My Backyard Soap Opera, and Other Crimes

It’s a soap opera out there in my backyard. It’s not so much about As the World Turns. It’s more like As the Bird Feeder Turns. For those who don’t know, except for my friends who stop by here occasionally, in my semi-retirement I have taken up bird watching and gardening to try to keep the brain cells functioning. Little did I know what amazing worlds I was entering. Too bad that, in our own little workaholic world in middle age, we forget there are other worlds out there just waiting for us to enter and learn.

And learn I have. The wild creatures sometimes have complicated lives too, just like in the soap operas, and some of the participants are Movie-Star Gorgeous. Just this week a couple of those gorgeous ones showed up, and, according to my bird book, they are not even supposed to live here. But oh my they are beautiful and I hope they stay. Still, it was a confrontation of the mating behavior that brought them to my attention. They are the northern bluebird, with baby blue topsides and a yellow-orange tummies. And two of the boys were battling it out in the back yard. They weren’t hoping for a free meal at the birdfeeder. They never came close. These two guys were going at it toenail to toenail, wings flapping, and screeching like, well, mad birds. The confrontation was over quickly, and I noted that one of the boys took his rest between rounds in the big maple tree, where he was joined by another bird of lesser color. Hum? Had he won the lady’s heart? I don’t know. The two boy birds were going at again the next day. But she didn’t show up again. I hope these three stay around, even though locked in some sort of romantic rivalry, because they are so beautiful. But they may just be migrating to the north, and their story will not continue in my Backyard Soap Opera.

On the other hand, we know that the mockingbird will stay here with us. But the mockingbird that has taken up residence in my backyard may not be a mom, but a spinster. I was hoping for a live-in mockingbird in my backyard because they are a lively bunch, and this spring one showed up. She doesn’t hang out at the birdfeeder, but likes to flit along the fence row between my neighbor’s and my yard. But, last week, she landed in the grass only about 10 feet from me on the back porch, and apparently began what I thought must be bird yoga. She did deep knee bends. She stretched one wing. They she stretched the other. Then she went back to deep knee bends. It was very entertaining for 10 minutes, but I had no idea what was going on. I consulted with another bird watcher. “Mating ritual,” I was told. No kidding! I took to the Internet. Sure enough. Videos of females doing their yoga exercises usually enticed a male mockingbird to come calling. That’s how I knew my mockingbird was a female. The problem was, no male came calling. But I know he is out there. According to the Internet, the males will sing all night, calling for that special someone. And somebody out there is singing all night at my house, almost loud enough to interrupt my sleep. So hang in there young lady. There is a special someone looking for you.

And then there’s the blue jay. Blue jays are smart, so the Internet says. And I have a blue jay couple happily making their home in my backyard soap opera. But there is one thing, apparently, a blue jay can’t stand. That would be a squirrel. We have squirrels, lots of squirrels, in my backyard. And one was recently hopping from tree to tree to tree last week. I suspect the little devil was scoping out the shed where all that wonderful horse feed is kept. Darling Daughter has had to pile rocks upon the feed container just to keep the squirrels out. So, squirrel, unable to gain entry, was on his way back out of my backyard using the squirrel highway otherwise known as the three pecan trees and one walnut tree. But the blue jay didn’t like that. And he attacked. I mean ATTACKED, like a fighter pilot. And this wasn’t just swoop and scare. This was dive and bang that dang squirrel in the head. In defense, the squirrel actually left one tree, raced across the ground, and tried to continue escape on another tree. Blue jay was not to be outwitted. He kept up the attack from tree, to tree, to tree. I imagined that poor squirrel’s head bloodied, because you could almost hear the thump of each blue jay attack. The Internet reports blue jays will even do this just for fun. But this was war. And that squirrel has not been seen since. Wonder if there is blue jay police, and if my blue jay is now wanted for murder.

Soap operas and crime shows, all in my backyard. Who needs TV?

But wait. There’s more. The scissor-tail flycatcher, Oklahoma’s bird, has shown up in the KXMX backyard. Want to see some aeronautic acrobatics? Watch the scissor-tailed flycatcher. Amazing what these birds can do just to catch a bug. They are one of the Top Guns of the bird world.

Got to go now. Too much going on in my backyard! And I don’t want to miss it.

Remember the Car Wars?

We’re not much of a Ford vs. Chevy family. We just buy and drive what works the best. For instance, I have never had a Ford vehicle that didn’t break down on me, almost immediately. So I drive a Chevrolet, which breaks down occasionally, but, after a trip to the truck doc, keeps on going. Darling Daughter likes a Ford. And we will admit, her Ford pickup has taken a lickin’ and not batted a head light.

Until this week. Darling Daughter called early one morning to report pickup seemed to be having a hiccupping bad time trying to get her to work. “It only does it when I go slower than 45 miles per hour,” Darling Daughter reported. “Then the service light comes one, and it sort of tries to quit. The problem is I’m hitting every stop light I come to.” That meaning Ford pickup was trying to quit on her at every corner.

How strange, I told her. “My pickup (the Chevy) service light only comes on if I go over 45 miles per hour, which accounts for, what my grandson likes to call, my grandma speed.” Well, old Chevy, that is nearly as old as me, has been doing that for years, and I’ve sort of grown into an ‘I don’t care’ state of mind. I should be careful. Those can come back and bite you!

I promised Darling Daughter backup, which she accepted even if it was in an old Chevrolet, and Ford was back on the road after a day with a pickup truck doc. Doesn’t matter if you are a Ford or a Chevy, everybody needs an alternator.

So, all this brought back my teenage years, for some strange reason. Back then there were Fords, Chevys, and an occasional Nash on American roads. I will admit, it was an embarrassment to me that, as a young child, we were a Nash family. I don’t know why. I think Dad had to switch to Chevy cause they quit making Nash. I may be wrong. Anyway, he evened it out. The family car was a Chevy. The farm truck was a Ford. Come to think of it, when Dad was trying to teach me how to drive way back when, I ran that Ford pickup truck into the fence around our 40-acre corn field three times.  That’s when Dad quit teaching me how to drive. Maybe Ford holds a grudge.

The Ford vs. Chevy feud was crazy back then, especially among teens. It was Car Wars! Only a few will remember those days, and I’m one of them. I remember September and October where vitally important to us, not because of all sorts of sports, but also because that was when next year’s Ford and Chevrolet models came out. And there was shouting, and yelling, and accusations made about each brand. I remember being on the Chevy side, probably because I wanted one badly, and that vengeful Ford farm truck, with its four-in-the-floor transmission, kept driving me into the fence! Consequently, I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was in my 20s, in Alaska of all places, where hubby was in the U.S. Air Force. And I do believe in was in a Ford, that later quit on us of course.

Ford vs. Chevy. No one seems to care any more about such Car Wars. But, Darling Daughter drives a Ford. Grandma drives a Chevy. I think we are an All-American family. Throw a hot dog and a piece of pie in there, and we’re fine, and still on the road.

Red Wasp Wars Declared!

It’s the Red Wasps Wars! How did that happen? What’s causing the red wasps to swarm so inconveniently? Is it Mother Nature’s decision to allow us a beautiful early spring? Well, death to the red wasps! Especially after one crawled up my hand in the middle of the night, and stung me not once but twice on the hand! And that results in a death sentence for the offending wasp! And every other red wasp that dares invade my private space. Never mind that it was 2 a.m. Such wars know no time limit.

Those two stings resulted in a long, long night. Watching hand swell to enormous proportions, I decided some immediate emergency medical attention was needed. I went to the freezer. The only packaged frozen food that fit on top the hand, then between the little and ring fingers and onto the palm of the hand was a little frozen steak. That steak and I spent the rest of the night together. Well, we spent about two hours together, until the heat generated by those red wasp stings caused the little steak to thaw. Now I know how to quickly defrost a steak. Get stung by a wasp!

After hours of trying to freeze my own hand, the pain diminished but the swelling did not. There was no wearing of jewelry the next morning. The hand looked like it belonged to that Marshmallow Man. It didn’t hurt. It just didn’t work. Nevertheless, work called so I retreated to the bathroom to prepare for the work day. Everything went well until I stepped out of the shower. Still dripping wet and with only a dry towel as a weapon, I was attacked by (Good Grief!) another red wasp. Are you kidding me!?! I confess. I ran from the battlefield, without uniform on of any kind. Unfortunately, Holly, the house cat, was in the way and did not respond properly to the command to “GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Consequently poor little Holly looked somewhat like a black and white soccer ball in an intense game as I ran from the field of battle. Could not understand why that cat seemed to think she was supposed to stay right in front of me. She got kicked all the way to the dining room.

That’s where I finally came to a halt to regroup and decided it was time to declare war. So far its 2 versus 2 – two stings for them and two dead wasps for me. Yep, I dried off, put some clothes on and killed that wasp. And I am now fully armed in the bathroom, where I have secured my weapons, one fly swatter and one can of wasp spray. All I can say is Holly better run when I tell her to.

Later at work, where I related my wasp war adventures of the night and morning, found out Delanna N., of KXMX advertising, had the same problem, and had already been stung once herself. “How do they get in?” she demanded. “They crawl in through every little crack and hole,” we told her. I’ve seen them enter through a ceiling light fixture, through heating vents, etc. They are sneaky little dudes, attacking when they can’t be seen, like in the middle of the night when I’m sound asleep. So let the Red Wasp Wars begin. War is declared, cause I’m mad, but at least not as swollen any more. Now, if I can just get house cat Holly to stay out of the way!

Something to Make You Smile - Emails from the Senior Citizen Set

My friends in the Senior Citizen Set have been busy on the internet again. Funny how some of those my age won’t go near the internet, yet others can’t live without it (that would be me). Still, friends on line do have a sense of humor, which we shall share today.

-Sign at Restaurant:  No Senior Citizen Discounts. You’ve had twice as long to get the money. Me: And twice as long to spend it!

-Sign at Restaurant:  No. We do not have wi-fi. Talk to each other. Me: Well, OK. That may be pretty good advice.

-Sign on Business Door: Push. If that doesn’t work, pull. If that doesn’t work, we must be closed.

-Sign in Front of Pub:  Today’s soup – Beer. Me: No thanks!

-Sign on Business Door:  Guarded by shotgun three nights a week. You guess which nights! Me: I like that one.

-Business Sign Directing Customers to Restrooms:  Men to the left, because Women are always right. Me: Yep!

-Sign Above Business:  Teach your kids about taxes. Eat 30 percent of their ice cream. Me: That one made me laugh out loud cause it’s so true!

-­(In response) Sign at Pub: Today’s Offer – buy any two drinks and pay for them both. Me: Hey, I’m a Senior Citizen!

-Sign from Another Pub: Alcohol may not solve your problems, but neither will water or milk. Me:  Yeah, but water and milk don’t make them worse! Obviously, I don’t like liquor. Wine on the other hand…

-Liquor Store Legend:  Buy a bottle for mom on Mother’s Day. Remember you’re the reason she drinks. Me: Well, anything a mom can do to get through raising those kids.

-Note to Children:  Respect your parents. They got through school without Google. Me: Well ain’t that the truth?

-More on Today’s Technology:  Cartoon shows crowd taking cell phone photos of drowning man. It’s today’s techies. Me: Don’t have a smart phone. I have a dumb phone.

-Photo of Horse Looking Down at Camera: Horse asks, “You OK? I should have let you know I was stopping.” Me: I have actually been in this situation. It’s not funny.

-Minister Tells Wedding Couple: “You are now man and wife. You may now update your Facebook status.” Me:  I know people who DO THIS!

-Senior Citizen Wife to Hubby:  “You told me you’d spend your whole life trying to make me happy!” His response:  “I didn’t expect to live this long.” Me: Aw.

-Mom to Child with Droopy Pants, While Dad in Background Has Pants around Knees:  “Your father says he’ll stop wearing his pants like that when you do!” Me:  Saw guy doing that just this week! Gross!

-Sign on Basket of Eggs:  Boneless Chicken – 35 cents. Me:  Truth in advertising.

-Caption on Photo of Dog with Trash Can Lid Around Neck:  “I have no idea how it happened.” Me: To my house dog Penny:  “I know how it happened!”

-Caption on Photo of Cat Sitting in Front of Computer:  “I did the math. We can’t afford the dog.” Me: To house cat Nutter, “Stay OFF the computer!”

-And finally, this quote from an author who can really make me laugh, Mark Twain: “Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

Hello Reba Nell!

It’s Darling Daughter’s Rescue to the rescue again, and this time the rescue ended up at my house. What!?! Yep. New critter has moved in with me. What am I thinking? Darling Daughter has never passed up the chance to rescue a critter in need. This has ranged from baby opossums to full-grown horses wandering down the highway. Baby possums were dutifully delivered to a licensed wildlife rehabilitator. I say that to keep Darling Daughter out of jail, or at least from being cited by a game ranger for harboring a wild animal. But she kept up with baby possums, reporting on them until they were released into the wild once more.

Horses wandering down the highway, or just standing around needing help, have never dissuaded Darling Daughter from jumping right in there to do her rescue thing. She’ll even pay for a horse if she thinks it needs to be rescued. This has resulted in several new horses in our respective pastures. And, to tell the truth, some of those horses were pretty good rides, and should never have been in need in the first place.

Of course dogs and cats are the most rescued, since they seem to be the most in need, and not spayed and neutered as they should be. But in this case, it was on behalf of a friend who needed a dog rescued. Dog, who is known as Reba, had just been abandoned by a new owner. Old owner, now living far away, found out and called my Darling Daughter for assistance. Well, that only took about five minutes. And the next thing I knew Darling Daughter is in my driveway demanding I “Come out here right now.” All righty. And that’s how I got introduced to Reba. I like the name Reba. Probably because I like Reba McEntire. Just looked the singer up to make sure I spelled her name right. Found out her name is Reba Nell. Dog will now be Reba Nell.

So here comes Reba Nell, my new critter who looks like a black lab cross, and has that same attitude. That means Reba Nell thinks she gets to lay around and do nothing, sort of like me. That figures. In her dog years, I think we’re about the same age. Reba Nell wasn’t too trusting of me at first. Who could blame her? She figured she had been abandoned twice, why bother getting involved again? Several cans of dog food later, she changed her mind and began to wag her tail at me. That was a relief. Reba has been spayed. That was pretty much the “yes” moment.

“She’s spayed?

 “Yes.”

“OK.”

So Reba Nell was secured in the back room, until a proper collar and leash could be obtained, until all ticks and fleas could be removed, until she and house dog Penny were introduced and agreed to a conflict-free relationship, and until she realized she had a new home. I checked on her several times during the night. Those sad eyes simply stared back. Reba Nell continued her abandoned dog attitude until I showed up the next morning with another can of dog food. Suddenly, we were best friends. I tried to convince Reba Nell she could go out into the back yard to relieve herself. She wouldn’t go. A bit later, after Reba’s breakfast, I tried again. This time Reba took off like a shot, meaning, at her age, she meandered slowly out the door and took a while to find the exact right spot to relieve herself. And relieve herself. And relieve herself. We’ve got to praise Reba Nell. She held on all night long! Then she wandered off. Hum. I went to truck to load up in preparation for the trip to town. Don’t know how the old dog did it, but when I looked down, Reba Nell was already in the truck. Aha. This is a real country dog. Had to convince her she couldn’t come to town with me, but had to get a short little Penny dog leash to tie around Reba Nell’s neck to entice her back to the house.

Entice? Not really. She dragged me all the way back to the back door, and was more than happy to go back into that back room, out of the wind and rain, and where all that dog food awaited. I got a feeling Reba Nell and I are going to get along fine. I got that feeling cause she and I have the same attitude – feed me, keep me warm, and let me out in the yard once a day, and we’ll be happy.

The Bald Eagle Has Landed, and Wowed Me!

Oh Wow! Oh Double Wow! Oh My Gosh! And that’s pretty much all I could say. The event occurred on our beautiful Saturday last week, when all I wanted to do was sit in the sun and forget winter, and that winter had showed me in four times. Four Times! Good grief. Anyway, I was sitting there, enjoying that beautiful early-spring day, watching Darling Daughter work. Darling Daughter had decided to clean up the horse pasture. Numerous downed limbs, and a big bunch of old weeds, were limiting grass growth. She will not tolerate grass limitations, and she was working like a dog. I had made one small attempt at digging a garden, which turned out to be more like sinking in the mud. I gave up quickly and was taking a break in my favorite chair on the back porch, watching my bird population at the bird feeders. Someday I’ll relate the crazy antics of my nuthatch, who must be the clown of the bird world. Darling Daughter decided to take a break and joined me.

We must have been discussing the impossibility of doing anything in the swamped garden, when I saw the flash of black and white.

“Oh my gosh!” I interrupted Darling Daughter. “A huge bald eagle has just landed in the pasture.” Yep. Enormous mature bald eagle, with white head and tail, had landed. Darling Daughter and I ducked. Don’t know why. Bald eagle was half a football field away, and didn’t care at all what we were doing. Bald eagle was on a mission. That apparently pending parent bald eagle was on the hunt for nesting materials, and had decided those old round bales of hay in the horse pasture, which were pretty much picked over and flattened, contained the ideal nesting material. I confess. I was astounded.

That bald eagle attempted to grab claws full of that old, wet hay. It wasn’t easy, as anyone who has had to deal with that old stuff will know. It’s all matted, and wet, and muddy, and ugly, and baling twine, embedded in the nasty stuff, does not help by keeping it all tied down. Darling Daughter and I watched as bald eagle fought with the hay pile. Spreading wings which looked like at least 10 feet from wing tip to wing tip, that poor bald eagle hopped up and down, up and down, wings flapping frantically, just trying to loosen some old hay from the pile. I was sure she must have been working on a nest. We watched bald eagle struggle with that hay for a good 15 minutes.

And we weren’t the only ones watching. Our two old geldings were astounded also. They had been hanging out with Darling Daughter, their favorite person cause she feeds them, in the upper part of the pasture where she was working. But when the eagle landed, their attention turned to the eagle too. Heads up, ears pricked, those two old geldings didn’t seem to believe something so big had landed on their hay pile, not that they are interested anymore in that hay. So they watched intensely. Then Toby, Gorgeous Granddaughter’s horse, began to get a bit more interested. He began a slow but determined stroll toward bald eagle. It seemed he doesn’t like pasture intruders, according to Darling Daughter, and may have been on the way to try and evict the bald eagle.

“Oh no!” I whispered to Darling Daughter. “Toby’s going after the eagle. Stop him!” I could just see Toby attacking eagle, and eagle attacking back. That bald eagle made Toby, a full grown horse, look like a pony. I began to wonder how much our vet would charge to sew up bald eagle slashes in our horse. Darling Daughter didn’t move. Well, it was an extremely interesting scenario.

Bald eagle moved before Toby arrived, thank goodness. Bald eagle took off with two claws full of wet dirty nesting material. Toby just got disgusted, and walked off like he knew what he was doing. “That was incredible,” I told Darling Daughter. And this past week I’ve told everyone I know about our bald eagle adventure. I’ve wondered all week if bald eagle has returned for more nesting materials. Is she building her nest nearby, which is close to the Arkansas River? Does she have eggs, or babies already? Wow. Is it spring in Oklahoma? Yes! And I’m loving it.

It's a Spring Fever Epidemic

Spring Fever! I confess. I got it. Back on the road again, after being snowed in once again (That’s four times in a month!), I considered what might be happening if I get snowed in one more time. Murder and mayhem may occur. Don’t know who I’d commit murder or mayhem on, but the house dog and cat better hide. Still, in our future there is good news and not so good news. The not so good news is annual. Daylight Saving Time begins Sunday morning, always at 2 a.m., meaning we lose an hour. I’ve studied that. Have never been able to figure it out exactly. Just how does moving the clock forward lose an hour? That bothers me, but I just have to take everyone’s word for it, move the clock forward, wake up late but enjoying more daylight at the end of the day. That I like. The good news is Spring, YES, SPRING, begins at 5:45 CDT on March 20, according to the Farmer’s Almanac. And if you can’t trust the Farmer’s Almanac, who can you trust?

I can hardly wait! Got spring fever so bad, I have already bought more garden seeds than I can ever use. Been haunting big stores’ garden departments since Jan. 2. And I’ve noticed I’m not the only one. All the strawberry roots in one garden department have disappeared. That’s why I grabbed what I could on the Internet. Now, if I could just plant the little dudes. But every time I try to get to my little garden spot, it snows me out. No wonder I’ve got Spring Fever.

I’m not alone. My Lunch Bunch friends and family are in the same boat. Linda C. reports her hubby has a big batch of baby garden plants in the garage. That’s great! But how do you plant baby garden plants when there is three or four inches of snow on the ground? Linda doesn’t care. She does her part by painting in response to Spring Fever. Her paintings, as I recall and I may be wrong, are all about summer. I want one-painting that is. Linda likes summer, and beaches, and the tropics. Visit her yard sometime. You’ll feel like you’re on a Caribbean island, with a hammock, sand and all.

And then there’s best bud Delanna, here at KXMX.  She has a reason for developing a bad case of Spring Fever. Her heat quit during our last snow storm. “Are you kidding me?” I asked as I cuddled up closer to my own space heater. No. And, while trying to figure out how to get heat in the house when the outside temperature was about 25 degrees, she reported she broke the thermostat. Oh dear. Don’t know much about that kind of stuff, but I sympathized with her. She told me she was microwave-popping popcorn for the family. I told her to tell family to just hug the popcorn bowl, and soak up its heat under a blanket. Popcorn’s cheap. Think they ate it anyway. But all was quickly fixed, and heat is back on. Hope that helps with her Spring Fever a bit.

I asked Darling Daughter about this upcoming weekend, when the temps are to soar into the 50s. Oh joy. I can hardly wait. “Help me plant,” I begged. I didn’t tell her I’ve got 50 strawberry plants waiting for a pretty day, but did point out my raspberry plants may be in the mail, and I need someone to dig up a planting spot. “No,” Darling Daughter shot back. “I’m cleaning up the horse pasture.” OK. I admit that winter winds have dropped some errant limbs around the guys’ small pasture, and a cleanup may be called for. But I bet those two old horses would eat some raspberries if I could just get them in the ground soon. Darling Daughter doesn’t seem to think the same. Her horses outweigh my raspberry plants, so I’ll be digging on my own I guess. On the other hand, I might even help clean up the pasture. Hey, 50 plus degrees, and Spring is just two weeks away. My Spring Fever is in full bloom. Now, if I can just get something else in bloom, my Spring Fever may be healed. No it won’t. I love Spring Fever, and am going to hold on to it as long as I can. Happy Spring, almost!