Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
Two Canada geese sentries raised all kinds of hell in warning as Storm and I crossed over the side rail tracks toward the town pond.
So I figured the dozens of goslings must be nearby. If they were, did not find them on either old clay pit.
The absurd spring or early summer goes on. Normally, because of my job, I live in shorts, sandals and tee-shirts from mid-May until late September or early October.
Oh, I had jean shorts on this morning when I set out. But I also wore a hood coat and black wool stocking cap on a morning in the 40s. It's June 3 and in the 40s.
The morning sky had that crisp deep blue I normally associate with winter cold fronts and arctic air. Maybe the same principle applies.
Saw fewer robins hopping around yards and heard fewer mourning doves cooing this morning. But that was probably just a result of getting out later with the cold weather.
Yesterday afternoon, I took the youngest two kids out to pick up garbage around the town pond, especially the fishermen's trash in the photo above.
They ended up with two good bags. And an adventure.
Our youngest son kept going down every fisherman's path to the water's edge. And usually his sister would follow, especially when he found bedding bluegill. Our daughter is sharp enough as a fishermen to pick out a couple bedding redear, too.
Considering the cold, I was surprised how many redear and bluegill were on beds. They saw one bigger fish, which I didn't find. From the description, I tend to think it was a northern pike in feasting on bedding bluegill.
They jumped one bullfrog and heard another.
I was glad they were happy to pick up the trash and take responsibility for guarding their town pond, their wild spot.
This morning, mid-40s and all, I heard bullfrogs croaking on both pits.
A great blue heron flapped slowly over high above the south pit.
Back on the edge of town, barn pigeons (if you grew up on a farm like I did) or rock doves landed on wires by the feed mill. I heard Eurasian collared-doves down an alley.
Near home, three wrens, which I couldn't positively ID, flitted around the town's former Scout leader. The retiree is a wonderful woodworker and makes these great wren houses.
This winter I will see if he will make us a kit or show the 8-year-old how to make a wren house. It would be a nice addition to our yard and a good learning experience for him.
While I was gone for two days, the chives in the pot on the steps blossomed with round purple flowers and my wife's roses exploded in big red flowers all over.
The roses stand their own guard of our door with beauty and grace.