It's Not National Geographic, But ...

I was feeling really excited about my latest photos of a bald eagle ... until I saw the winning photo from the 2022 National Geographic Picture of the Year.

A bald eagle arrives to steal a perch on a tree log that offers a strategic view of the shoreline at the Chilkat Bald Eagle Preserve in Alaska. When other eagles drag freshly caught salmon in from the water, these bystanders swoop in to take a share. (Photo by Karthik Subramaniam) To see all of National Geographic's contest winners, click HERE.

In reality, I've entered eagle photos and other photos of birds in the Stafford County Fair before. They rarely get any ribbon at all. However, all my bird photos have been the equivalent of portraits - birds sitting still on a branch or on my backyard fence or, in the case of some visiting bluebirds four years ago, perched on dried grasses in our pasture.

There's no action like that spectacular photo taken in Alaska. (On the other hand, I know how hard it is to capture even these still photos with a small camera sans a tripod and telephoto lens. But when you enter a photo contest, you don't get to plead your case about how many clicks of the shutter it took to get a few photos in focus. The judge didn't know that in all my years as a Kansan, I'd never seen a bluebird before. Whether it was a ribbon winner or not, I still love the bluebird photos.)

See more photos from February 2019 in our pasture, by clicking HERE.

In contrast, photographer Karthik Subramaniam told National Geographic that he'd camped out near the shore of Chikat Bald Eagle Preserve in Alaska for a week to capture the perfect shot.

My single eagle was hanging out near the mama cows and their babies. Randy had taken a solo trip to drive through the cattle lot. But he called and told me about the eagle. We figured by the time he came back home to pick me up, the eagle would have flown the coop - or, the cottonwood tree, in this case.

But it was still there. It stayed for a little bit, then flew away. We saw it again in other trees, but it departed before we could get close enough for my camera's little telephoto lens. But, when we got back to the road, the eagle had again perched in the cottonwoods near the road, giving me another chance at some photos. We were there when it flew away both times, but I wasn't fast enough to capture the majestic bird in flight. I never am!

So - no camping out for days in the Alaskan cold for me. But I still was thrilled to get close enough to our Kansas eagle to take some "portraits" - whether they are National Geographic material or not.  

To see all of National Geographic's contest winners, click HERE. 

Bird Brain

Bird brain:  It could be a derogatory label. But I will just say I have birds on the brain.

As I wrote earlier this winter, I've been on a quest for photographing a pheasant. I see plenty of pheasants. But no one gave them the memo that I would like for them to:

1. Stand still.
2. Stand in a location with good lighting.
3. Come close enough to the road for my camera.

It hasn't just been a desire this winter. I've wanted a pheasant photo for years. 

And it finally happened. 

It's not perfect, but it's the best I've ever gotten.

 Most of them looked like this ...

... somewhat blurry ...

The backyard cardinals are somewhat more cooperative, but I still have to stealthily shoot through the back porch windows.

 (Yes, those windows should probably be washed if I'm going to attempt photography through them!)

As I was coming out of the pasture in the feed truck one snowy day, I found a meadowlark crouched down on a hay bale. It was one of those frigid days, so I guess he was too cold to fly away.

This better photo was from a fence-fencing escapade a couple of years ago.

 

While I'd like the pheasants and the cardinals to hold still for their closeups, we'd prefer that the snow geese depart from our wheat and silage fields. We don't really care about them hanging out on the silage ground, since it was harvested last September. But they invariably drift over onto the nearby wheat ground.

We chased thousands of them off the fields before feeding cattle a couple of days. 

While hunters are glad to see them, they do a lot of damage eating the green wheat in our fields. Hungry geese can decimate a wheat field fairly quickly.

Uninvited guests can wreak havoc at a party. No Kansas wheat farmer wants to provide a never-ending buffet for tens of thousands of geese. But, migrating geese evidently saw an all-you-can-eat buffet sign flashing green from the heavens. And they said, "Don't mind if I do!"

Farmers try to send them on their way by honking their horns and making more drivebys than a police cruiser trying to clean up a shady neighborhood. But about as soon as farmers moseyed on down the road to the next location, the geese circled back for another taste of tender green wheat.

While hunters might have enjoyed the influx of geese in Central Kansas, wheat farmers prefer the feathered beasts find their buffet elsewhere, since they can eat a young wheat field to bare ground faster than a teenage boy and his friends can plow through a bag of chips.

The Eagle Has Landed ... And Other Sky Watching

The eagle has landed. But he didn't stay long.

Our prolific July rains were good for fall crops. The downside? The rain generated a bumper crop of weeds. Randy swathed down some weeds in a pasture south of the farmstead last week. A few days later, he noticed the vultures were circling the makeshift "buffet," a collection of small animals that didn't scamper out of the way of the swather quickly enough.

But then he saw a different predator - a bald eagle. Thankfully, it stayed perched on a fence post long enough for me to arrive and snap a few photos.

Then, it soared away and its next perch was in a big old cottonwood tree too far away for my little camera to reach.

We don't often see eagles around the farmstead, and if they do pass through, it's usually during the fall or wintertime. A pair builds its nest at nearby Quivira National Wildlife Refuge each winter, but it, too, is too far away from a roadway for me to capture a photo.

Both Randy and I have kept our eyes to the sky to catch another glimpse of our majestic visitor. But we haven't been lucky enough to see him again. However, I keep thinking about that eagle and all that he sees as he's soaring through the air over our Kansas plains.

I found this quote:

Don't be a parrot in life.

Be an eagle.

A parrot talks way too much but can't fly high.

An eagle is silent and has the power to touch the sky.

--Author Unknown

It seems the world is mighty loud these days. For weeks, our landline rang from morning to night, touting one candidate and denigrating the next. On the occasions when I watched live TV rather than recorded programming, I rolled my eyes at the political ads. How stupid do these political action committees think we are, I wondered?

But, honestly, my Facebook feed some days is no better.

One person is convinced masks will save us all from Covid.

Another person is sure masks are at the center of a conspiracy to take away our freedoms and, by the way, all this craziness will all be over after the general election.

And vaccines? Oh my! That's a whole other can of worms!

One person wants kids back in school immediately.

Another thinks it will be a disaster.

The talk is endless. It's loud.

And some of us are just weary of the fighting.

We long for some listening - some indication there may be room to examine multi-faceted sides to issues.

So maybe I'll be like the eagle and "touch" the sky. These trips to nature seem to sooth the soul.

The summer skies have given us plenty of reasons to get outside - from daybreak to mid-day to dusk.

Last week, one of my email devotionals - New Every Morning - featured a book by Christopher Maricle, "Deeply Rooted: Knowing Self, Growing in God." Here was the message one day:

The entire spectrum of color is always present in the light all around us. Rain doesn't create rainbows. Rain reveals the colors that are already present in the atmosphere. This color spectrum is usually hidden from our sight and only revealed under special conditions. In the same way, we may have moments of insight and revelation that reveal to us - or at least suggest to us - the presence of the Divine that is often hidden but no less real.

--Christopher Maricle

There's just a hint of a rainbow at the bottom of the clouds.

It went on to ask:

How might you gain new insight into the presence of the Divine today?

Peace Creek lives up to its name!

Maybe the eagle has the answer in its silence and its soaring.

My sunrise tree

Prayer for the Week:

Give me the humility to know that I am a growing work in progress

and the grace and understanding to see the growth in those around me.

Ninnescah River at our Sylvia pasture

***

Note: I've taken these sky photos throughout the summer. They may have ended up on Instagram or in Facebook posts, but they hadn't been featured on the blog until today.

It's A Snow Globe World

The world looked like God had a snow globe in the palm of His hand, then flicked His wrist and gave it a little shake. And the big flakes of snow fell softly and silently back down to earth.

Snow globes remind me of my Grandma Neelly. She didn't travel a great deal. But, when she did, she'd raid the souvenir shops for snow globes or crinkly neon-colored coin purses showing the Grand Canyon or some other American landmark. She was a classy woman, but you couldn't tell it from her souvenir choices.

 

My 8-year-old self loved the snow globes as the snowflakes danced their way from top to bottom, catching in the crevices of the plastic Golden Gate Bridge or some other attraction.  Shake them up, and a kaleidoscope of snow would obscure the plastic figures inside.

 

So, it's no wonder that I upended my to-do list yesterday with as much fervor as I'd shake a snow globe. The flakes - from infinitesimal to ginormous - were calling a silent song as my world became a snow globe, too. 

Yesterday, instead of Empire State Buildings or the White House, the cows and calves in the heifer lot and in the pasture south of the house were the the figures catching the snowflakes' descent.

 

But then, as I returned to the house to make dinner, flashes of red darted through the snowscape scene in my backyard.

 

After patiently sitting on the back steps, trying not to make any sudden movements, I captured a few photos of our backyard troubadours.

After many other days when my efforts were less successful, I was pretty excited.

 

  

But it was my reliable "models" who were most ready for their close-ups.

It's rare that snow falls in Kansas without a gusting wind on the side.

I think 002 has the sweetest face!

Even though the wind came up as we checked the lots and pastures before dusk, most of the day was uncharacteristically calm and still.

 Our little friends had plenty of straw ...

And their own personal milk machines dispensing warm beverages. 

We had six new babies yesterday at various pasture locations. But the human in charge did his usual good job as steward. Honestly, the moms were the rock stars yesterday.

I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields that it kisses them so gently?

 And then it covers them up snug, you know, 

with a white quilt. 

And perhaps it says, "Go to sleep, darlings,

till the summer comes again."

-- Lewis Carroll 

And from author Mark Haddon (below):

Snow blobs and softens the top of every object like cream on a plum pudding. 

 

Hedges, telephone wires, cars, postboxes ... The world is losing its edges.

 

Look upwards and it seems as if the stars themselves are being poured from the sky and turn out not to be vast and fiery globes after all ...

 ... but tiny, frozen things which melt in the palm of your hand.