Wednesday, June 02, 2021   (June’s fullest moon [the “Strawberry”] rises in 22 days, on the 24th.)

The average life of a domestic chicken is three to twelve years. I know this by losing nearly a dozen hens over the years. My surviving hen, Welsummer, has turned eleven and winning the odds. She’s in good weight, is well-feathered, frisky, and has good appetite. Several weeks ago, she produced an egg, its shell thin, its insides delicious.

Until Welsummer’s last birthday, I felt relieved that soon no more worries about chicken health and care. With that thought came a sense of impending loss: No more chickens? No more sweeties like Welsummer?

That’s when I decided to plan for replacements, a couple of Welsummer babies.

The thing is, there’s a rule of, “no three of anything”. Because two usually team up and pick on a third. I’ve realized this with horses. It’s best that living beings are in twos, or fours, or eights–essentially, no “threes”.

I listened to my heart and went shopping for chicks. My new flock of seven hens, all different breeds (including a Welsummer), now is about a month old. The chicks are twice in size, and feathering-out, nearly able to leap high as the walls of their home. Upon seeing me their reactions are mixed and becoming more trusting as they age.

I show up lots, talk to them, and hold one-at-a-time, stroking and reassuring. The birds at first resist, but each being held settles immediately, they’re sweet handfuls. I hope they keep this early trust and become affectionate pets.

There’s a flash while getting a selfie. The sudden light makes a little bird jumpy to hold.

• 

• 

Out of the gate, this Rhode Island Red has been easy and accommodating, a sweetie. So, too, has the Black Copper, this flock’s biggest and maybe its lead. She responds willingly when I reach. (BTW, a fully grown Copper is big, about ten pounds, twice an average hen’s weight.)

Chicken breed history is interesting, how a style evolved, its appearance, temperament, potential. Someday I’ll share about my hens some history, and characteristics I’ll look for ( aside from “sweetness”) as they grow.

On a day that’s suddenly-very-hot, and near Welsummer and the goats, my equines chow-down. If today’s not too hot, we might haul to the forest and trod its refreshing old trails.

Dear Friends: Our summers arriving abruptly open worlds of sudden feelings and activities. Diana

Tuesday, June 01, 2021   (June’s fullest moon [the “Strawberry”] rises in 23 days, on the 24th.)

Last week brought Central Oregon several freezing nights and chilly days. This spring, for the first time I’ve no outside job, and so, have been digging in the earth and installing beautiful plants.

Some froze, and there aren’t photos of those that lost much, and maybe all, of their lives. Seeing their sorry state was my sad experience. But now the weather is warmer and I’m not digging up plants stricken last week, but hoping for regenerations.

It’s happening now and some that at first appeared dismal are reviving. Here’s a daisy that got hit but is surviving. A first flower just now has opened and more are on the way.

Other young plants are surviving.

When I lived in Los Angeles, my garden included an English Lavender. The infant plant grew into a beautiful large hedge that issued delightful scents. Here in Central Oregon, I spotted a brilliant blue-purple baby plant in a local garden shop and knew my garden would have a spot for it.

Before moving to Oregon I knew nothing about rhubarb. My new house here came with a small garden in which grew a mature rhubarb, a gorgeous plant. In a short time I became too busy to care for the garden and sad to say, everything died.

This time around had to include a rhubarb! In fact, I planted two. When the freeze hit, I knew from earlier experience that rhubarbs are cold-hardy. This baby and its like-companion survived and still are healthy.

My new garden includes baby snapdragons, violets, marigolds, irises, various hedges and ornamental grasses. If all these plants survive, some will become dug up later and moved to spaces large enough for them to spread and thrive.

Now about Maxwell, newly out of the house. In early April, after he did-in a couple of baby bunnies, poor Max found himself sequestered throughout April and May. At first he argued and became depressed, but he’s a cool guy and adjusted. Max hardly dreamed, until he got pushed from under the bed covers, that he’d again be invited to go outside.

My garden is in a desert-like environment where an area damp and with plants naturally invites wildlife. I will keep a close eye on Mr. Max.

Dear Friends: My baby chickens have doubled in size, they’re a cute, sweet, and fun flock. Diana

Monday, May 31, 2021   (June’s fullest moon [the “Strawberry”] rises in 24 days, on the 24th.)

Yep, that’s me on a bike.

Out of the blue I oiled-up my vintage Raleigh Robin Hood and hopped aboard, taking off through the neighborhood. Two-thirds of the way through my loop and facing a challenging hill, I managed to pedal all the way up without stopping. At top, I bumped into my neighbor Susie who was driving. We took time for a photo op and catching up with one another.

This event was significant because many years had passed since my last bike ride. During that old ride great pain overcame me, and shortly the diagnosis was cancer. Following months of worry and chemo, I achieved remission which has lasted. Afterwards my outdoor activity has been riding horseback. Recently, wanting to vary exercising options, I considered biking again but that felt scary. I doubted my ability to balance and feared a damaging fall.

I knew those fears were a joke. Without a second thought, I can climb on a horse’s back and balance throughout a ride. There’s not a drop of logic in the different way of perceiving a bicycle ride. Well, facing my demons and pedaling uphill without stopping is a big win. Susie, herself an intrepid biker, was there to cheer and capture the moment.

I’ll skip this morning’s physical residue from that event.

This is fun. A resting tiny aquatic frog is splayed happily atop the aquarium hideout. (The fish are Harlequin Rasbora.)

Not long ago on a whim, I adopted two African frogs, have thoroughly enjoyed their antics. The other frog is very curious and follows my finger as it presses against the glass and moves.

Dear Friends: May you be enjoying this long holiday weekend and summer’s warmth. Diana

Saturday, May 29, 2021   (June’s fullest moon [the “Strawberry”] rises in 25 days, on the 24th.)

The finished workbench! Has wheels and supports for shelving. Not beautiful, but a personal win.

It’s been many years since I fooled with carpentry. Going back in time to play with these tools is because of Covid-19. Recently my area has become less restricted, and I am fully vaccinated, but hanging around the house still seems a good idea. Especially if it’s possible to find interests offering fun and satisfaction.

Heaven knows, most of us have dabbled to find stay-at-home motivations. I think about the many pets that were adopted during Covid’s most restrictive period. Now, with restrictions being lessened, adopters are returning pets because, “There’s no longer time to take care of them.”

Maybe my days of sawing and hammering will be short. One reason may be the astronomical price of lumber with today’s mega-homebuilding activities. Back in the pre-Covid days, my worktable components would have cost far less, and I sought the cheapest materials. Even if one decides to bite the bullet and shell out for a key tool, good luck finding it in stock somewhere.

No wonder online sellers are doing blockbusting-well. A computer enables access to seemingly endless stock. There’s no wasting gas and time, no being among crowds, no seeking likely-unavailable items. One merely clicks and awaits delivery.

Dear Friends: The media are correct, everyday activities are forever altered and more expensive. Diana

Friday, May 28, 2021   (June’s fullest moon [the “Strawberry”] rises in 26 days, on the 24th.)

Working in my “she-shop”, I’m building a workbench, large to accommodate several heavy carpentry tools that need “bolting-down”. The daunting cost of lumber these days forces me to work with pressed fiberboard, heavier and less easy than using natural wood, but cheaper.

I cut the fiberboard into pieces to support a tabletop, and using prefabbed metal links connected the pieces into a back and sides. After managing to heave a 2×4 fiberboard panel onto the top, everything took on a “table look”.

Just in time, too, for my friends dropped by to help initiate the she-shop. My workbench shell became a buffet of sorts and we had a jolly time helped by cold beer. The next day, I returned to my work and recognized a serious stumble of not having planned ahead. Plus, not having asked my she-shop guests (who know all about component building) for ideas to complete the workbench.

That large table top needed support for holding heavy tools. The cavernous inside could accommodate internal shelving but also needed support. I knew nothing about creating supports, meaning that so far my efforts were only a beginning. I hurried to building suppliers for “how-to books”, which they no longer carry!

My brain doesn’t conceptualize as a builder’s should. I wasted hours just experimenting and wondering and didn’t ask for help. I just fiddled and fooled, because life teaches that never giving up finally creates a sensible idea. So true, for finally my workbench top does have adequate support. An inner shelf nearly is complete. Today I might finish the bench, and even bolt-down the on-top tools.

Another learning journey, this one has taught better how to start constructing. I need to sketch an idea and ask someone more experienced to look it over for do-ability.

After this long weekend shop work will go on hold. Warming weather calls for more focus on getting my horses and me into shape for riding and driving. It’s fun though, to anticipate how the shop’s tools and stored materials will ease improvement-making around barn and home.

Dear Friends: We pluggers who usually learn the hard way know to never give up! Diana

Friday, May 28, 2021   (A new full moon [June’s “Strawberry”] rises in 27 days, on the 24th.)

This magnificent bird was watching me and muttering regularly, and I wondered about it.

Ravens communicate constantly. So, was this a parent reassuring its offspring, or an adult communicating with a mate, or maybe itself an offspring asking for food? It’s hard to peer high at a treetop and identify an adult or fledgling.

Parent birds constantly remain busy hunting food for their babies, so this likely is an offspring. Its (relatively) soft, thrice-repeated rumbling calls actively are announcing location and hunger.

Ravens are incredibly smart and fascinating. I love hearing and seeing them. Ravens are active in my airspace year-around, and so to me, “these are mine”. The pictured Raven, active in my neighborhood, if an adult probably during its babyhood drank from my horses’ watering troughs.

Every summer, parents bring the babies to drink before leaving the kids and flying away. While they hunt, the disciplined youngsters remain perched on or near the troughs, staying put patiently. Like all children when a parent returns these scramble for food.

• 

• 

Throughout the year, and especially in summers, local resident Ravens are very visible. At least once or twice, I write describing their antics. Today’s header shot reminds me of this picture, a favorite from a summer past. This probably is a juvenile, loudly and insistently communicating from deeply within its body.

Ravens are family oriented, great parents. I’ve watched them teaching babies about wind currents, practicing by circling higher or lower as they would while hunting. I’ve seen them furiously chase, torment, and completely intimidate larger predatory birds. It’s been a gift, living in proximity to Ravens. Birds with astonishing intelligence, high social orientation, and innumerous, constant vocal variations.

Dear Friends: “Quoth the Raven, Nevermore!” Poe’s dark cast over an inquisitive bright species. Diana

Thursday, May 27, 2021   (June’s full Strawberry Moon rises in 28 days, on the 24th.)

Last night’s pink Super Moon, scheduled to rise after nine p.m., sent us Moon Chasers out on the road to hunt a viewing place. The moon was to rise later than usual, and already the evening was semi-dark. Susie, who’s in charge of the driving and technical details, was prepared, knew exactly where the moon would rise. We hoped to capture it’s earliest visibility.

Using a compass to navigate, Susie pulled into a couple of potential viewing spots and assessed their viewability based on her hiking and biking experience. She drove away from a couple of spots, and finally, we wound up maybe 30 miles east of town.

Our viewing spot was way out, with Susie’s car parked on a remote dirt road and pointing directly toward the unimpeded, distant horizon. We sat waiting, surrounded by flatland and low brush. The only ambience was a lone juniper.

The terrain tilted upward, and for us this caused the moonrise to occur several minutes later than scheduled. We already were out of the car and pointing cameras, to begin shooting at first sight of an emerging beautiful light.

Of course, this Flower Super Moon, circling very close to Earth, was visible throughout the city. We chose to sight it from the boonies to increase our joy. After chasing moonrises to photograph them, we know the increased excitement of anticipating changes in the horizon. It’s sheer fun to sight barely above the line of horizon, a major moon’s earliest appearance.

Isn’t this incredible!

Photographers in action.

• 

• 

And wearing our Moon Chaser red jackets!

Dear Friends: Farewell to 2021’s last special Super Moon, and ahead, many beautiful full moons. Diana

Wednesday, May 26, 2021  (Tonight’s rising Super “Flower” Moon will appear at its fullest.)

The dogs and I headed west toward the Cascade Mountains. Besides wanting to play in a bit of forest, I had a checklist. It included exploring whether inner roads are clear to drive in and be among forest trees, allowing the dogs to play freely, checking early for wild mushrooms, and mostly, gathering fallen sticks potentially strong enough to, (1) become perches for Peaches and (2) withstand a parrot’s destructive beak.

It’s too cold and early for mushrooms, I accomplished everything else. The dogs played while I moseyed around. It’s the earliest I’ve entered a high-mountain forest, finding its condition wild with jumbled fallen branches. I carefully stepped and slowly.

There were angled impedances to duck under or step over.

The wild barking of excited dogs shattered the silence, but afterward, I could hear sounds from winds pushing against treetops. Sometimes winds made slender trees bend slightly and groan.

Searching for sticks strong enough for Peaches wasn’t easy. Mostly, I found those seeming best-suited to hold up against the bird’s attacks partly buried in dirt. I pulled out and examined several that hosted tiny funji and insects. Best to leave those in the forest.

Some sights had me wondering, what causes this?

The grounds were covered with wild strawberries, ground mosses, and molding woods.

• 

• 

• 

Babies always attract, even when it happens they’re Ponderosas and Manzanitas.

• 

• 

There’s adult beauty, too. Blooming Manzanitas and sunshine lighting-up Ponderosas and firs

• 

• 

• 

A key ingredient, dogs having fun.

Dear Friends: Inside a natural forest, you’ll find one of the most wonderful places imaginable. Diana

Tuesday, May 25, 2021  (Tomorrow early, a total lunar eclipse, and later, the Super “Flower” Moonrise)

We’re in the Ochocos, local mountains, having paused where often I’ve ridden horseback. Osix races back to where I’m lagging. I’m strolling and gulping-in the gorgeous setting. Ahead are the others.

This brief stop gives the dogs a break from riding in the SUV. The Ochocos are surprising me by popping up many pleasant memories from past years. The dogs and I are en route to Oregon’s Painted Hills. They’re about an hour away, on just this side of Mitchell, a tiny tourist community.

Many times, while driving toward the more Eastern Oregon, I’ve glimpsed the Painted Hills but always have been in a hurry. I’ve passed its turnoff road that gobbles six out-of-the-way miles, one way. This time, I’m giving myself a take-it-easy day away from ranching. I’m carrying a camera.

I’m astonished by a sheer natural beauty of those Painted Hills. These are one of three units of the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument. This particular geologic unit covers over 3,000 acres, has designated driving roads taking tourists to various viewpoints, offers hiking trails, and carefully insists that no vehicle, person, or dog disturbs any of the landscape.

In this ancient fossil site, if one accidentally happens to spot an undiscovered fossil, pocketing it is an illegal theft. Tourist instructions are to photograph and report any spotted fossil to area supervisors. In fact, lifting and taking anything, rocks, plants, or animals, is against the law.

Dogs must be on leashes, and so, my four slept in the SUV.

I drove over every road absorbing colors and views. Even my wordy self can’t describe accurately the awe simply of being among those hills. Their sheer beauty, completely natural and widespread.

Viewing from an overlook site.

My zoom camera doesn’t excellently capture distant scenes, but effectively records sectional close-ups. In this large shot, colors that show appear muted.

A close-up from the same area reveals the striking vibrancy.

A few more outstanding captures.

More fun with a high-zoom camera, a hiker captured from hundreds of yards below.

Before leaving the area, we made a looky-lou quick trip through Mitchell. I’ll return someday and walk through it with a camera.

On our way home one more stop, and again, in the Ochocos where sublime greenery covers.

Dear Friends: Increasing wildfires that devastate urgently call on us to protect still-natural areas. Diana

Monday, May 24, 2021  (In 2 days May’s Super “Flower” Moon will rise fullest to Earth + a total eclipse!)

This morning has a still-gloomy sky overhead offering more rain. Like yesterday, when for most of the afternoon, I was in my she-shop sorting through a jumbled accumulation of nuts and bolts and periodically hearing rain on the metal roof. That rain provided background sounds, until finally, I decided to listen to music.

After cranking up a wi-fi speaker, consulting my phone’s listings, and considering the moody atmosphere, I selected “Billie Holiday’s Greatest Hits”. To my surprise hearing her songs became a magical experience.

It was years since last I’d heard Billie. I had preferred her recordings from the time near her death from a drug overdose in her fifties. I thought her older, smoky voice communicated with unique beauty, life, experience, and wisdom. I considered her earlier 1930s and early 40s voice a bit too sweet and charming. Yesterday, in astonishment, I wondered what my younger self could have been thinking!

Young Billie’s sounds were new experiences. That incredible songstress perfectly communicated life’s flirty romances, deep love, fun feelings, and the sadness of loss. With incredible musicianship and a unique style of singing (slightly behind the beat), she intelligently articulated and perfectly shaded each word.

I felt deeply “into Billie” when the album ended, and before I could select more music, the wi-fi did it. A sudden woman’s voice emanating powerfully from the speaker compelled me to listen, and within a heartbeat, I recognized Nina Simone, another absolutely-genius musician.

I stood, outwardly sorting, but internally focused on biographies and times of those women, and of myself. The impact of listening reminded me of the prominence of music in a recent outstanding French film, “Portrait of a Woman on Fire”. Listening and hearing brought the reopening of old memories and of feeling connections.

Dear Friends: Experiencing music, at its best, is all-encompassing and deeply emotional. Diana