Thursday, May 06, 2021  (20 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

My couple of small well-established freshwater aquariums are populated with gentle fish. They’re such as White Cloud Mountain minnows, Harlequin rasboras, Kuhli loaches, and one has a pleco that hides and keeps growing. Each tank also house a couple of snails and in each is a male Beta.

Betas, both females and males, display often and spectacularly in a community tank. These are my current boys, and unfortunately, capturing the blue in all his glory isn’t easy, but his photo suggests the possibilities.

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These tanks have been active several years, are pretty, and best, the creatures get along. During the pandemic lockdown, I toyed with wanting to learn more about creatures of the deep and became intensely interested in octopuses. An octopus requires a large salt water tank, so instead, I settled on aquatic frogs, because they’re gentle little beings, and decided to add one to each tank.

That’s when I learned that one doesn’t just buy a frog, one adopts a frog. It’s the real thing, completing adoption papers, promising to adhere to care standards, and all else associated to adopting a living being. It’s because frogs are air breathers. The aquatic types hang out on bottom for long periods, periodically scooting to water’s top, grabbing a breath, and zip-returning to bottom.

My tiny weird-looking pet frogs are difficult to capture in a photograph.

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These photos, which don’t capture their colors, show each reflected in aquaria glass. As is typical, Blue’s hanging out on the bottom, and White’s shooting up for a gasp. Actually, they’re cute and fun to watch.

Like all frogs, aquaria types can leap, and bigly. I understand they also are escape artists. Early on I learned how quickly one can disappear, for while transferring one into my tank, it made a big jump, got past my hand and landed on the tile floor. Luckily, I recaptured the creature without harming it.

I’m glad we can feel somewhat more free than during last year’s lockdown days. Otherwise, I’d probably already have begun setting up and establishing a large saltwater tank. I’d be searching for an octopus.

Dear Friends: Knowing what you do, and if one could start over, do you wonder what you’d study? Diana

Wednesday, May 05, 2021 (Cinco de Mayo + 21 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

I’m watching a South Korean series currently streaming on Netflix. “Navirrela” tells the story of a 70-year-old man, a retired postal letter carrier, who strives to fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming a ballet dancer. Without any dancing experience, he has specific wishes, “to learn how to soar” and to dance in a production of “Swan Lake”.

We shake our heads, for he looks his age. He shuffles while walking, worries about aging, and has zero physical potential.

This old man happens upon a 23-year-old, practicing a routine in preparation for a ballet competition. The old man’s eyes light up on seeing the other perform a complex series of twists and leaps. Afterwards, he collars the young man, begging for instruction in beginning ballet.

This seemingly implausible plot, in Korean with subtitles, has had me wondering, had me laughing, and had me in tears. It’s a captivating series about social and family complexities, about aging and hope, and about conflicting interpersonal issues. Above all, it’s about how new relationships may develop, and how they may change over time.

To me, the entire cast was new. Playing the 70-year-old, a wonderful lead actor, Park In-Hwan, an experienced and well recognized South Korean, is sensational in his role. The young man who’s an aspiring competition dancer is Song Kang, usually a dramatic actor. For this role, he spent months learning ballet, is athletic and dances convincingly. The large supporting cast of family and community members complete the fine ensemble.

Currently, this series consists only of one season, but another is on the way. I’ve found tuning into this story to be a worthwhile experience.

Dear Friends: Foreign-sourced series, beyond story and talent teach much about the larger world. Diana

Tuesday, May 04, 2021 (22 days before May’s full “Flower Moon” rises nearest to earth)

Here in Central Oregon skies change as constantly and unpredictably as the weather may vary. My little ranch near the eastern base of the Cascades offers easy viewing of the complex profile of an ancient volcano. Known as Broken Top, its collapsed center creates a magnetic profile that becomes altered in appearance with every weather shift.

Broken Top demands attention.

Yesterday, low-laying clouds capped and slightly obliterated Broken Top’s profile. In fact, only its moodiness was the bit of Cascades showing through massive cloudiness. I couldn’t stop looking and wondering what it might be like to be on Broken Top, and studying contours from a horse’s back.

This season, and hopefully not just my imagination, Broken Top’s appearances alter from previous years. For example lately, when its sharp peaks and edges are set against an almost unclouded sky of very light blue, they’ve seemed unusually prominent.

This photo shows the mountain framed by an almost neutral background, a vision differing from today’s header photo and compelling equally.

I didn’t intend this morning to write about Broken top, but as usual slipped under its spell.

My plan was to respond to another inspiration. Yesterday, as my Cockatoo and hound dog received their annual health care, I admired beautiful plantings that punctuated the veterinary clinic and took photographs.

My property is on the town’s very east side where it’s far less moist and much more rocky. It’s very desert-like. My views of mountains this time of year are fabulous, but early spring makes me thirsty to see vibrant ground-life and natural colors.

This season, I’ll be more free than usual. Maybe I’ll try to create and maintain a little patch resembling these.

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Dear Friends: Removing oneself from living among lushness feeds a searching for tropicality. Diana

Monday, May 03, 2021 (23 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises nearest to earth)

Yesterday, I posted on Facebook the above photo of Peaches and me out walking. Our long-time friend, Karen McCarthy, posted about an afternoon several years ago when Peaches and I visited her Madras Greenhouse. On that day, I captured this much-loved, “Peaches In The Greenhouse”.

Peaches has been more on my mind, because our veterinarian today will trim his flight wings. Right now, Peaches is fully-feathered, capable of flight, but doesn’t realize this. He rides dependably on my shoulders as we walk outside, but a sudden fright causing a fluttering could take him airborne.

We’re prepared for today’s veterinary visit. Peaches has a travel cage, loves it, and inside sings and dances, but it’s been months since last we used it. Yesterday, we practiced to be sure he’s still comfortable about entering and exiting. Here’s that genuine pro.

In response to my Facebook posting yesterday, another friend who’s long known Peaches wondered if he’s still noisy as ever. Yes! is the simple answer. Here he’s upside down, giving me earfuls about being asked to take a real shower. He best loves spray baths.

Aside from making too much noise, Peaches is fun, to play with or simply to watch.

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From a past walk, this is one of my favorites. Peaches is admiring crafty neighbor’s artwork.

Peaches isn’t my home’s only bird resident. He has a quiet buddy, Gilbert, a gorgeous rescued racing pigeon.

Gil is lovely, a peaceful, easy-care fellow. Soon, I’ll write more and about both these birds, because I’m devising for each an aviary.

It’s long bothered me that in warm weather each should have more outside time in safety from predators. My research finds it mega-expensive to build an aviary from scratch or to purchase a ready-made. But guess what, portable dog crates possibly might be solutions. For gentle Gilbert, such a container could be perfect. But Peaches needs caging fabric strong enough to withstand his always inquiring, destructive beak. We’ll practice, stay tuned.

Dear Friends: Inside birds are eye-openers, every personality has amazing intelligence and awareness. Diana

Sunday, May 02, 2021 (24 days before April’s full “Flower Moon” rises nearest to earth)

My resident Robin, I’m sure, because for the last week or so, a particularly active and noisy one has been working or hanging around the northeast part of my house. Anytime I approach that corner, the bird begins flittering busily from treetop to treetop, watching and chattering, probably because of a nest nearby.

I love Robins, plentiful and loyal residents year-around. I like to think of them as the “Border Collies of birds”. It’s because of the way that Robins commonly hunt on the ground. They remain still for long moments while listening for a prey’s movement, and suddenly will go into action–zooming and pouncing before flying to a fresh hunting spot.

Robins resemble Border Collies because of each has an instinct to fixate intently on a goal or an object. Each will freeze and wait for a right moment before zipping wholeheartedly into action. Looking closely, I almost see a Robin’s head tilt to listen, and it’s absolutely mesmerizing to witness an unwavering Border Collie’s focus and intent.

My Border Collie, Miles, wants nothing more than to be a herding dog. After years and to this day, when he follows as I ride horseback, I’m continually admonishing Miles to “get away”, “beat it”, “quit trying to herd my horse”. The horses reasonably are tolerant, but if too annoyed will kick out.

The more a challenge becomes, the more this dedicated herder tries to meet it.

His thick and beautiful coat will go bye-bye in a couple of weeks. His groomer will reduce seriously the current coat, matted, dried-mud heavy, and impenetrable, transforming Miles into looking like a plush toy. So, a future photo op will capture the “pure focus effect” emanating directly from a plush toy. That’ll be a sight.

Dear Friends: It’s fascinating that mixed types share so many similarities and tendencies. Diana

Saturday, May 01, 2021 (25 days before April’s full “Flower Moon” rises nearest to earth)

I felt these deer unblinkingly watch me raise a camera and point it to them. I also felt wonder that the deer seemed to be communicating, weren’t eager to turn and bolt. Well, there’s good old camera-truth that proves the photographer’s sense off, for both deer were focused elsewhere.

I love seeing wild deer roam over Eight Pines Ranch, or just hanging around grazing. My dogs warn that deer are passing through, usually a small herd that’s fun to see and not disturb. If I miss a passing, hoof images are appealing. Often on seeing me, deer will turn and move away, but sometimes they pause like these pictured.

Deer usually travel through Eight Pines in herds of anywhere from three or four, to ten or twelve. Groups are of one gender but for rutting season, or when there’s a baby buck still traveling with mom.

Every herd member is hyperalert to possible intrusions. Our local types, “mule deer”, have ears big and practical. Perhaps the pictured gals didn’t hurry from my camera, were relaxed enough to gaze elsewhere, because one of their companions was the designated watcher and poised to run.

When I first moved to Central Oregon, deer paraded almost-unendingly through my place. Their well-beaten trails host the now-fewer migrating deer. The animals are being displaced by rapidly-growing human populations. The local, formerly abundant, wild properties are becoming covered by new, very-densely situated, home and business structures.

Ever more and more, I relish deer-glimpses. In several short years the city will expand eastward, and new buildings will consume this neighborhood. Quickly, local deer crossings will become history.

Dear Friends: Contemporary history is a too-rapid process, we can watch change and predict impact. Diana

Friday, April 30, 2021 (26 days before May’s full “Flower Moon” appears at its fullest)

Today’s header photo shows why my inside-outside kitty, Max, has been throughout April an inside-only guy. His status quo will continue through May. The pictured bunny is a first-time mama with a brood nesting under my barn’s haystack. Last May, after her birth beneath that stack, I spotted the teeny-tiny with big ears hopping under a hedge, and knew my Max, expert hunter of baby bunnies, needed corralling.

Max was miserable during two months of quarantine. His days consisted of sleeping, or sitting in a window and watching wildlife, or being under my feet. During Max’s imprisonment, other cats invaded his territory, until finally, time came to free my guy.

Fortunately, bunny had gained enough experience and strength to escape cats. Max frequented the haystack where daily the bunny left clear signs of habitation. He didn’t catch her, but occasionally from a distance, they’d spot one other. Both would become rock-still, until suddenly, Bunny would take off, leaving a frustrated cat searching.

Weeks ago when I saw our bunny romping with another which might forecast babies on the horizon. I corralled Max, and soon sure enough, a teeny tiny appeared. Just like its mom last year, it hopped under a bush and escaped more quickly than I could grab a photo.

Having Max sequestered offers more rewards. There’s a blossoming of small critters, more lizards, more chipmunks, and maybe more birds peck around on the property. There are questions of letting Max outside again, but he’s nearing fifteen years old, and totally was outside through his first ten years. When always inside, Max is a restless nuisance, and frankly, I’ll be relieved when he’s outside during the days.

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I’m here switching topics, and happily, because I’m realizing that I can learn!, even something seemingly way beyond my reach. I have written about attempting to repair a fence in the horse loafing shed. I had a mighty struggle in measuring and trimming wood accurately enough to fit a replacement slat into its space. Completing one slat consumed nearly three hours. I didn’t want to finish the job.

But had to. I knew that all my previously-cut boards were inaccurate for the allocated spaces. First, I promptly re-measured and re-trimmed. Next, I pre-planned by lining up the right tools and connectors. Then I returned to the job and completed it within an hour, and by the way correctly.

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Dear Friends: Maybe this story has lessons, to trust nature and capacity, and never give up. Diana

Thursday, April 29, 2021 (27 days before the full appearance of May’s “Flower Moon”.)

Yesterday, a warm shirtsleeve-type day, encouraged me outside into a horse area that’s needed repairs for a couple of years. The damage is from a time the horses were intent on damaging their environment, not from badness but because of very high energy.

Back then I drove both horses daily. Driving requires caloric intake to support hard exercise. A horse might for miles pull, on roads and up-and-down hills, several hundred pounds of cart and driver. My horses were in top physical shape from pulling, and supported by lots of hay, gain, and minerals. Well-fed and well-exercised horses.

After the driving season, I recognized that my horses had been in a condition of “too-hot”. In other words, grain fed to energize may do so excessively, beyond what a horse can work off.

These horses during years of living with me never chewed wood. Suddenly, they went after all reachable wood–stall walls, outdoor fence rails, the loafing shed’s sides and overhead beams. Their unstoppable chewing puzzled and frustrated.

After driving season, when no longer receiving grain, both horses ceased chewing. I recognized that, though in great physical condition, they’d been overfed, becoming too hot and needing more exercise than I was providing.

Somewhere along the way, I’d heard that grain generates heat, but didn’t associate driving with too many calories. Previously, I’d only ridden horseback with easy-keepers performing well on grain-free diets.

From yesterday, here’s a section of dividing fence in their loafing shed.

Notice the new board on top. Today, I’ll replace the lower chewed boards, and more that are in another divider set. Looks easy, too. Just follow instructions, “measure twice and cut once”. Inevitably my way forces another process.

Like yesterday, when after measuring once and cutting twice, my board was too long. I re-measured and re-cut, but the board remained too long. And, so-on, until usually, a board becomes the length to fit or becomes too short, when I’ll re-start with a new 2×4. The board in this photo took three re-measures and three re-cuts before fitting into the opening.

Now, about my RV garage. Until yesterday it’s purpose was to store hay. Now nearly empty of hay, it’s become a shop, with carpentry tools, and it’s a cool place, with a comfortable chair and a tiny refrigerator that holds and chills up to six cans of beer. Because we realize that measuring and cutting correctly can be throat-drying.

More about that loafing shed. Each time I entered, a little bird flew out quickly. Surprising speed made it unidentifiable. I searched around for a nest, finding one in a tiny space.

Those guest residents likely are Mountain Bluebirds. They’re not smart for often nesting in weird and unsafe spaces, but they’re loveable, cute, and they have identifiable fun calls.

Dear Friends: If warm weather holds, the horses and I soon will go playing in National Forest. Diana

Wednesday, April 28, 2021 (29 days before May’s full “Flower Moon”)

Today begins a countdown to our next super-moon. Some friends who chased the “Pink Moon” sent photos, and for me, their experiences were cool trips. Just think, super moons are free-fun with learning on-the-fly. Little else beats what a super-moon can offer.

It’s impossible to ignore a moon’s energy-pulling power. It’s the same with rivers, family, music, and many more fundamentals. Nothing alive, or seemingly static, avoids the energizing of key elements that influence physical and emotional states.

I guess that pink moon really got to me.

What’s bugging me simply is a wish to find some water body and walk, pausing periodically to consider the ways that free-flowing water influences. If dogs are along, their ins and outs interfere with natural elements. No, I’d be alone beside that river stream, to observe, absorb, and expand my thoughts.

I’ve an idea for a children’s story and want to play with it by creating plot possibilities. The lead character, a tiny mouse, becomes lost and desperately wants to find home. Its seeking becomes influenced by natural elements, the moon, flowing water, and distant music. This mouse has goals, confronts danger, and grows emotionally. It might or perhaps not rediscover its old home.

Well, real-life situations do complicate seemingly-easy yarns. Simple is a fleeting concept.

All this represents a final nod to April’s pink super-moon, disappeared now from view. Its promise of sky majesty urged many of us from our sofas, to go outside and search for sighting spaces. We were kids roaming at dusk in natural environments, responding to the pulling of a very full moon.

Always, much can arise from physical and emotional journeys, even brief ones. Yesterday’s moonrise gave birth to my little tale. Today, the idea may expand, maybe into a paper draft.

Dear Friends: Natural elements that energize physically stoke our imaginings. Diana

Tuesday, April 27, 2021 (The April full Pink Moon has reached its apex.)

April’s Pink Super-Moon is the first of 2021’s two official super-moons. Normal moons are 240,000 miles from the earth, but super-moons are only 222,064 miles away. Maybe that doesn’t sound like much, but the shortened distance makes a super-moon appear much bigger than a normal moon.

By the way, the Pink Moon isn’t actually pink. It’s named after the herb, pink moss. That herb also is known as creeping phlox, moss phlox, or mountain phlox. Pink moss is one of the earliest spring flowers appearing in the United States.

Susie and I are Moon Chasers. We wear matching jackets and go after full super-moons. Last evening, we hoped to see the moon rise at 7:51 p.m., but had doubts because the sky sported heavy clouds.

Susie, a mountain biker knows lots of interesting stuff. She had researched where the moon would rise. Using her cell phone compass, she drove directly to a location that was 120 degrees east of zero-north. We wound up where China Hat Road intersects with dirt road #200. The spot was right-on to see the moon rise. (I, who barely know what a compass is. was gobsmacked.)

Here, Susie’s about to duck under the barrier to Road #200.

We walked on this inviting path while distant coyotes yapped while hunting. The dwindling daylight punctuated that increasingly gorgeous moon.

The complex ambient lighting confused the autofocus functions of our cameras. Sometimes they caught colors and details and others not. That’s a desert territory moody with junipers, not thickly-forested and set in surreal ways. There’s a spellbinding contrast between moon brightness and arranged junipers.

Occasionally, the rising moon became lost in clouds, but it left light chains.

We played on the path of Road #200.

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We loved the surreal desert.

As Moon Chasers, we wear matching jackets. And in the background here is our team logo.

In the evening after I was home, Susie forwarded the compass position where the morning moon would be setting, and explained where from my deck to look for that location. I ventured outside in 30-degree weather and with freezing fingers captured that full Pink Moon setting behind Mt. Bachelor.

Dear Friends: This chase preps for the only other “official” Super-Moon, it rises on May 26. Diana