As Deb traveled the county road on her way to work this morning, she reported that the mowing crew was at it again, this time cutting back vegetation along the south side of the road.
“Anything goin’ on there?” she asked.
“Birdy,” I replied. “It’s very birdy here today.”
Earlier, I’d launched the Merlin app and let it record for exactly two minutes. That brief audio clip captured seven different species — red-eyed vireo, tufted titmouse, American crow, Carolina chickadee, Acadian flycatcher, Carolina wren and indigo bunting. Had I left it running another ten seconds, it also would’ve registered the calls of a northern cardinal, a mourning dove and a pileated woodpecker.
It’s just nuts up here.
After I got off the phone with Deb, I used Merlin again, two recordings totaling 90 seconds. That identified four more voices in the morning chorus — northern parula, brown-headed cowbird, American robin and blue jay.
Fourteen species of birds in a span of less than four minutes.
I’ve been keeping track, and we’ve now seen or heard (or both) a staggering 40 different kinds of birds on The Mountain. I’ve never lived anywhere else quite like this.
My plan, once I stopped playing amateur ornithologist, was to take steps toward air-conditioning the cabin. That’d begin with installing an electrical pass-through in the wall near the southeast window — a very simple task.
I checked the height of the pass-through I’d put at the other end of the cabin last fall, and I marked the midpoint between studs where I wanted to put this one. Satisfied, I chucked a hole saw into my drill and cut the opening. Easy.
Going outside to insert the pass-through into the hole, I found that the opening extended into one of the vertical grooves in the T-111 siding — not ideal. Next trip to Miller Hardware I’ll pick up a tube of caulk and seal the gap.
The gap isn’t visible now, and the caulk won’t be, either. I could’ve avoided it, though. The hole didn’t have to be centered between studs.
I put away the tools I’d used for this mini-job and started thinking about the next one. Then I noticed the “biscuit” of siding lodged in the hole saw, so I grabbed a pair of needle-nosed pliers to remove it.
It was wedged in there pretty tight. I applied manly force.
The tool slipped.
The nose of the pliers took a large chunk of flesh out of the web between the thumb and forefinger of my left hand. (Right next to yesterday’s wasp sting, in fact.) I cussed, staunched the bleeding with a dirty shop towel and finished liberating the biscuit from the bit.
And then I just quit.
That is, I stopped for the day.
It made no sense to continue. First, I had to clean and dress my wound. More important, I read myself and judged it a bad day to keep doing what I’d planned.
I once told Deb that if she ever sees me begin to stumble while I’m bucking firewood or clearing brush, she’s to take the damned chainsaw away from me. Essentially, that’s what I did for myself today.
There’s wisdom in knowing when to quit. I have the luxury of being able to do that.
With the arrival of spring, leaves on the trees gradually drew the curtain on our view of the valley and ridges to our west. Now, in mid-June, the vista is completely blocked.
I was walking Deb to her Jeep yesterday morning when I looked in that direction. A slight difference in light and contrast caught my eye — a patch of hazy brightness far beyond the nearby oaks and hickories.
It was the rising sun shining on the western shoulder of Hall Mountain, miles away. Maybe the portal was a gift of recent storms, or maybe I just hadn’t noticed it before.
Either way, I think it’s pretty cool.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB