Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
The simple act of bending and trying to pick up a slimy night crawler on wet pavement has curative powers.
I will testify.
Just wiped out this morning. Last night I did not reach Carey Pinkowski, the executive director of the Bank of America Chicago Marathon, until nearly midnight for his reaction to the Boston Marathon bombings.
Until I rewrote my story--``Get me rewrite''--with an editor, Maureen, feathering in quotes and I wound myself down, it was well past 1 a.m.
So much for my plan to go turkey hunting this morning. I stayed in bed until 6.
I saw the first crawler as we walked past the neighbor's house. I took the chance there would be more and bent to begin collecting or, in outdoors parlance, picking crawlers. I found an emergency plastic bag in a back pocket and stashed them.
It's a simple thing, picking crawlers, but my spirits lifted quickly.
It is no accident to connect Pinkowski and picking crawlers.
Pinkowski is more apt to talk fishing in northern Wisconsin with me than running.
His last public tweet from late last summer was about fishing there:
Leeches and night crawlers in 8ft of water for bass! Plus my favorite good luck charms - my two kids.
Leeches and night crawlers in 8 feet of water? Sounds like a Midwest Fishing Report.
By the ball field, I found many crawlers, enough to collect about two dozen.
We needed the crawlers. The two youngest kids and I nearly used up all the earthworms I found in turning over the garden in recent weeks fishing for bluegill on Sunday at the town pond.
Beside the youngest boy finding a garter snake, hearing tree frogs and seeing a turtle, the coolest thing was my daughter spotting a great egret.
This morning, there was an egret on the north old clay pit; another on the south pit (the white in the photo below).
Four ducks I couldn't ID were on the north pit and at least four Canada geese that I could find in a quick glance. I was more focused on the egrets.
The oddity this morning is no geese were on the nest on the island on the south pit. That made me wonder if they had hatched out goslings. If they did, the pair of geese did a good job of hiding them between themselves and shore. I could not see any.
As usual, mourning doves cooed and fluttered about on all sides, in town and out. On a wet sloppy morning, robins had easy pickings on worms and crawlers.
A gray squirrel loped off from under our bird feeder as the meathead and I came back up the front steps.
Back to the mundane, the every day.
I dug the red Folgers coffee can of worms from the basement and packed in the crawlers.