later, we were on our way to the bag claim. Yes, I said bag claim. In New Mexico---or Albuquerque, anyway---that's what all the signs say: Bag claim. Now I can't help but wonder what people are going to be saying to each other about getting into a new relationship when THIS way of talking takes hold across America: "Gee, I liked the guy, but he came with a lot of bag." Or, "Yeah, she was HAWGHT, Dude. But between her kids and her mother, I just couldn't handle the bag."

Back to Amber. Had it not been for her kindness, I'd have had to get on some shuttle and dropped of at some disclosed location in Santa Fe where I would THEN have had to be picked up. But this woman has a huge heart and I am deeply in her debt. Or in her brain. Probably more the latter. We talked like girlfriends who had all their lives to get caught up on. We TAWKED. We broke up into small groups and discussed.

This is Amber. What a face. Very, very smart. Very, very funny.



The reason I came to New Mexico was to attend friends. George and Janet live where I do in Oregon, but they have a daughter (Melissa) whose daughter, Sadie, is graduating from High School. That's all I had to hear. I bought a ticket the day I was invited.

As Amber and I were tawking at mad paces, I was snapping pics along the way. I like to photograph road signs. Moments after Amber and I arrived at the house, Janet pulled in. Said she had car trouble. Overheated. Was stuck on the side of the road. Amber and I looked at each other: We saw a car pulled over with a cop about half a mile behind, also parked on the side of the road. Was that you, Janet? For the heck of it, I checked my photo gallery.

Yep. That was Janet with the Prestone can at her feet. Did we stop to help? Heck no! We
were tawking!



Recognize the clothing on that hottie blonde on the left? Sadie, the graduate,
was not home yet. But her two sisters enjoyed the story. Lucia far right. Mexika
(mah-SHEE-kuh) to Lucia's right.



My flight out of PDX (Portland) was at 10 a.m. So I got there early. I entered the building at about 7:40, walked up to the kiosk, punched in my confirmation number, presented my one BAG to later claim, brought it over to the nice man attendant at the huge X-Ray place, then presented my passport and boarding pass at the security checkpoint, listened to the "this is a security announcement" recording for only maybe a dozen times, and I had my shoes back on by 8:02. Had some time to kill. Or, as I like to think of it----give life to. I entered the Starbucks line. When it was my turn, I said to the pretty young lady, "I'd like a B double F C with no RFC." With a half second gaze into my eyes, she reached for a clear plastic cup and as she began lifting it from the stack I said, "Nope." She replaced the cup and started whispering the letters to herself. Then she asked me to repeat the letters. "I'll have a B double FF C with no RFC." She gave up. I leaned in and whispered, "A big, fat fuckin' coffee with no room for cream." She took it well. She smiled. Then she said that it might have been interesting if I'd just let her make something that matched the letters. Dang. Why didn't I think of that?

With my B double F C in tow, I walked over to a small table and fired up my new black MacBook for the very first time in a public setting to take it for a Wi-Fi ride. Not long after beginning this very post, I heard a woman say to her female companion, "And they said they kept calling my name, but I didn't come." I pivoted in my chair to the woman speaking. When she looked at me, I pointed at her and said, "YOU missed a flight." Big smile. I told her my story from two blog posts ago and even showed her on my laptop. While we were talking, the very airplane that I missed was taxiing past the windows. I confirmed this by matching the tail number to picture of the plane I missed two posts ago. Amazing.

Asha and Lili and I spent some wonderfully friendly time. Asha's flight was a bit earlier than Lili's and mine, so she had to leave us. But we all hugged before parting. I love becoming human.

Lili on the left, Asha on the right.



Founders of the Missed Flights (West Coast Chapter), Asha and Gawpo.



While Lili and I waited, these guys happened. Be sure to biggen by clicking and check the dude's massive sunglass visor and oxygen hose.



I'll take Things That Fly, Alex. Okay, and the answer is: THE DAILY DOUBLE! All of it, Alex. All of it...



We're headed into Santa Fe to an art show. Ciao4niao, Peeps!

Columba fasciata: Bandtail Pigeons Revisited

A post such as this is surely to return annually, but only as long as its inspiration continues to return. I've been feeding these birds since the latter part of the last century. The first bird is usually in the tops of my red alder in early March of every year. This year was no exception. I saw the first one on the 12th. Okay. So that's late early March. Maybe even early mid March. You get the point. This year is different, though. Cuz I have the new picturer to freeze them. Thanks to Somewhere Joe, I have been able to slow the wings down a bit. The first captures were blurs. Thanks, Giusepp, for some good sharpening tips.

These work for me. My favorite pose is when the wings beat forward, nearly enveloping the body in a hollow hug. Next favorite is the bird whose elbows touch on the wild, slapping upbeat. I hope you enjoy their beauty as much as I do. What you can't "enjoy," however, is being woken up as hundreds of these birds explode off the tables in their ritual survival maneuver that is based upon the instinctive axiom, "Don't stay in any one place too long." As quickly as they jump up, they begin fluttering back down to the boards in drizzling layers of participation until once again getting "that uneasy feeling" and thundering off into the lower branches of the alder and Cascara sagrada.


Once again, here they are...

This was taken on April 19th at 0730 hours. It felt more like 7:30 in the morning, though.




They will stay in the higher branches of the alder for several hours. Then they move down to the lower branches of the Cascara.



The first thing I do every morning is take look through the skylight of the guest bathroom to see who might be lighting in the tree tops. This is what I get to see.



Here is a lucky shot---four birds in the forward wing beat, two in tandem and nearly perfectly synchronous.



This is what makes the thunder in the morning. Birds bumping into each other. Birds stepping on each other, adhering to the rubrics of panic. There could be a hawk. Or a bobcat. You can't be too careful. Every year I come home to some fresh blood on the table and tufts of feathers gathered on the ground in whatever areas of the lawn the prevailing breezes pushed them along until they came to their final resting place, never again to fly.



Then it's right back down for more of the glut.



The scare tactic worked. The bandtail kicks up a dusting of oiled sunflower in its wing vortices.



While the mature sport this beautiful green metallic plumage on their necks, this guy to the left clearly has pin feathers. Young bird? Repairing bird? Dunno. An anomaly I cannot explain. I found a pin feather on the board the other day and wondered where it came from.



We do not have blue jays here. There are scrub jays over in the Willamette Valley. We have steller's jays here, tufted heads and all. Voracious cleaner-uppers are they. Raspy songed opportunists whose beautiful appearance attempts to excuse them from their rudenesses.



And when the crows and the jays aren't around, these folks get a crack at some chow. I'll see your four pair. And raise you.

Round, Round, Get Around, I Can't Get Around

Really. It's hard. I want to pay more attention to my peeps, see what you are all doing on your blogs. The work marathon persists, however, and it's all I can do to eek out a quick jaunt to a few slices of paradise's pie when I get home at 8:30 every night. It's as though I have not been home for several months. Well, since about October. This will all be over come flying weather. We get a good week of blue skies in July. Can't wait.

Every once in a while, though, I can lay some eggs and let whomever has the notion to help incubate, do so. So.....plop.

(Oh---and, tink...)

Be sure to click on the pics to get them into some good CSI'ing position. Especially for Ray. You'll see....



When these flowers open, they are stunning. We eat the fruit in the fall.



This is Ray Eggman. Long time family friend who lives down the road a piece. Ray Eggman is a bee man. See? Bee.



That's my Dad...





My father sometimes cures a prosciutto. The process is easy. Waiting 9 months to eat it is difficult. Prompted by Joe, I had to CSI this sucker real close to find out what exactly it is Mrs. Gawpo, Sr. is eating back there. It's a bag of mixed fruits and nuts with M&Ms that she'd just purchased at Costco. BAM! Case closed, Joe. This was not easy. But I did it in the first 48 and that's all that matters. That's my sister, Karen helping with the hoist.



Judging by size, it is more important to go slow than the cats themselves. Odd sentence. But I'm leaving it like that. You can see my shadow to the right.




A tree in my sister's yard. This little guy had somewhere better to be.





So after giving up my seat, I got to chatting with a very nice couple who were waiting for their children to arrive on a flight from Seattle. We got to talking about cameras. I pulled out the 300mm and happened to see something I hadn't seen in over 30 years: a jackrabbit. Out on the taxiway. I was enthralled. I ignored everything else.





See in the upper left hand corner of the frame? Yeah. That's the tip of the elevator. That means tail wing in non-airplane-dude talk. That elevator is about to begin pulling away from the terminal dock. I still don't realize that I am supposed to be ON that plane, contributing something to the weight and balance. The time was 2:18:55. The plane was scheduled to depart at 2:20.




Here it is. My plane. Nose wheel off. Me still on. Dang.



I had some time to kill. This woman was talking to a soldier in desert camo. She listened intently and I snapped a few as the exchange went along. All of a sudden the soldier must have said something terrible, something so graphic that she vomited with her skin. I had no idea there were muscles in our faces that could make us do this.



I took this picture of the lady getting off the bus and didn't realize until I zoomed in to see what I had that she was really stepping off the river and those two guys were cheering wildly her transition to land. They are looking right at her. Nice, huh?



Finally, ain't no doubt about it---this is one of Ray's. Flower people, please tell me what this blossom is.

Never Again

Last December I passed up a free ticket to any Alaska Airline destination. They called and called and called for a volunteer to give up their seat. But I did not want to inconvenience Mr. and Mrs. Gawpo who would have had to drive through darkness at a late hour to pick me up here at Sacramento International. Yes, I said here. Typing is not easy from the iTouch. But I have some time because when they called for that volunteer to give up a seat, I was all over it, having sworn back in December NEVER AGAIN to pass up such an opportunity. I called my friend, Amy and adjusted the pickup time. Got 16 bucks in meal money. Now I have to decide where to go. They do fly to Mexico. Hmmm...

Please feel free: Where would YOU go?


$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

THIS JUST IN!

Ok.

So.

Cindy at the counter thanked me for giving up my seat. She extended her hand to indicate the girl whose life I had saved. (some inconvenience.) The young lady smiled her appreciation. Her father shook my hand. I felt great. Got a free ticket, after all. Helped a young teen. So there I was with time to kill. And kill I did. Got talking with a very nice couple about picturers because guess what I was doing the whole time ? Got some great shots of a jackrabbit out on the taxiway, even. Yeah. Cool, huh? Even got some great shots of my jet taking off. Yes. MY jet. Without me ON it. So here I sit. The first flight was at 1:15. The flight I missed, 2:40. The next flight ( the LAST) is at 7:28. And it is overbooked....

Stand by for some stand by.

Sigh........