Low Key May Day

We had a very laid-back May Day Weekend.  Saturday was rainy and damp; Sunday was drier as the day progressed.  Venus and Jupiter had a conjunction Saturday, but the mornings have been overcast the last week, which has made any early astronomy difficult.  

Sunday, May First, while it was still damp, I visited the Raptor Center and managed to photograph Parker the American Kestrel.  A little later, Dmitri the Eurasian Eagle-Owl, while apparently grooming some astroturf in his aviary, made high-pitched, chicken-like sounds—I've heard him make deep throated hoots and impatient sounding squawks, but never goofy-sounding, clucking squeaks.   The residents in general seemed to be more animated and vocal than I've observed in some time; I don't know this was related to seasonal changes or not, egg laying and nest building seemed to be last month.

By the time I got back home, the sun was showing more often than not and the back yard began to warm up and dry out.  The closest thing I had to a May Pole Dance was looking at pictures of friend's Morris Dances and the official Todrick Hall video, "I Like Boys."  

Mark's not a religious participant of any flavor, and he's really not into Beltane, so there was no jumping over fires, nor Great Rites at Dawn, or anything remotely like a bacchanal.  Well... okay, in the afternoon I laid out blankets and pillows and a small portable table and—after settling Aiofe on her corner of the blankets—read the opening chapters from "Book The Second" of C.G. Jung's "The Red Book."  I was struck by some similarities between it and part's of Dion Forutne's "The Winged Bull," and how Jung's imagery is filled with binary opposites.  She's obviously read a lot of his work.

Mark did house maintenance and re-painted the back door to our garage.  

Possibly as a result of reading Jung, I did have a quick dream image of a woman in a fuchsia dress, who did a handstand and as a result, her red dress fell over her head and shoulders, and her white petticoats and white stockinged legs were like the stamens and white petals of a passionflower (cue Tchaikovsky Waltz of the Flowers music from Disney's Fantasia...).

Friday Hyjinx

I'm super-annoyed this Friday afternoon.  When I paid to park downtown, I transposed two characters my car's license number at the electronic meter kiosk; so I came back from a visit of an exhibit on European Medieval Magic to a parking citation for not paying.  Then I wasted about two hours trying to figure out how to contest the ticket and going back downtown to pick up a paper form before figuring out what had happened.  

Bleah.

The morning, at least, was charming.  I took the day off and went to the Cascades Raptor Center.  I was surprised at how busy it was; I guess I shouldn't have been--I think a lot of schools released kids for an extended Spring Break.  

I managed to visit with a friend who works there and got some photos of Jake the Peregrin Falcon.  It was Rat Day, so many of the resident birds had that for their breakfast.  

After the Raptor Center, it was off to the Museum of Natural History.  They have an exhibition of European Medieval Magic that a friend of mine curated, and I wanted to go see it.  The most interesting item to me was the narwhale horn: I hadn't realized how they could reach four feet in length.  I'd heard about witch bottles before (typically filled with nails), but I hadn't known that they were supposed to represent the witch's gall bladder.  

There was an actual love spell, which was supposed to be written in blood from the ring finger of your left hand, and which featured the ROTAS-SATOR square.  I found a recipe for soul-cakes, which I'll have to try; maybe I can put in some other design instead of simply quartering them.  There was a technology problem with a touch screen, so the most interactive part of the exhibit was a random plinko cascade machine where you could guess what kind of familiar you might attract by where a round chip would land after you dropped it in at the machine's top. 

In terms of story inspiration, I might be able to write something at the intersection of soul cakes, Tomtens, and cookies for Santa.  

Raptor Saturday

The last few days have been foggy in the Willamette Valley, which makes the distant tree lines and hills look mysterious (or disappear).  I confess I do appreciate it when the sun breaks through and makes everything brighter.  

Mostly overcast skies graced the Cascades Raptor Center when I arrived at the 10 opening, so I had diffuse lighting for photos. The best photos of the resident birds happen when they are outside of their aviaries, and I was lucky enough to get photos of Ravi, a Wester  Screech Owl, and Maple, a newly arrived Northern Saw-whet Owl.

Ravi was not very hungry, and was not very interested in the chopped up mouse offered to her.  Maple, on the other had, was obviously ravenous.  

What I learned during this visit is that the resident birds don't hunt live rodents released into their aviaries, that many of the residents either can't or don't know how to hunt, and that it would be dangerous for them to hunt within the confines of the aviaries because they might smack into a wall.  

I stayed until "The Hour of the Snackening," which is heralded by two-to-three-year-olds having a melt-down around 11:40 because their blood-sugar levels have tanked and they need their after-lunch nap.  

At home, I found Mark working on an art project on our (then) sunny deck.  A murder of crows flew overhead, raising an alarum of mobbing-caws, and our neighbor's chickens, which had been released for free-range foraging, raced to the sanctuary of their pen.  

"They're mobbing a raptor," I said, and raced inside for my camera.

Outside out front, what looked like the hawk from last month perched over the street on a power line.  I fiddled with manual settings, but only got a blurry photo of a the power line and some tail feathers as the hawk launched itself for an escape.  

Then the fog rolled back in.  

Raptors & Artistic Legacy

The other day I visited the Cascades Raptor Center with my camera.  A rain front was looming, and it would be the last day of the hot and dry weather.  I figured if I waited to go, I'd be flitting from aviary to aviary, hunched over my camera while trying to take photographs of raptors huddled away against the rain.  

Some of the residents have afternoon walks or at least sessions where they are brought out.  Taking pictures of them is always easier when this is so because I don't have to contend with the mesh of their enclosures.  If a resident is mewed up and I get close to the mesh and the resident is on the other side of their aviary, it's possible to blur out the bars, but there's always some kind of interference pattern superimposed over the raptor I'm photographing.

I've become enough of a regular over the last few years -- between my long hair and long-lensed camera apparently I stand out -- and I was chatting with one of the handlers and he asked, "What do you do with all the pictures you take?"  

The question gave me a little pause.  "Oh, I said, mostly I store them on Google Photos."  I thought a little more.  "I like to tell myself that I will use them as resources for drawing birds, but I'm pretty awful when it comes to illustrating them.  I am interested in seeing how they inspire the shapes for Middle Kingdom Egyptian Hieroglyphs; if you look at their legs --" 

"--their pantaloons?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, "and also how their wingtips and tail feathers come together."  And then the conversation veered onto hieroglyphs.  

Later, at home, the subject of photographs came up.  Mark said, "You know, honey, nobody is going to look at those photographs -- especially after you die.  So if you want people to see them, you'd better start arranging a funeral slideshow now."

"Why wait for a funeral?" I asked.  "Once COVID is under control (fingers crossed on that one), we can have people over for a little salon and we can have wine and cheese and set up three projectors in rotation and people can wander in little groups between the screens."  

"Honey, that's called 'a home slide show,' and people hated them back in the 1950's."

"Yes," I said, "I believe I've heard that referenced as 'The Bore Wars.'"  (And I do remember my folks having little get-togethers and bringing out Slide Carousels of Their Adventures Overseas.)

The question about that I ultimately do with the photos has lingered, especially as I uploaded them to various social media sites.  I enjoy taking pictures of the raptors for the same reason I enjoy taking pictures of MET artifacts or the Moon or other astronomical phenomenon:  the thrill of collecting.  It's more than just collection, though, it's also marking a particular time or space -- akin to the attitude behind the phrase, "what is remembered, lives."  Additionally, there are cathartic elements of being a participant-observer of something outside of oneself.   But these answer the question of why I take the photos, not what I do with them afterward.

I suppose what I do with them doesn't matter so much -- except that if that were true, I'd go through my photo collections and erase everything.  So keeping them is important; but my feeling is that they're more than just mementos validating my duration.  I suspect that this is a manifestation of the Art versus Craft question -- once you've made something creative or artistic, what are you going to Do with it?  

I think this is the point where I go an find a copy of the "Art For Art's Sake" manifesto.... 

Observing

I went to the Cascade Raptor Center last Saturday with Mark.  What struck me the most is how Mark spends from five to ten minutes just looking at one bird.  It's a long, steady look.  He stands aside in one spot and is still while other Center goers ebb and flow around him.   All that time, he's looking at the raptor; watching it sometimes stare back, or swoop to a new perch, or how it might ruffle out or smooth down its feathers.  Whereas someone like me looks at the snapshot patterns of the feathers, the curve of the beak, or the configuration of talons, Mark is collecting a long exposure picture of the animated whole.  

The Center has been moving various residents around, so we missed Archimedes the Snowy Owl and Dante the Golden Eagle.   Most of the other residents were in their usual aviaries. 

We saw one of the newer additions to the resident population:  Nyx, a barred owl.  She was brought to the Center with a head trauma after a collision with a car (very common with owls).  The Center had to teach her how to be an owl, how to strike food, and even what food was.  When we saw her, she was bathing.  

What struck me this time around was how the raptors resembled or differed from various Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs:   𓄿   𓅐   𓅓   Mostly, I was looking at leg feathers and (surprise) profiles.  I have a fantasy of using the Cascade Raptor Center residents as models for a rendering of some sort of inscription, but so far it's just a fantasy. 

 

Pre-Solstice Raptor Center

The other day I went to the Cascades Raptor Center.  The last time I went was just before the equinox.  

For whatever reason, the place was packed by 10:10 AM.  I was glad that I had pulled into the parking lot fairly early.  I'm guessing that it was a combination of many of the schools being out, the Olympic Trials being in town, and a recent lifting of some COVID restrictions.   There were lots of little kids, and I could tell when 11:40 hit, because (as I remember from a decade ago) that's typically when they hit the pre-lunch sugar crash.

It was peculiar to be there with so many other patrons.  

Since I've visited, the resident raptors' aviaries have moved around: Banjo has moved up the hill, Amazon's aviary is gone, Kali is living where Dante used to, and Dante lives where Archimedes was.  Other residents have moved, some have passed away, and there are new raptors on the site.

Danu is still chatty and still in her usual site.

I didn't clear my camera's memory, so I ran out of space for tons of pictures this time around.  I still managed to get a few.

The new thing I learned is that vulture's heads are iridescent.  Kali the vulture's head glimmered like the throat of a hummingbird when she was in the sun.  In the past I've either been below the vultures or the sun hasn't been out, so I've never noticed how dazzling red their head's can be when viewed at the right angle.

Raptor Tuesday

Tuesday was a partially sunny day, with some rain mixed in between parts where the clouds opened up enough to emit the sun.  This morning (Wednesday) is very foggy and grey, which, I suppose, will make it a good writing morning--epecially since Mark had to go into work instead of telecommuting and The Child was up very, very late and probably wont emerge from his bedroom until Noon. 

Yesterday, I went to the Cascades Raptor Center and got there just as they were opening.  I haven't been in a while, and the weather was mostly sunny,  although there was a ten minute sprinkle early on.  Some of the residents' aviaries have moved:  Amazon the Golden Eagle is closer to the parking lot and Uriel the Red-tailed Hawk.   

I chatted with some of the handlers throughout my visit (I know C. from a previous life).  Various residents were fed and weighed during my visit and I got to see Archemedies the Snowly Owl transform from his usual bowling-pin pose into a hungry raptor; Bohdi the Barred Owl hopped down for her food--she's usually parked up in a corner perch; Padawan the Barn Owl came out of his box to gulp a bit of rabbit fur; Parker hovered for extra treats and even caught the last one in mid-air; Jake the new Peregrine Falcon was active even before feeding time.  I visited my favorites, Atticus the Bald Eagle, Banjo the Eastern Red-Tailed Hawk, Lethe the Turkey Vulture, and Dante the Golden Eagle.   I was lucky enough to photograph Banjo and Guapo the Swainson's Hawk when they were brought out of their aviaries.  

I was speaking to C. about the possibility of shadowing handlers in order to photograph the resident birds more clearly inside their aviaries -- which it turns out would not be a Good Idea -- and it struck me how I've gotten so used to visiting the raptors (and photographing the ones that can come out to meet the public), that I was considering them somewhere between domestic pets or Lipizzan Stallions  and  stopped thinking of them as trained-but-still-wild animals being cared for because of developmental or physical injuries.   Even after Guapo gulped down a dead baby chick whole, or Padawan ripped off gobbets of meat from rabbit bones.  

Photographing Owls

Saturday, I visited the Cascades Raptor Center.  I hadn't been in a while, and with the Governor's Freeze coming up, the center was going to be closed for a few weeks.  

I managed to get there at opening; the entire time I was there there were maybe four other families there.  Oregon got slammed with a winter storm Friday, and Saturday was wet and grey (luckily there wasn't too much rain), which probably accounted for the place not being a mob scene.   The aviaries are all outside, and masks are required, so it's very easy to maintain social distancing.  

During this visit, Dmitri, a Eurasian Eagle-Owl, was brought out of his aviary.  The best photographs of the raptors happen when they are out from behind bars, and Dmitiri is particularly photogenic.  

I made the rounds of the center twice, making sure to linger outside the aviaries of Atticus (Bald Eagle), Banjo (Eastern Red-tailed Hawk), Lethe (Turkey Vulture), and Dante (Golden Eagle).   And Newton (Goshawk), who actually seemed to be squeaking at me -- all of the resident birds seemed extra vocal this visit (except for Danu (Osprey) who is always extra vocal. 

---

Oregon is gearing up for a two week Governor's Freeze to try to flatten then infection curve of COVID-19.  This means that Thanksgiving is going to be kind of solo this year -- we might go and visit my folks and talk to them through a window on the porch, but we won't be sharing a meal, unless it's a virtual Zoom-sgiving. 

Isolating Raptors, Corvids, and Ducks

The Cascades Raptor Center will be closing as a coronavirus safety measure.  This is a good thing--my sense was that it was the last place families could visit, which made social distancing difficult--but it also means not being able to go and photograph or sketch the residents, which is relaxing.

I guess I'll have to get my photographing birds fix by photographing herons Delta Ponds, or photographing the neighborhood corvids.

Slightly related, the University of Oregon announced that their Spring Term Courses are all going to be full remote.  This is going to make things quiet on campus... and I imagine it will feel like Summer Term, only cooler and wetter... this is, of course, assuming that the campus will be open (currently, only students, faculty and staff are supposed to be there) and Eugene or Lane County isn't on some sort of lock-down (entirely possible if we're following Italy's trajectory).

I'm not sure how much work from home I'll end up doing--I currently share my office with various bits of technology, so it's less likely that co-workers would breathe on me.  I will certainly be using more remote support tools.

Birds of Late Winter

Monday, Mark and I went to Delta Ponds.  Mark desires to see beavers building their dam, and the best time to see them is at dusk.  The actual moment that is the most optimal is a question:  too early, and they really aren't swimming around in the murky waters; too late and the sun has set and you can't see anything other than wakes in the water (which are most likely nutria).

We keep going to the east end of the ponds, which is optimal for the silhouettes of herons in the trees.  The herons I photographed last time as they did their mating dance in the trees have put up a nest.

Tuesday, I went to the Cascades Raptor Center (partially because it was an annoying day, mostly because the sun was out).  I managed to get a photo of Neville in a new part of his aviary.   I learned (to my dismay) that Neville doesn't like really large camera lenses.

Pip, Peregrine Falcon was eating in the back of his aviary.  I like this particular photograph because of the inner and outer curve of his head.

 Danu, an Osprey, was brought out.  She's very vocal, and chatters to everyone most of the day.  Because her enclosure is roped off, I thought she was slightly upset by the visitors, but I was told that if she was upset she'd make less of a high-pitched keen (which can be heard over rushing river waters) and more of a honk.











I managed to get a photo of Danu's nictating membrane.

Normally, Danu's aviary is set back a ways, behind a rope, so it's difficult to see her, especially in the afternoon when the sunlight is shining on the mesh of her enclosure.

 All of the residents were the most vocal that I've heard them.  Amazon the golden eagle was building a nest (I think) and making gibbering noises like a creature from the Haunted Woods surrounding the Wicked Witch of the West's castle.  Dmitri the Eurasian eagle-owl was extra hooty, and was chattering like a cat as he beaked some gravel a handler put on his roost so he wouldn't tear up the astroturf.  Puck chittered at anyone who walked by his aviary -- I'm not sure if he wanted them to see his mouse or not.

Since the equinox is around the corner, the birds are getting hormonal.  They're also gaining weight since the days and nights have been warmer.

The burrowing owl, Ra, came out while its aviary was being cleaned out.   I managed to take a zillion photographs of Ra, who seemed very relaxed and curious about the turkey vultures flying in the area.

Ra's handler and I had a brief discussion about who was the cuter, Ra, or Ravi, a Western Screech Owl -- they're both pretty darn cute.

I would have stayed a little longer, but I had to go to Dad Taxi duties.

Sunny Day at the Raptor Center

Wednesday was such a clear and sunny day that I went to the Cascades Raptor Center.  Again.

The nice thing about visiting them during a weekday afternoon is that there's fewer visitors there, and I don't have to worry about being One of Those Photographers Who Stands In Front of Everything so much.

Wednesday was the brightest day I've visited, which introduced new challenges photographing the residents.  I'm not sure if using an ISO at 800 is a good thing or a bad thing--on one hand, a number of the raptors think a camera tripod is the handle to a bird net vets use, and a fast film speed means I don't have to use the tripod to get a still shot.  On the other hand, some of my photos seemed washed out, and I'm wondering if a lower ISO and a slightly slower shutter speed would have resulted in better hues.

Dmitri (Eurasian Eagle-Owl), looked stereotypically professorial in his aviary.   In addition to being a photogenic animal to begin with, his aviary is lined up along a east-west axis, which allows for good lighting on him and not on the aviary mesh.   He wasn't as vocal this time around as he was the other day.

This time around, I managed to catch Banjo (Eastern Red-tailed Hawk) being fed outside her aviary.  Usually, Banjo perches near the front of her enclosure and puffs up her chest feathers; this is cool, because Banjo's chest feathers have a kind of crescent and oak-leaf, brown-and-cream pattern on them.  I really do want to study the design on her feathers and transfer it to a creamy, ruffled scarf.

Eating snacks on a leather glove, she looks more streamlined.  I hadn't realized how dark she is on top because her perch is above eye level.  I felt lucky to see her out of her aviary, and I especially appreciated being able to get a photo of her with her wings spread -- the arcs and curves of the wings are beautiful, and the arrays of patterned feathers are fascinating.

Ra (Burrowing Owl) was out and about, and many of the other residents were resting.

It did occur to me that I had just visited the Center four days prior, and that this second visit was possibly a little obsessive.  I enjoy visiting, and I'm trying to work out why.  Part of it is raptors are cool; part of it is a desire to appreciate their natural beauty, with a notion of attempting to reproduce it in art; part of it is the Center is in a wooded area that's relaxing; part of it is that it's an excuse to photograph things.  In any case, I think I do want to pace myself so I don't burn out on it

I visited everyone, and then was thinking that I should head back home when Dante (Golden Eagle) came out for his feeding and training session.

Dante is a vocal raptor, and makes a lot of excited squeaky noises as he's fed bits of rabbit haunch.  What was most interesting was that his handler had to get some more rabbit bits, and Dante knew the tread of his walk across the gravel from twenty-five feet away on the other side of a fence.

Dante is also handsome and photogenic.   He also is dog-like with respect to food.  As I've written before, Dante slobbers a lot in order to be able to swallow rabbit haunches whole.  The new Gross Bird Fact I learned was that he sometimes cleans post-feeding fur bits off of his beak by rubbing it on his handler's beard.

I'm pretty sure this is a few degrees worse than having Smokey groom us.

Valentines and Owls

Whew.  What an odd week.  Monday at work there was a lot of network problems, which made it feel like a stereo-typical Mercury Retrograde Day.  It was a rainy week, too, which made things like the electric throw extremely attractive.  I forget which day having the throw really helped my feet feel like something I could walk on instead of places where someone had stuck icy-cold electrodes into my toes.


Saturday, Mark and I went for a walk downtown and had a belated Valentine's Snack.  Our reasoning was that if we tried to eat on Friday night, we'd be packed in between wall-to-wall Valentine's Day Couples.  We found a cute little place on Willamette and 14th, which used to be a Really Large Antique Store, but is now a series of Big City Style cafes and eateries.  Our stop was a brewery-pub with a kind of Arts And Crafts feel.  We ate a lot of yummy and fatty snacks, the most popular being battered and fried cauliflower, dipped in plum sauce.


Sunday, the skies cleared, which made it a good day to visit the Cascades Raptor Center.  I turned up the ISO to 800 and left the tripod home.  This time around I missed events where the birds were brought out of their aviaries, so I failed to have cage-free photos.  I did manage to blur out some bars while taking photos of Dimitri the Eurasian Eagle-owl.  The sunlight streamed into his aviary at just the right angle, and, fortuitously, was illuminating him and not the mesh of his enclosure.  I even managed to get a few photos of him saying, "Who-whooo," which makes the white feathers at his throat bulge out.

Mark joined me and we visited Puck, who flew up to the edge of the aviary to show us the mouse tail he was eating.  Other bits of mouse appeared to be stashed away at various corners of his enclosure.  Newton seemed to be speaking to Mark, and we wondered if he wanted us to feed him.  Apollonia wasn't as agitated as she's appeared in the past.

Just before we left, we got to see Dimitri get weighed and fed--he became excited, and made a deep sound like, "Naaaah, naaaah!" which I thought was a small child or possibly the sound created by some folks who 3-D printed an Ancient Egyptian's larynx.  But no, it was Dimitri, which became clear when he flew nearer, and said, "Naaaaaaah!" from a perch right next to us.   Then a trainer came in and directed him to roost on a scale and other perches for pieces of rat.


I managed to get to the Gym Monday (as previously reported), Wednesday, and Friday; doing the Push-Pull, the Aerobic, and the Push-Pull routines, respectively.  


On the writing front, I managed to polish and submit a story.  I should submit some more.

Thursday Afternoon Kestrel Fest

Thursday was slightly stressful, but after work, the sun came out and I went to the Cascades Raptor Center to wind down and photograph raptors.  At one point, I think I was the only patron there, which meant the place was quiet except for passing cars and various wrens, jays, woodpeckers, and other small feeder birds.

I said hi to Aeolus (quietly, because he was sleeping), Atticus (who gaped his beak, which I hope means hi in Bald Eagle), Banjo, Lethe, and Dante.

A little farther up, Amazon, a Golden Eagle, was being fed and weighed by one of the trainers (who I know through Pearwood).  Amazon was playing with something with a lot of feathers.  Archimedes, a Snow Owl, and Neville,  Great Horned Owl, had their aviaries next door, so I went to visit them.  Neville was blinking a lot at me, which meant he was a little cranky or territorial (later on he must have thought I was going to take his enrichment geodesic ball, because he hissed at me, puffed up, and clacked his beak at me).

I managed to see both owls being fed and weighed.  Archimedes typically looks like a milk jug or a bowling pin, so it was fun to see him looking more bird-like as he jumped onto a perch and back.  I took some photos of them with the full knowledge that the grille of their aviary would be prominent, and then mostly stood aside the camera and watched them.

Padawan, a Barn Owl, had come out of his box-perch and was standing on it.  I've usually only seen him from a front-on setting, and I managed to get some photos of him from the side.

Dmitri, a Eurasian Eagle-Owl, was hooting, and I thought maybe he might be outside his enclosure, so I went over to his side of the Center.  He was wasn't out, but Parker, an American Kestrel, was.

The best photos I managed to take were of Parker.  He is about the size of a hand.  He was being fed a mix of mouse, quail(?), and mealworms.  He was so focused on eating that he didn't move around too much (it's possible the trainers train the raptors to stand on a certain spot on the gloves to get fed so the raptors don't attempt a raid on the food pouch).  What was interesting to me was how much Parker used his tail to keep his balance.  At one point, wild raptor (? a red-tailed hawk?) flew overhead, and Parker became very quiet and still until the other bird soared away.

The trainer put Parker back, and went to work with another Kestrel.  I walked around to see more of Dmitri, who was the most active I've seen him.  He was close to his cage's grille, so I didn't bother with pictures; instead I watched him preening and stretching.  When he vocalized, a white tuft of feathers bulged out at his throat, sort of like a bullfrog's throat, and a deep "whooo" came out.

By this time, the clouds had slid in from the west, and everything was going grey again.  I wandered around and visited Newton and Nike and some of the other residents.  The overcast lighting made for some dark photos, and I thought it might rain, so I left for home.