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Ramble with Storm: Solitary life of a squirrelly bastard & a redhead

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stormtight.jpg Mulling things on my morning ramble,

with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.

Before we even reached downtown, I had lost track of the number of mourning doves fluttering around or cooing. Same with the scampering of gray squirrels.

Don't ask me why, but the cooing of doves down the nearby alley made me think that musicians are much more communal in their art, while writers tend to be much more of loner-types, tending toward being squirrelly bastards.

I suspect some of that thought came because of the trip with our teenage son's band Thursday night to Paul Henry's Art Gallery in Hammond. Musicians share instruments and practice licks and rifts together.

Writers tend to work best alone by contrast, in part because writing is a solitary pursuit, much more so than making music. That's especially true for writers who also do any type of reporting.

And I also suspect that those who trend toward being squirrelly bastards tend toward writing.

But I digress.

Out at the town pond, red-winged blackbirds trilled on a crisp, high-sky winter morning. First morning in nearly a week that wasn't gray and spitting snow.

Cold enough that the north half of the open water on the north end of the south old clay pit had skimmed over with the ice. The ice cap held well enough that on the south end of the south pit that the ice shanty is still holding sway. The ice fishermen have faith.

As we started back into town three Canada geese came off the lake to the west and flew low over the town, honking loudly.

As I cut through an alley off downtown, I heard the call of a red-headed woodpecker. I was far enough away that I could fix a bead on it. Eventually I found it, working the same old dead trunk of a nearby venerable elm.

I was able to see if well enough to see it was a male. Male red-headed woodpeckers are beautiful birds.

A blue jay squawked a couple houses down. Blue jays, though beautiful, are raucous pains in the ass.

Three gray squirrels and a black squirrel loped off the front porch under our bird feeders as Storm and I came up the front steps.


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About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Dale Bowman published on March 3, 2013 8:08 AM.

Ramble with Storm: Redheads in winter & the great divide was the previous entry in this blog.

Illinois outdoors: Perspective on white-nose syndrome is the next entry in this blog.

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