Saturday, March 07, 2026
Mostly, my mornings begin quietly, but here in Oregon’s high desert, no early hours are ever completely silent.
First, I hear not-too-distant highway sounds from early traffic. Sometimes, too, a hospital helicopter thunders overhead. They’re normal sounds, reminding me that a larger world is already awake. Most of my mornings begin that way—with everyday noises easily tucking themselves into the back of my mind.
But early on, and also this morning, something finer arrives—a feeling—a sort of country silence. Oddly so, since there’s never any real silence. I’ve tuned out distant and overhead noise, but from somewhere in the nearby trees I hear birds calling—already busy—their calls breaking the air from various heights and directions. I love seeing birds and always look for them, but they’re mostly invisible.
Depending on the hour, even the most common birds are nearly impossible for me to spot. The mature junipers all around may help deflect their sounds just enough to make locating them difficult. Many mornings with my camera at the ready have proved that the noisiest birds can remain completely hidden from me.
It’s very early as I walk downhill toward the barn. I’m distracted from the usual silence breakers by my dogs—fenced, though that hardly makes a difference—now racing along the fence line beside me, all three determinedly escorting my morning travel.
The horses notice me and greet me with the quiet acknowledgment horses show to those who feed them. I pause and say hello, enjoying their eagerness for apple pieces from my pocket. Before long, I hear turkey greetings—Lacey’s special whistle-like, unique sounds. They delight me.
After these first moments, I pause and pay attention to this morning’s weather by looking west toward the Cascade Mountains. They announce what’s happening now and hint at the weather ahead. This Central Oregon winter has been strange—too warm and too dry. This morning, clouds obscure all but the mountain tops, making me think that sprinkles might fall soon.
Weather watching matters for anyone who keeps large animals. Weather isn’t just background—it’s everything. It determines what work must be done and how to do it, all for the comfort of the animals. Years here have taught me to look as far ahead as possible, thinking about seasonal impacts. For me, that includes wondering about hay prices when harvesting time arrives. Drought conditions can make hay scarce—hard to find and expensive when it does appear.
After years of experience, I expect most mornings to begin the same way. First I listen. Then I look. Finally, I assess what today—and tomorrow—might offer, searching for hints of what lies ahead.
Until tomorrow’s change—when Daylight Saving Time returns—one hour’s difference, blowing holes in early perceptions.
— Diana
Diana's Morning Blog 