Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
A buddy stopped by last night with this big snapping turtle to show my kids.
In his cooler, it didn't look that big; but when we took it back to the pond where he caught it late in the night, it was bigger than we thought: Probably pushing 20 pounds.
We had to keep a sharp eye on my 7-year-old because he was drawn to it like those little doggie magnets I, as a kid, used to play with between hymnal sheets.
Finally, it waddled down into the water.
The hummers I threw in just to see if it search engines would pick it up.
But, while on the topic, of ruby-throated hummingbirds I should make plain, it has been an odd year in that regard, too.
We had hummers show up earlier than we ever remember. Then two weeks ago, we had as many as four at one time at our feeder and my wife's hanging baskets. We never had that many before.
Another relatively quiet morning--no doves, only one squirrel when we came back into town--for the morning ramble with the meathead.
Until we got to the back side of the town pond. I am still ground baiting for a buddy and I was startled when a green heron flew off a few feet away from us as I tossed the dissolvable bag of ground bait.
Then the meathead nearly freaked when another green heron flew off right in front of us when that loud squawking they do while at the same time a great blue heron flapped off the corner of the town pond.
It was a moment.
I thought we might have a chance at patches of light frost. Not even close. It was only 43 degrees when I checked.
Still cool enough that I was glad I put on my black insulated Goshen College hood coat for the first time in months.