The Hawk Has Landed

and is now finished. I'll bring him into Irelock Imaging on Monday, have him scanned, and then he'll fly over to my website as a new addition, along with another painting I finished a couple of weeks ago. (The scanned image will look tons better than this photo, as I don't have the right lighting.)

Whew! That was challenging but a lot of fun. I really grew to like this fellow as he appeared bit by bit. I hope you do too.

Meanwhile, hope you are enjoying your weekend. We had quite a bit of impressive thunder, lightning, and rain last night. I woke up to a world scrubbed clean and very alive with bird calls.

Sam

I've mentioned Sam before in a previous blog. Sam is my large parrot, though he is not as big as, say, an African Grey. Sam is a Jardine's Parrot, a bright green member of the poicephalus species, originating in Central Africa. As Sam has matured, he has developed fiery orange feathers on his shoulders and head. He is a gorgeous fellow.

I never intended to acquire a larger parrot. Tempted, yes, but my reading about the care of larger parrots gave me pause as I felt the responsibilities would be greater than I might be up to. But, well - things unfold as they will. Long story short, he came to me with a beak bitten through by his cagemate in a pet store, malnourished, with a grief that cause him to cry for two solid weeks. That's a lot of baggage for a baby 6 month-old bird to carry! I'll never know exactly why he was so sad, but as he exited the pet store, he bit the manager hard enough to draw blood as a parting shot, and looked even self-satisfied at his deed.

With lots of good food, Harrison's pellets (he ate everything in sight and still does), a ton of patience and love, he became what I saw from the first: a happy, sweet-natured, calm fellow that just wants to be with me and share whatever I do, wherever I go.

He has never lost his shyness with strangers. He is devoted only to me (a common trait for Jardine's to be one-person birds). But he tolerates pet-sitters of the right temperament - calm and unafraid - and growls like a dog at people who come on a bit too brashly for his tastes.

Sam has very definite ideas of proper bird etiquette, and I've had to learn his signals and emotions in order to avoid beaky misunderstandings. With respect toward his ideas has come a wonderful mutual understanding. He is extremely reliable and predictable. When I've learned what he needs, he relaxes and tolerates my mistakes - unless I act really stupidly, which even I know deserves a nippy reminder.

This is not to say that Sam dictates what I do. I've had to show him and the other birds that I am in fact in charge. But - no question - my life flows in rhythm to a birdy beat! I wouldn't have it any other way.

This is Sam giving me a kiss and inviting me to rub his head, a sign of great trust in birds.

Crater Lake - Again

I forgot to provide a link to the National Park page for Crater Lake. So this provides me another opportunity to show you a few more photos from the Lake that I took last August. On one flank of the rim there is a museum with fascinating interpretive displays showing the geological history of the area and the crater; histories of the indigenous Indians living near the former mountain; lists of flora and fauna; interesting facts about the lake water; and scientific research done nearby and in the lake itself. There are still thermal vents in the depths of the lake. This photo is taken of the beach directly below the museum. The blue is even more intense than this photo suggests.

The Pacific Northwest manages to stage some spectacular volcanic action. Do you remember (or recall reading about) the devastation caused by the eruption of Mount St. Helens in 1980? Mount Mazama from which Crater Lake came to be was 42 times as powerful as the eruption on Mount St. Helens. Apparently lava flowed in a 25-mile sweep around the area, and ash drifted perhaps as far south as upper Nevada and as north as Canada.

On the right is one of the many ravens that fly and drift over the lake - a very rakish and fearless fellow he was.

Winters here are very long. According to statistics kept by the park, the Crater Lake area averages 533 inches of snow annually - some of the heaviest snowfall in the US. And that explains the feet-high drifts of snow in June!

Despite its dramatic past (and hopefully quiet future), Crater Lake is a magnificent quiet place that has a way of seeping into my bones. I always feel like I've been away for ages after returning from this magical place.

Crater Lake - Magic...

It's been raining heavily for 24 hours here and the deer are totally soaked. Here they are looking in, wistfully, wishing for more apples (Old Mamma is on the top right; notice her right leg with the knob where it broke 3 years ago).

Meanwhile, it's probably snowing heavily in Crater Lake, here in southern Oregon. If you've never been there, I would say that it's worth your while to see it at least once in your lifetime. I first visited when I was 13 and never forgot the experience.

As you approach the top of the crater rim to get the first glimpse of the lake, the intense blue of the water takes the breath away.

Crater Lake is magical, like a large brilliant blue gem in the middle of a forested nowhere. The lake, formed from rain and snow over the past 7,700 years, is contained in the remnants of the volcano that is known as Mount Mazama. The lake is 6 miles wide and 1,943 feet deep. It is the deepest lake in the US, one of the deepest in the world. The sides of the crater are nearly vertical in most places.

The photos showing snow were taken mid-June; even that late in the early summer there were 10-foot snow drifts in places.

There are many forms of wildlife that migrate through the area, and those that are permanent residents. This beetle was very friendly, and very large! Anybody know what kind it is?

Running on Chipper-Time

Chipper, being the oldest member of his now-extended flock, has always been very clear about one thing: He’s in charge and he sets the day’s avian agenda.

He’s trained me very well. Since he can’t say everything in English, he uses the phrases he likes in order to tell me what he wants with varying intensity, emphasis, and volume. And he’s trained every other parrot in the house, except for Sam, to speak the same phrases in English. (Funny enough, he has refused to learn the word “NO.”)

Pippin the peach-faced lovebird fell under his spell soon after she came to live with me. She was hardly weaned and such a tiny being. At the time, we thought Pippin was a male (more later about the shocking discovery to the contrary). Most lovebirds don’t speak, and certainly females rarely speak. But not Pippin! Chipper had her saying the most important words of life: “Chipper!” and “Whatcha doin’ Chipper?” and “You be!” (shorthand for “You be good!”) For Pippin, Chipper could DO NO WRONG. (She has since come to see that Chipper in fact does have some shortcomings.)

Charlie No-Toe, under Chipper’s tutelage, speaks “Chipperese.” And sings, sings, sings. Rarely does Charlie imitate me anymore. No, if Chipper doesn’t say it, it isn’t worth repeating. Chipper doesn’t let on that he likes Charlie and has never called him by his name, but he’d be very sad indeed without Charlie’s company.

And so, I have three birds telling me at different times to “be good,” “see you later,” and they often ask me “whatcha doin’?” When I’m home, Chipper is always up for games and play, and will ask me “Do you wanna go?” – meaning, do you want to go chase me with my book? Or, if he feels especially daring, he may ask me, “Do you wanna go for a ride?” – meaning, do you want to let me sit on my book while you whisk me through the room?” And if Pippin is distressed about something, he will ask inquiringly, “What, Pippin?”

Bedtime is also another opportunity to be reminded that Chipper is in charge: he knows when he wants to go to bed and everyone feathered goes to bed at that time. He gets the nightly head-rub and then it’s: “Time to go to bed…Good night, little roo.” And so the day ends.

More Spring Finds

On my walk today, I came across numerous clumps of this pretty wild iris. It's called Yellow Flowered Iris (Iris chrysophylla). They were really quite striking amongst the dark green grasses and poison oak.

I took photos of other wildflowers, but they didn't turn out well.

However, how about this weird find? I would guess it's an oak gall in formation. Quite odd.








On the painting front, I've been steadily working away at the hawk painting. I've nearly finished the body. All that's left is the background (sounds trivial, but it's NOT!).

When it's completely done, I take it to Irelock Imaging for scanning and then I'll put it on my website and this blog. (I apologize for the darkness of the image - it's been overcast all the weekends I've worked on it, so the photos aren't very bright.) Then on to the next project....

Hope you all had a great weekend (and hopefully all three days of it, if you're reading this in the US).

Living with Deer.2

This painting "Waiting for Apples" was inspired by a family of deer that stick together most of the time (except at breeding and fawning times). After watching deer for five years from my front window, I’ve observed a lot of their life cycle and general and individual behaviors in these suburbanized deerfolk. It’s been utterly fascinating being able to see them up so close and observe nature in this way. Because they feel safe in this area, they feed, rest, groom each other, bask in the sun, and even sleep soundly – behaviors that we aren’t always able to see often. I never grow tired of watching and photographing them – and of course, painting them. (More paintings of the deer are planned in the future.)

I’ve mentioned before the story about the matriarch doe that broke her leg awhile ago. I call her “old Mamma.” She’s raised generations of deer, but she tends to stick with a specific daughter who seems to have learned most of her mother’s wisdom. I take it that she’s going to take on the matriarch role once her mother is gone.

Of all the does I’ve observed, old Mamma seems to continue caring for her daughter and her “granddeer.” At quiet times after they’ve eaten in the meadow next door, she’ll groom her daughter and the daughter’s fawns, even after they’ve grown. They’re a tight group, and that tightness seems to filter down through the generations in producing good mothers and proper behavior in the deer world.

The matriarch’s daughter is quite big in the belly right now, carrying twin fawns. Based on her pattern, I expect they should be arriving early June. When I see the fawns I will post photos of them for you to enjoy.

My front yard has become a part of their daily route for this family and they will often stare into my living room window because they know I’m a total softie. “Apples,” is the message they’re boring into my skull. It works. They always get the apple…

Hawk's Progress

Well, since the last post, I've finished one wing on this Ferruginous Hawk. It goes slowly, but am feeling good about my progress.

It is always an interesting and rewarding experience to paint something new. One of the side benefits to painting realistic representations is that I learn, yet again, how to see and observe differently than before: how feathers lay, how light filters through them, how the barbs of the feathers sit, how the amazing coloration -that may seem random at first - becomes a beautiful pattern.

Birds are fascinating to me, especially. They seem so reptilian in many ways. If you imagine them without feathers, you'd see plainly one of those fast-moving ancient dinosaurs that was so pesky in "Jurassic Park." Thankfully, the birds of our current world are not at all eager to eat us.

Speaking of dinosaurs, how about Sam, after bathing. Scary, huh?

Of Hawks and Brushes

In a previous post, I shared some images of eagles and an owl from my visit to Wildlife Images. There we also had the opportunity to see a Red-Tailed Hawk, a Ferruginous Hawk, and an Auger Buzzard. The owls shown to us were Barn Owl, Spotted Owl, and Great Horned Owl.

Here I’m showing a shot of a Red-Tailed Hawk. All the animals shown to us are simply magnificent. Being in their presence makes me want to save and protect any and all endangered animals everywhere. I know this isn’t possible, but I keep trying to think of ways to make some inroads, perhaps very small but at least moving in a positive direction.

Wildlife Images is doing what it can by caring for these animals that can no longer fly free, and by exposing them to the public. The education is successful because seeing these creatures inspires us to want to protect them. In turn, perhaps that respect and appreciation for nature we have gets passed on without words.

I just read an article in PsittaScene, published by the World Parrot Trust, about the current wild population of the Blue-throated Macaw in Bolivia. Only 80 individuals are known, though the number could be as high as 200. The article describes how a team of scientists and volunteers spent weeks, round-the-clock, observing and supplementing the diet of the baby hatchlings to reduce the mortality rate of this most-endangered macaw. Typically, only one of several babies survives each breeding season; the others die of starvation or predation. The mission was successful, boosting the world population by another 10 macaws. Such are the small victories when the odds are so large. (The native habitat of these macaws is not protected and is currently being used for cattle grazing.)

Lately, my thoughts go to: "How can I contribute when I don't have extra to spare? What can I do with my art?"

Well, I paint what I love and cherish. Currently I’m working on a watercolor of a Ferruginous Hawk, using wet and dry brush techniques. This is a shot taken of a small part of that painting that is still in its early stages. It is my hope that when it’s completed, some of you readers will like it enough to buy a print or some cards. This is how I've decided to help: a percentage of each sale – and that applies to any item you buy on my art site, original or print – will be donated to groups working to conserve and protect endangered species and their habitats.

I don’t know how you feel, but a world without birdsong and beating wings would be unthinkable.

Peony Time

It's peony time! And they are beautiful. This one grows in my front yard, and I'm grateful that the deer don't like eating them.

The fields nearby are still green but dotted with lavender flowers like lupine but more delicate - so very pleasing to the eye and spirit. There are strong odors of lilac wafting in the breeze. Summer is coming.

We thought it was here last weekend when temperatures nearly reached 100 degrees F. But today the high was in the 60s. My work boss had snow this morning at his higher elevation. That's spring in Oregon.

On the less showy and definitely less fragrant side, a volunteer garlic bulb is budding and is quite lovely in its own way.

And on a definitely stinky side, we have our resident skunk out on the prowl. I found him rooting through the grasses below my kitchen window very early in the morning, hoping to find black sunflower seeds that the wild birds did not eat.

Look how beautiful his tail is!

The Bird Who Came in from the Cold and Left in a Hurry

Morning ritual is: Get up, wash teeth and face, prepare fresh food and water for my parrots, raise their night covers, and let them sing!

This morning, I had only gotten to the washing-teeth stage and I heard a scrabbling of bird nails against metal. It did not sound like one of my birds' scrabblings. Hmmm. I wonder if it’s one of the resident skunks living under my house. I listen again. This time I investigate after the noise continues. As I enter the living room from where the sounds originate, I then hear frantic fluttering. Oh-ho!!! A bird of undetermined species is dashing himself against the glass-fronted fireplace hearth from inside the chimney. He’s desperate for release from his dark prison into which he fell – when, I wonder? Not earlier than dusk last night; more likely this morning, just before I woke up.

By now, Sam the Jardine’s Parrot, has freaked out and is making the same frantic noises inside his still-covered cage. He spooks easily if one of his other flock members frightens, and he clearly feels scared.

I lift his covers so he can at least see what’s happening. The other flock members start commenting (in English) about the rude and unusual awakening. They are still under cover themselves. “Whatcha doing?” “Hm?” “You be!!!” (Pippin’s abbreviation for “You be good!”) - and other assorted peeps, chirps, squawks in a questioning/affronted tone….etc.

I’ve managed to open the front door wide and keep the blinds closed in the living room. I’m hoping that the bird thrashing at the bottom of the fireplace will seek first whatever light source he sees. I open the glass cover to the hearth and, like a bat out of hell, Mr. Incognito Bird zooms at high speed to the open door and is gone.

All I see is a blur. It’s a medium-sized bird. My suspicion is that it’s one of the two baby scrub jays that have been around the house being fed by their over-worked parents. They are fully fledged and eating for themselves, but they are still obviously clumsy and new to the dangers of large dark holes on the roof. And they are incautiously curious.

Sam calms down after being removed from his cage with kisses, the other flock members don’t even know what happened and are ready for anything, and a lovely sunny day begins after a pre-breakfast adventure! [I planned to insert some photos here, but Blogger won't upload photos tonight...]

Pennywhistles of the Low-D Kind

I mentioned in the last post that I’d fallen in love with the warm, rich sound of the low-D pennywhistle. Since most Celtic music is written in the keys of D and G, most standard pennywhistles are keyed to D. However, many whistle makers make them in other keys. Kelischek’s Workshop for Folk Instruments makes them in many keys for both standard (higher pitched) and low whistles. They even go so far as to provide keys (like those used on transverse flutes) to enable folks with small hands to reach the holes on low whistles. These are relatively inexpensive and made of ABS plastic. (Although tin pennywhistles used to cost a penny, that was a loooong time ago. Low whistles can range from reasonable to very expensive, depending on materials used, who makes them, how they’re made, etc.)

Small hands have no problem managing all 7 holes of the standard higher-pitched pennywhistle. But once you begin pitching the whistle lower, the holes are spaced further and further apart which also lengthens the instrument itself. Believe me, keys are essential for small hands! I have three whistles: A Sweetheart whistle of blackwood in low D, and a Susato in low D and low C. You can see in this photo of my Susatos that the difference in height between a low C and a low D – just one pitch difference - is 3 inches! The low C requires 3 keys to play.

There are a couple of down-sides to having keys:

1.They have to be correctly seated and pressed firmly in order to prevent any air leakage, or the notes will not play true and in tune.

2. It is not possible to sharpen a note by covering it halfway with a finger, since the keypad covers the entire hole.

However, Susato’s keys are well-seated, and it is possible to buy whistles of different keys from them at not too great a cost. Neither of these issues has caused me problems since I just play for myself most of the time. The Susato whistles are also very lightweight, so if you have arm weakness (as in fibromyalgia or other arm/shoulder conditions), these are much easier to play.

I love Irish slow airs but also play lots of lively whimsical tunes (try “Empty Wallet Waltz”), with my parrots listening in. There are times they have a hard time settling down for the night. If I start playing slower airs, they’ll quickly calm down and go to sleep.

But sometimes it’s great fun to accompany other musicians. I had the opportunity to play my whistle with my mother and her friend Clifford – both avid ukulele players – who play the old standards and have tons of fun doing so. We went to the park and set up. When they had a tune in the right key for me, I played right along with them. Try it some time! Whistles are easy to learn, easy to transport, and inexpensive. It’s taken me only a few months to get fairly nimble around the sound holes. It can be rollicking fun with other people, and very satisfying to play for oneself.

Pennywhistles Are a Good Thing

Last fall, my best friend decided – after years of being thwarted as a child – to Follow Her Dream: learn to play the trumpet. And she now has her Yamaha trumpet. It’s not an easy instrument to play, from what she tells me. But she really enjoys it. A side benefit that she was not expecting is that it has expanded her lungs, exercised them, and brought much better respiratory circulation for her (she has asthma). She has developed much greater resilience and stamina.

That got me to thinking about my instrumental quandary: I’ve played the piano as a kid, and I love it. But it’s not a practical instrument to tote around on a whim. A guitar is much better for portability, but it’s not the easiest to master nor can it be blown into for improvement of the airways, the latter consideration being a real draw for me as well.

I investigated playing a flute, going so far as to rent one from the local music shop. I loved the sound! But it wrecked my neck and my hands. For me the transverse flute is an instrument of torture.

I had narrowed my selection to some type of wind instrument that I could play face forward with arms and hands in a more natural position. Clarinet? Saxaphone? Tuba? Recorder? I did a lot of web sleuthing. Then I stumbled upon Sweetheart Flute Co, which is run by Ralph Sweet and his son, who hand turn and produce wooden Irish flutes and pennywhistles. I did not care for the high pitch of standard pennywhistles. But then I listened to the sound sample for the low-D pennywhistle, and it was LOVE at first listen. Rich, warm, full. Oooh!

I HAD to get myself a low-D pennywhistle. And I did! And little did I know that this love affair had begun much earlier. I happened to come across a photo of me when I was 13, playing a standard pennywhistle. I had forgotten that - it wasn't the greatest period in my life. Well, good things always do manage to come around again. And they have. I will share more of my experiences with the low-D pennywhistle in future blog entries. “Stay tuned,” as they say….in this case, in the key of D.

The Saga of Charlie No-Toe & a Demented Thyroid

The May 14, 08 post in Parrot Musings blog reminded me of Charlie No-Toe (named by my father because he lacks a toe). He came to my home when I wasn’t planning on adding a fourth parrot to my flock. This little gray cockatiel had been given to my Dad as a birthday gift. Charlie was store-bought and had never been handfed, so he was not tame. Judging by the wild bird calls he sang, I suspect he’d been raised outside in an aviary.

Unfortunately, being apart from his aviary mates and being all alone for the first time in his life seemed to shock Charlie into a catatonic state. All he would do is sit in front of his feed dish all day long and occasionally screech when he heard wild birds outside – probably in a desperate attempt to connect to his old flock. He was also malnourished.

I borrowed him from my Dad for awhile to see how he’d do with my flock of three. All were indifferent, as I guess Charlie’s wildness and lack of interaction marked him as different from what they were used to. So I placed Charlie’s cage next to me and talked to him whenever I was home. He liked the sound of my voice and began sitting closer to me. He was still quite in shock, though. Gradually, he began screeching as well as singing his wild bird songs that nearly drove me and my then-roommate crazy. That singing would in turn drive our other birds nuts as well. It would stir them up so that it was hard to think at home.

The situation escalated so much that I felt I had to give him up. I found a reputable, recommended refuge 2 ½ hours north that rehomed parrots, I made the arrangements, and then planned the trip. At the time I was experiencing a debilitating recurrence of Grave’s Disease (hyperthyroidism – and I mean, everything was hyper!) and was trying to avoid radioactive ablation or surgery by taking an anti-thyroid medication. But it wasn’t going well and I was starting to feel odd.

My roommate and I made the trip and brought him to the rescue place. The birds were truly well cared-for, but my heart had already been sinking with every mile we got closer to the rescue. And when I said goodbye to Charlie and he responded by singing a little whistle he had learned from me, my heart broke!

By the time I got home, two realizations

occurred: I had begun itching here and there on the drive home, until by the time I got home that evening, I’d broken out in a royal case of hives caused by the powerful drug I was taking; and I had burst into tears for the error I’d made in giving up Charlie. It was just wrong, wrong, wrong.

After a heart-to-heart talk with my roommate who hadn’t realized how attached I’d grown to Charlie, she nobly volunteered to make the long drive again to pick up Charlie and bring him home, since by that time I was one huge hive and could not be counted on to do anything but itch. By the time Charlie returned, I was in a virtual hell of discomfort; and Charlie was totally exhausted from his adventure. Benadryl numbed my itching a little, and Charlie and I, side by side, slept off and on for 2 days. It took a week for the hives to fully recede, and a full year for Charlie to blossom and become friends with Chipper. Charlie had come home to stay for good, and my crazed thyroid gland left home for good, surgically-speaking...

Living with Deer.1

I love animals. I love them so much that sometimes I think they know I’ll be there for them when they get into trouble.

We have a constant presence of Pacific blacktail deer here in the small town where I live. They amble about freely in the lawns and gardens of people who have bowed to the inevitable: deer eat what’s in gardens unless you fence them out. They are loved, cherished even, by most. They cross the streets – usually at a leisurely pace – and for the most part, they survive very well. They’ve adapted to living with people. I’ve watched many generations of deer traipse through my postage-stamp front lawn.

I’ve watched as does swell with pregnancy begun in the cold of winter,

I’ve cheered the mammas as they lead their fawns’ debut into the world, I’ve watched the antics of older fawns cavorting in the empty lot next door, I’ve seen the young bucks develop antler buds, and admired the full racks of the breeding bucks.

I’ve also watched the small tragedies unfold. Some turn into triumphs, and sometimes we just lose some members of the population. I know that’s normal, but when you get to know families and can recognize the buck who broke his leg last summer and live to walk into another year; or the wise doe who keeps raising beautiful healthy fawns, it sure hurts to see any of them in trouble.

Three years ago last August, I drove up to my house after work, and the matriarch doe of my group was patiently lying in my front yard for me. These deer are totally wild and do not stick around if you’re close. But since she didn’t spring away, I saw something was wrong: a broken hind leg. She needed help with food. It was dry and food resources were getting sparse. So I spent the rest of the summer supplementing her food with apples and grain from the local grange. I worried she would not last through the very cold winter we had that year. But she survived! She’s got a large lumpy spot where the break healed, and the break didn’t heal totally straight.

But three years later, with more gray around the muzzle and more raggedy edges around the ears, she’s still going strong. She favors the leg in intense cold, and doesn’t jump on it unless she has to. But she can when she needs to. She won, through her smarts, lots of luck, and maybe a little help from a friend.

Pippin the Lovebird Creates Art

This little parrot is a peach-faced lovebird named Pippin. She is over 6 years old and became my second parrot buddy after Chipper came to my home.

Though she is tiny, she packs a lot inside her small body. Really, I think she's more intelligent than any of the other "Gang of Four" parrots I have!

She is by far the most artistic.

Pippin, like all birds, needs to have a job, to be busy. Boredom and lack of stimulation is the worst thing for birds - and for humans, for that matter.

One day after work, I came home to greet her and found her staring up at me with great pleasure at what she'd created.

This is a piece of coyote bush wood which has lots of holes. Pippin had proceeded to very precisely stick pieces of straw, bits of shredded paper, and fabric into the holes. See how carefully she did this work?

I am still amazed by what she created!

Chipper: Booklover & Literary Critic

Chipper learned quickly to speak English, his name being the first word, with variations: Chipperoo, Roo, etc.

He also loves to whistle, and has developed what I call his "signature song" - a catchy little ditty he created and sings when he's extremely happy and wants to be admired (which is most of the time).

But BOOKS are Chipper’s greatest passion. For a booklover, this is very gratifying. When Chipper was very young, I would often read a book with him on my shoulder. He observed that books seemed to draw a lot of my attention and that therefore, they must be important and very desirable. He began climbing down to the hand holding the book and croon and whistle to the book. Eventually, his passion got the best of him and he would begin “digesting” the book by chewing on the paper edges. Once I had the idea he liked books so much, I began giving him his own books from the baby picture book section of the bookstore. He had gotten through to me. He sang like he’d been given the key to heaven!

Currently, Chipper’s reading preference is Sandra Boynton’s Going to Bed Book, though he recently found the Magic Tree House series quite intriguing. He has also dipped into the Biscuit series books and still has a tattered copy of one of them. Nevertheless, Boynton’s book remains an all-time favorite that he keeps going back to, even after owning other stimulating books over the years. He’s gone through 4 of them in the last year. He even sleeps on an old cut-down version. I place it through the slats of his cage before he goes to bed, and he hops on it where he sleeps all night. Bedtime would not be the same without his book to sleep on. (You have to understand that parrots of all types are creatures of habit just like we are.)

He’s so attached to his book of choice that I have to bring it with him to the vet for routine visits. He won’t get out of his cage without his book. It’s his version of the Linus blanket/best playtoy of all.

My life with Chipper has never been dull.

Chipper of Chipper's Alley

Seven years ago, Chipper came to me as a very outgoing young cockatiel who had a strong drive to fearlessly explore everything around him. It’s hard to believe how much personality and cheer was wrapped up in that little bundle of feathers, but he became the center of my home, and still is.

I only had parakeets when I was younger and never really understood them to be small parrots. Cockatiels are also parrots that form large flocks in their native Australia. They are much larger than parakeets and experience an amazingly wide range of emotions, sensitivities, and a capacity for unbelievable antics and mischief. When raised with humans as young birds, they bond easily to their human companions, and with good care can live up to 20 years.

I learned quickly how intelligent and responsive these parrots are as I began to interact with Chipper daily. Being handfed as a baby, he was bonded with humans and expected only love and affection from them. He was one of those fortunate fellows who had never known a human to let him down or act inimically toward him. He still has the same trust as he had as a baby and always wakes up with a cheerful attitude.

What I learned is that Chipper is a sentient little being who is bursting with character, fearless to explore his surroundings, and always eager to express himself in song and chatter (in English) when he's happy. When I was young and had parakeets, I enjoyed and loved them, finger-trained one and became quite attached to one. But I had never tried to really understand what they might need from me. After all, caging birds is unnatural and can be very oppressive if they are left without sufficient stimulation, interaction, and good nutrition.

So Chipper fast became a very important part of my life. He was not just a pretty bird – an object to watch and laugh at – he remains my little companion and a joy. You will learn more about his literary pursuits in the next post.

(Mischief!: Chipper investigating my art paper with Charlie in backgound watching Chipper's tail for a fast get-away.)

An Outing on the Wild Side - continued

This is Clark, the resident cougar at Wildlife Images. He is not tame and you would not want to be stuck in the same cage with him!

Clark lives in a very large open enclosure which fronts a small landscaped area where keepers would bring other mammals for showing to the photographers. Clark was extremely interested in Nub, the American badger. ("Mmmm, just my size. He'd make a lovely supper...")





Here is a shot of Nub, doing what he'd prefer to do all the time: root around in the foliage and dirt. (He was named Nub because his tail is shorter than usual.)

We also were able to see the bear enclosures. One one side are the Grizzly Bears. They are absolutely gigantic - monumental - especially when they rear up, putting on a show for spectators as a way to elicit food. I never got a decent shot of the bears, so I don't show them here. But one day I'll get one.


A Eurasian Lynx stands on the tree log here. He is definitely bonded strongly to his keeper. His name is Nikki. This photo was taken last fall. Since that time, he has developed an irreverisble kidney disease that will eventually claim his life. (It seems it was inherited through his line.) Now he spends much of his time in his cage, but when his keeper approaches him, you can hear Nikki's unbelievably loud purring many feet away. He's quite beautiful. He may act like an overgrown pussycat with his keeper, but he's still wild.


Last, but never least: a Timber Wolf. There are three at Wildlife Images, and all of them beautiful animals with quite different personalities. This is the alpha male.



I hope you've enjoyed just a little of the wildness that still exists here. It's quite an experience to see it so close and to also realize how fragile the world environment is for most wild creatures.

An Outing on the Wild Side

Last month, I went on an "Artists Tour" to Wildlife Images in Merlin, Oregon. This is a wildlife rehabilitation and education center since 1981. The tour was organized by an amazing wildlife artist Olivia Schemansky who, with her husband and two artist daughters, own and run Irelock Imaging (where I have my artwork scanned and reproduced).

Lots of local artists take advantage of the opportunity to see and photograph wildlife. These photographs are valuable for reference shots for future art projects. All the proceeds from the tour go directly to Wildlife Images, which is doing a great job educating young people about wildlife and the need to conserve and protect it.

I'd like to share a few shots from a recent tour.

The first part of each tour begins with a line-up of various raptors. Wildlife Images rehabilitates and returns as many injured or lost animals it can. But sometimes the injury is too great for a release to the wild; or the animal may have been bonded to humans and unable to fend for itself. In these cases, the animals become valuable tenants of the center for educating the public.


Above is a Bald Eagle; below is a Golden Eagle.


Magnificent, aren't they? They're hefty birds, weighing between 7-11 pounds. I felt for the keeper holding these birds at arms-length so we could get good photographs!

There were also quite a few owls. The Barn Owl shown above was intently watching a rat scurry by, nearly under his perch (he was jessed and unable to pursue).

In a future post, I'll show you some shots of mammals that are housed at this fascinating and beautiful spot in the mountains of Southern Oregon.

Spring on the Home Front

It's been a lovely spring - if not extremely changeable weather-wise. One day it's 80 degrees F, the next day it hails.

I'm very fortunate to live near miles of protected woodlands. A couple of trails are my favorites. Ever since the weather improved in early March, I've been walking these paths each weekend, noting the changing cycles of wildflowers.





Early spring brought these ethereal Fawn Lilies (Erythronium hendersonii)








And carpets of Shooting Stars (Dodecatheon hendersonii).





Then there were clumps of blue-eyed Hounds Tongue (Cynoglossum grande).











By the beginning of April, most of the Fawn Lilies were gone, and the Shooting Stars were fading. Then the wild fritillaries began popping up amongst the bright red new leaves of poison oak. There are two that