You Are Here

May 28, 2023

Sunrise, May 22, 2023

I love the grove where the pawpaw trees sprawl out under the canopy. This year they seem to be noticeably bigger and heartier than before. A good year for them, with a cool spring, or maybe they just grew when I wasn’t watching. Life seems to happen that way. I love this particular patch, just a tiny portion of a long trail, and not for any reason I can explain.

Perhaps I just love how they continue to stake their claim, pushing out even the honeysuckle. Perhaps I love how they make space for other things to thrive in their shadow, like the bluebells and the tiny violets. Perhaps I love that they play host to the gorgeous zebra swallowtails. Perhaps I love their shape, which reminds me of a long, lazy summer afternoon and also of the warm arms of a grandmother’s hug. They are impossible to photograph in a way that does them justice and maybe that adds to their magic.

Pawpaw leaves were the best I could do!

Perhaps I just love the playful name, pawpaw, which seems to conjure playful memories of grand “pas” by its sound. I see my Grandpa Keeton walking with his big safari hat - at least that’s what I called it. The wide-brimmed hat, solid enough you could knock on it that he wore all the time. I don’t think you can buy those anymore and anyway I don’t know what it’s called. I see him walking through his garden, picking corn or blackberries or just as likely getting us to do some picking too. I see my Grandpa Davis making silly faces, eating ketchup on snow as we dared him to do, and grinning while saying, “just don’t tell your grandmother”. Pawpaws and grandpas make me smile.

Baby bluebirds also make me smile

Today the pawpaws spread their huge leaves as red-eyed vireos dart in and out. An acadian flycatcher sings his “teacup, teacup” song and blue-gray gnatcatchers flutter about in the canopy overhead. Today the pawpaws tell me that migration was yesterday and now is the time to nest. Wrens, tanagers, cardinals and orioles are zipping back and forth with food or gathering feathers to line their nests. Some birds still sing, but the chorus is softer with more gaps in between and less fervent as the mating has been done.

Mr. Acadian flycatcher still singing his “teacup” song with gusto. I love how birds sing with their whole body.

Baltimore oriole gathering nesting material.

I want to write the stories of migration, the ones I didn’t have time to write amid the flurry of it all but it seems the storyteller has moved on as well. She is fascinated with the butterflies that have appeared almost from nowhere, the swallows picking feathers off the water, and the young great-blue herons that seem to be everywhere all at once. I suppose we always tell the story from the moment we are in, and yet here were the memories of my grandfathers. Time is a weird creature, not following the laws that govern most of nature.

I thought the cedar waxwings were building a nest, but they were actually stealing material from an existing nest and taking it high in the trees.

One of the many young blue herons out and about. Notice his brown coloring, dark upper bill and no white on his head - plus a little fluffy white feather sticking out by his tail.

So today, perhaps the photos are slightly out of sync with the story. Perhaps the stories will come too, in time, at least the ones worth telling. Or maybe the photos tell their own story, like a parallel thread that says I am here, but I was also there, and maybe that’s as natural as it gets. My storyteller certainly works on her own schedule, not bothering to consult the writer on her plans. I am here in this moment, living a linear life while the storyteller is free to weave in and out of time in whatever way suits her best. She is not deterred by the stack of unprocessed photos and the limitations of the hours in the day. Ah, to have that kind of freedom!

I guess today we have a writing section - and a photo section! Works for me, apparently works for the storyteller too:

I’m not sure what was going on here but I suspect it was some kind of nesting or mating dispute. (barn swallows)

As you can see, it was a full-contact dispute! (As far as I could tell, no birdie was injured.)

This first-year summer tanager was really trying hard to stake out a territory! Definitely an undeterred teenager!

The red-eyed vireos are still singing too - and I don’t often get a decent shot of that red eye!

The pop-up flowers are a softer side of spring.

The ducks and geese shed their feathers just in time for the swallows to swoop them up and line their nests. Nature’s timing is perfect. Perhaps the storyteller’s timing is perfect too.

Wild rose blossom

Whatever your week holds, I wish you moments of joy and beauty. Take good care friends.