Kadi
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Viewing 7 posts - 1 through 7 (of 7 total)
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@Jean This image of the snakes guarding the nest really captures my imagination. I don't understand why there were there - was it symbiotic? Were they feeding on the parasites around the nest? Or were they there to eat the young? The relationship between owls and snakes is so intriguing.
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@Nemo Thank you! It was a pleasure to be able to spend time with this ferocious family.
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@Patience Thank you! We live in Bryce Canyon National Park.
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This summer a clutch of Northern pygmy owls hatched near our cabin! I went out in the mornings to try to observe them - they seemed to be eating up the entire forest - birds, short-horned lizards, and rodents. I counted six of them at one time. The size of the fly on the owl's head really drives home how tiny these little guys are.
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I found this beauty in the woods the other day, dead, but intact, and decided to memorialize the specimen for my watercolor exercise. It's interesting to analyze the moth next to the finished painting to see where colors were most accurate/inaccurate.
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Drawing this bird brought up a memory: Last year, I rented an old gas station in rural Utah to use as an art studio. I bought a small kiln for firing ceramic sculptures and set it up on the concrete floor of the main room, where they once sold candy bars and heat-radiated hot dogs. Since kiln firing took between 12-14 hours, I had a habit of loading it up at night and then camping behind the building in the back of my truck. One of those mornings, waking up at dawn to the sound of the neighbors letting out their horses, I went inside to check on the status of the kiln. It had completed the firing cycle, but still needed time to cool down prior to unloading. I decided to take the opportunity to stroll down to the trucker cafe for some watery coffee and a breakfast burrito. On my way back, I came upon an unmoving yellow bird laying on the sidewalk. It was still alive, so I cradled it to my chest and brought it back to the gas station, where I called my birder sister for advice. We identified the bird as a yellow warbler. She told me that it was possibly in shock, and the best thing to do would be to keep it warm and hope for a revival. Luckily, the lid of the kiln was the perfect temperature for bringing birds back to life, or so I hoped. I made a small bed out of plastic tupperware and an old shirt, and snuggled my unresponsive patient into the recovery room atop the kiln. I spent the next hour in a state of worry, periodically peeking in at this sweet and brilliantly-colored new friend. In time, the bird righted itself into a sitting position and began to blink. When it seemed ready, I brought it outside for release. It seemed as though the bird sat perched on my finger for a long time before suddenly taking flight to an elm tree. Sweet sweet sweet she's so sweet, I thought. May she be singing today.
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Reading old journal notes of small, forgotten nature memories brings me so much pleasure. I signed up for this course as a way to gift my future self these moments of joy, as well as to honor all of the ecological tidings that I spend so much time appreciating. Thanks for setting up the course, Liz!
Drawing this bird brought up a memory: Last year, I rented an old gas station in rural Utah to use as an art studio. I bought a small kiln for firing ceramic sculptures and set it up on the concrete floor of the main room, where they once sold candy bars and heat-radiated hot dogs. Since kiln firing took between 12-14 hours, I had a habit of loading it up at night and then camping behind the building in the back of my truck. One of those mornings, waking up at dawn to the sound of the neighbors letting out their horses, I went inside to check on the status of the kiln. It had completed the firing cycle, but still needed time to cool down prior to unloading. I decided to take the opportunity to stroll down to the trucker cafe for some watery coffee and a breakfast burrito. On my way back, I came upon an unmoving yellow bird laying on the sidewalk. It was still alive, so I cradled it to my chest and brought it back to the gas station, where I called my birder sister for advice. We identified the bird as a yellow warbler. She told me that it was possibly in shock, and the best thing to do would be to keep it warm and hope for a revival. Luckily, the lid of the kiln was the perfect temperature for bringing birds back to life, or so I hoped. I made a small bed out of plastic tupperware and an old shirt, and snuggled my unresponsive patient into the recovery room atop the kiln. I spent the next hour in a state of worry, periodically peeking in at this sweet and brilliantly-colored new friend. In time, the bird righted itself into a sitting position and began to blink. When it seemed ready, I brought it outside for release. It seemed as though the bird sat perched on my finger for a long time before suddenly taking flight to an elm tree. Sweet sweet sweet she's so sweet, I thought. May she be singing today.
Viewing 7 posts - 1 through 7 (of 7 total)