Equinox Ornithomancy

I spent the weekend of the Autumn Equinox recovering from my latest COVID vaccination (not so bad, I guess, but I could do without the fever and chills).

Between naps, I quickly read two saucy man-on-man murder mysteries set in a magical Victorian England (the “Charm of Magpies” series, by K.J. Charles) and finished up a re-read of “The Mists of Avalon” (which says less about imagined British Paganisms and The Goddess than I’d recalled, and could be paraphrased “Morgaine and her certainty are the common factors in all her failed, betrayal-filled relationships.”)

So this Equinox there was no dancing in a magic circle, nor harping under moonlight, nor meditating while incense floated around me.

However, on the Equinox, Mark and I did go for a long walk along the Willamette River and to Delta Ponds. As we were walking along the gravel path between the two bridges on the south end of the Ponds, I looked out on a strip of water running between two marshy beds of river grass. It was a little after the sun was in its meridian. A dark egret stood on the eastern bank, facing a white heron on the western bank. The two birds facing each other put me in mind of the Middle Kingdom hieroglyph for the horizon 𓈌 , although I believe two animals back-to-back more commonly hint at it in Egyptian art. Still, it was a striking image — almost like a tableau from tarot card — that seemed to signify the Equinox. I stopped to pay better attention to it; fixing the curving the shining water between the green grasses, a shadowy neck, white wings, narrow beaks, and the symmetry between the birds in my mind.

And like the tarot, it was telling me something I already knew: the day was the day when the balance of the season would shift into shadow.

Return to Delta Ponds

 

Over the weekend, I took a break from Doom-Scrolling and went with Mark to Delta Ponds.  Although the evenings and nights have been overcast and rainy, we've been having clearish mornings.  It's been months since I've been.

 

Mostly, we saw coots, geese, cormorants, ducks, and heron.  We even managed to spy a hummingbird.  Off in the distance,  a bald eagle perched -- probably over the Willamette in hopes of catching a fish.  We saw no beavers, although Mark saw a nutria through his binoculars.

Because it was only about ninety minutes after sunrise when we got there, and because most of the leaves are off of the trees, the structure of branches struck me several times and I wished I had a loom or the graphic design ability to create a screen from the repeating patterns.

Later in the afternoon, before the sky became completely overcast, I got up on roof and took down the holiday star.  

 

Unfortunately, I did much too much Doom-Scrolling Sunday.

Evening Herons

The other day Mark and I ditched the dog and went for a walk through Delta Ponds.   I'm trying to remember when the last time I went was, and I think it was a month ago -- or something.  Like so many events during the COVID19 pandemic (and now the Black Lives Matter protests), past visits to the Ponds seem to have happened in previous life or on a different planet.

Since my last visit, the underbrush and trees have sprouted out and created verdant tunnels around the pond-side paths.  It's very mysterious, and good for stealing gay smooches, but it does block the view of the lake.

From an observation deck, we saw an osprey sitting on its distant tower nest, but the photos I took were too blurry.  I think there may have been baby osprey in the nest, but I only caught sight of a raised wing or two through the camera's LCD.  The song of the osprey carries far across the water.

Retraced our steps, Mark saw a rat tail hiding behind a concrete railing.  We took a few steps closer and the rat sprinted along the fence, leapt into the air, and scurried up a tree.  In retrospect, if squirrels can climb trees, and if rats can scamper up ropes to stowaway onto boats, I shouldn't have been surprised they climb trees; but it was unsettling.

Deja vu accompanied the rat, and the particulars of the morning's dream returned to me:  I had been in a dystopian English prep school; the instructors' voices came over speakers; the school itself was a maze of metal corridors, with mechanical instruments on articulated metal arms unfolding out of the walls; there was a swimming pool, surrounded by a metal railing, and steps descending down to fog-shrouded, murky water; mysterious, many-legged, human-sized insects lived in the pool.   In the dream the insects would pull you into the water, not to drown you, but to try to rescue you from the school.  It was very much like a Dr. Who episode (probably "Paradise Towers").   Looking over the railing over the pond, I half-expected to see a many-armed insect surface next to the log usually used by turtles to sunbathe.  

Later, walking over a bridge, Mark noticed a green heron fishing underneath us.  The heron had the perfect spot for fishing.  All it had to do was wait and the current flowing under the bridge would bring the fish right by its feet.   It would slowly stretch out, leaning over the stream and -- SPLASH! -- pluck a fish out of the water with its spearpoint beak.  We watched it catch five fish in as many minutes.

We lingered around the ponds and looked for more herons, but the only animals visible were ducks, geese, and nutria.  Mark enjoys the nutria, and I think they're kind of like mutant beavers or oversized water rats.  The light was fading; the last few days have been very cloudy, so instead of yellow-orange sunlight angling in over the waters, the sunset was an ambiguous smear from white-grey to shadow-grey.

As we walked back, Mark stopped again and pointed out another heron on the other side of a screen of greenery.  I thought it might be a white heron we'd seen before discovering the fishing green heron, but it was a different one.  I managed, for once, to convince the camera to actually focus on the heron and not the leaves and twigs in front of me.  The daylight had faded enough so that the local streetlights had turned on, and the ripples of reflecting light limned the heron, which was mostly facing me.   The light reminded me of a painting, "Midsummer Eve, C.1908" by Edward Robert Hughes, only now that I'm referencing the painting, in a much less twee fashion.

Herons and Photography

Here's a Delta Ponds heron for you (photo taken March 15, 2020).  This one was near the bridge on the east side of the pond, kind of near Interstate 5.

Mark is fairly good natured about when I photograph birds during our Delta Pond hikes.  I like taking photos because A) I want to preserve the moment, B) herons (and birds in general) look cool, C) they are a convenient reference for sketching, D) seeing how the natural world can arrange elements in aesthetically pleasing proportions is fascinating--I mean, look at the rotation, tessellation, and scaling of the feather shape--, and E) it can feel like a collaboration with the subject.

I think Mark sometimes thinks the camera A) is a barrier to actually enjoying the hike through the ponds, and B) negates any health benefit of a brisk walk as I stop to snap a hundred (mostly blurry) pictures of harassed wildlife.

But he does make an effort to plan walks so the sunlight is behind us and shining on the birds.

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.

Wildlife on a Sunday Evening

 Sunday evening, Mark and I went to Delta Ponds.  Mark really wanted to see some beavers.  We got there about 5:40 or so, a few minutes before sunset.  I was very glad I had listened to Mark when he said to wear the wool cloak over my already existing two layers.

In the distance, herons roosted in the trees; it's their nest-building season.  I did wish we had come in the morning, because the sunlight would have been shining on the birds instead of sinking behind them, and the light for photography would have improved during our visit.  

The ducks and the geese flew in to search for overnight spots along the shore.  We saw a lot of nutria.  There were many, many gnawed stumps of  trees where the beavers had been busy, but we only saw the new dam they've constructed.  

By 6:30 most of the daylight was gone, and we made our way home.

The sky was clear-ish, and I took photographs of the Moon, Taurus, and the Pleiades.  When the Moon is half-full, it's difficult to photograph it with stars because the Moon washes everything out.


Went to the Gym Monday for the aerobic routine.  I managed to do all of the sets, including the burpees at the end -- so, yay me!  This means that I'm a little sore all over today (I'm also going to blame hefting concrete pavers around Sunday).

Everything And The Kitchen Sink

The last week has been a quiet one; we've been a little under the weather here, with low activity levels.

Also, I had to replace the ten-year-old water faucet in our kitchen, which required multiple trips to multiple hardware store to scope out replacement parts, purchase a new faucet, and finally obtain a massive, three-foot-long water-valve key to turn the water off to our house.  I seem to recall a lot of swearing.  On the plus side:  we can use the sink without a mini-jet of water coming out of faucet; and I now have a tool that will allow me to pose, Poseidon like, shirtless and with one foot resting on a writing mass of pipes, waterlines, and wrenches.

Mark continued to conduct quests to Delta Ponds in order to see beavers.  The latest trip, early on Saturday morning (2/8), the water in the side-chanells was down, and there were no beavers to be seen.  I guess without the extra foot or three of water gone, they were less inclined to corpuscular morning activity (or else they were exhausted from a previous evening's worth of cambium gnawing).

We did come across a nonchalant heron stalking fish.

On the craft front, I came across a star design set in an octagonal grid system, and riffed off of it.  Stars, with their pentagonal symmetry, are tricky to work with, mostly because 60 degrees, 45 degrees, 90 degrees, and 72 degrees come together awkwardly in two dimensions.

What I've discovered is that pinching or opening the angle of the stars' points is a tremendous aid to cleaner designs when distributing stars around a regular polygon, like an octagon or a hexagon.  Specifically, if you trim a 45 degree angle off of an octagon, duplicated the angle five times and rotate it 72 degrees into a star, the resulting stars will project octagon-friendly grids more readily than a regular star.  Also, you can work with how the exterior and interior angles suggest zig-zags in lines for designs that look tangled on purpose instead of recursive snarls.

The star design on the left is using stars with points made with 45 degree angles, which makes for a more orthogonal design; the similar star design on the right uses points with 60 degrees, so hexagons look more regular.

Also on the craft front, I decorated an Altoids tin with a Valentine's design.  At least, it was supposed to be suggestive of Valentine's.  I was attempting to make two raptors, back-to-back, into a heart shape.  I did this all by hand instead of using the plotter-cutter, and got (more or less) identical shapes by tracing hard over my original design over colored cardstock.  I'm not sure if the heart shape is coming out or not; the end product has a pareidolia effect going.  Mark looked at the finished product and said they looked like parrots.  The background I chose gave the whole thing an Arts And Crafts feel, so I'm pleased about that.

On the writing front:  going slowly, but I did manage to submit a short story.  Yay.

On the gym front, I went last Monday for a Push-Pull Routine, which felt like running through molasses.  I was fighting off some kind of stomach bug.  I felt too run-down to go Wednesday.  Because of Thursday's plumbing adventures, I had pulled something in my hands that left my left thumb particularly pained when I grasped things, so I wanted to give my hands a rest Friday.   And Saturday.   And Sunday.

Sunday Herons

Sunday, Mark and I went for a walk at Alton Baker Park and the Willamette River east of the park.   



I was hoping we'd see bald eagles or other raptors.   The sun hid behind bands of clouds, so sometimes the light was defuse -- other times the setting sun cast ruddy gold beams onto the trees.


About five minutes into the walk, I recalled that herons and other waterfowl like the park. 



Mark saw almost all of the birds before I did and pointed them out. 

The exception was a woodpecker, which I heard before I found.


Mark did spot a hawk, but before I could bring the camera to bear, a crow harassed it, and it flew off over the Willamette. 


We managed to get back to the car before huge black rain clouds hid the sun and sprinkled rain.

More photos here:  https://photos.app.goo.gl/WK6msxQ8cPtJ9nur8