I'm a nature photographer and my favorite place to be is on the brink of a lake at sunrise somewhere in the mountains.By the prompting of a friend, after much prayer and consideration, my husband Steve and I elected to take in foster children. We're now in our fifties; my three sons are all grown and off living life, so it seemed right to share our space with children in need of shelter from the storms of life.
For this free spirited photographer, my sentence is akin to wearing an electronic ankle bracelet. I can't just get up at at three in the morning and head for the hills on a whim anymore. I strain against this short leash, longing for mountains, meadows, woods and wildlife.
THE GLUTTONOUS ROGUE
The jagged distant snow-capped peaks taunted me as I filled a tray with a couple pounds of sunflower seeds. My birds' decorative feeder had recently been frequented by greedy little thieves who left not a grain or morsel behind. The insatiable tyrants actually chewed out the opening of the entry way to make it large enough to for them to get inside.
I decided to give these marauding squirrels their own fare, weighting an aluminum cake pan with rocks to keep it from blowing away or falling over.
Gazing wistfully from my rickety, paint-chipped deck toward the Rocky Mountains, I ached for the sounds, pine scented breeze and cool embrace they offered. Suddenly I heard the wild chatter of a bushy-tailed rodent in the aspen tree, whose gangly branches drape over the rails of my porch. Perhaps he was squawking at me for making the bird feeder inaccessible to him - not yet having noticed the pan of seeds atop the unused chimua fireplace.
Squirrely cautiously made his way in little lurches toward the new feeder, glancing warily over his shoulder at me every few seconds. Once there, he dove in and forgot all about me.
As I watched smiling at my own cleverness, I was thinking he'd eat a bit and soon be off to chase his playmate. Instead, he kept voraciously eating as though this were his first and last meal...until the whole pan was completely emptied. I've heard of squirrels storing away nuts for winter but I thought they took them back to their home in a tree, not stowed them in their guts!
Then, to my incredulous surprise, Squirrely moved slowly across the rails back to the bird house with intent to gorge himself further. Alas finding it empty, he collapsed, splaying himself flat out on the rail. As I stood shooting photographs from various
angles, he guardedly made his way up into the aspen tree and collapsed on a branch where he remained for some length of time, unable to move.
Is there a moral to the story? Make up your own. I've seen a few people who remind me of Squirrely, devouring huge quantities of food and then flopping in front of the TV immovable.
Uh-oh, that was me on Labor Day Monday evening after Steve grilled steaks on the barbie...
Just call me squirrely.
I decided to give these marauding squirrels their own fare, weighting an aluminum cake pan with rocks to keep it from blowing away or falling over.
Gazing wistfully from my rickety, paint-chipped deck toward the Rocky Mountains, I ached for the sounds, pine scented breeze and cool embrace they offered. Suddenly I heard the wild chatter of a bushy-tailed rodent in the aspen tree, whose gangly branches drape over the rails of my porch. Perhaps he was squawking at me for making the bird feeder inaccessible to him - not yet having noticed the pan of seeds atop the unused chimua fireplace.
Squirrely cautiously made his way in little lurches toward the new feeder, glancing warily over his shoulder at me every few seconds. Once there, he dove in and forgot all about me.As I watched smiling at my own cleverness, I was thinking he'd eat a bit and soon be off to chase his playmate. Instead, he kept voraciously eating as though this were his first and last meal...until the whole pan was completely emptied. I've heard of squirrels storing away nuts for winter but I thought they took them back to their home in a tree, not stowed them in their guts!
Then, to my incredulous surprise, Squirrely moved slowly across the rails back to the bird house with intent to gorge himself further. Alas finding it empty, he collapsed, splaying himself flat out on the rail. As I stood shooting photographs from various
angles, he guardedly made his way up into the aspen tree and collapsed on a branch where he remained for some length of time, unable to move.Is there a moral to the story? Make up your own. I've seen a few people who remind me of Squirrely, devouring huge quantities of food and then flopping in front of the TV immovable.
Uh-oh, that was me on Labor Day Monday evening after Steve grilled steaks on the barbie...
Just call me squirrely.
