Moon Phases

As the Super Pink Moon rose over our little part of the world last night I realized that it seemed like such a long, long time since the last full moon — the Super Worm Moon of early March.

Back then (in another lifetime) clouds were gathering, but life was still fairly normal here in Vancouver.

Super Worm Moon, March 9 2020

Many other people were out in the early evening enjoying the air and the appearance of the Pink Moon. “How breath taking is the moon?” we exclaimed from our 2 metre exclusion zones, as it miraculously rose above the city tangle of roof tops, wires and poles.

If there is something to be taken from our current situation it might be that, even in our urban setting, people finally have the time to just stop and watch the Nature channel.

On the last few nights I noticed neighbours taking advantage of any viewpoint to better enjoy the gorgeous sunsets. The top of the local school’s “earthquake preparedness box” seems to be a favourite way to gain some altitude.

The Pink Moon, lovely as it is, isn’t actually pink. Because it’s the first full moon of Spring, it rises at a time when the rest of the world is turning pink with blooms and blossoms. It reflects the pinkness of the world below.

Our neighbourhood is in full pink glory. We’re on the fulcrum between the falling snow of the darker pink plum blossom and the blooming of the shell pink cherry ones.

Mr. Pants guards “his” corner

Ornamental Plum Blossom

 

Quince blooming on a neighbour’s weathered wall.

Pink-tinged snow on Mount Seymour where, in a different universe, we’d be enjoying some late season snow shoeing and raven visiting …

Marvin in a pink world

Blossom nest  — the destination for this furniture delivery from a week or so ago.

As I try to adjust to the changes between the last full moon and this, I’m starting to get back to some work. I’ve got some new prints ready and I plan to re-open my online shops this weekend, just in case people want to browse in world of garden birds, crows and ravens.

The next full moon, in May, will be the Full Flower Moon.

Its arrival is a certainty in uncertain times.

May we all be safe and well to see it — and all the moons to come through summer, fall and winter — all the way to the lovely Pink Moon of 2021.

 

 

 

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© junehunterimages, 2020. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to junehunterimages with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

A Message in the Sky

It isn’t a dove, and it isn’t carrying an olive branch.

Probably too early for that, as we bob about in our socially-distanced arks on a vast sea of uncertainty, fear and loneliness, with no land yet in sight.

But it did feel, when I saw this crow flying over, trailing its lovely garland, that I was seeing some sort of message.

Perhaps: “Life is going on for us, and it will for you as well one day.”

Or maybe: “Look out and up, and there is beauty.”

Possibly: “My neighbours are going to be SO jealous when they see what I just got for the nest.”

As you may know, I’ve been photographing crows for many years now. I especially like to watch them in the spring when they’re collecting material for the nest. I love the silhouettes they make against the sky with twigs of various shapes in their beaks.

I have also watched them struggle to get just the right branch out of a tree. It’s not an easy task, as they have to first break the twig off and then wrestle it out of the tangle of branches on the tree. They often lose their prize, or just give up and look for an easier one.

This is, by far, the most impressive and lovely thing I’ve ever seen a crow manage to acquire.

Crows are known to sometimes present miscellaneous material goods to people who befriend and feed them. The crows of my acquaintance never do that, but they do give me wonderful things.

The fact that this determined crow* managed to haul this ridiculously long and beautiful garland out of an ornamental plum tree; that they happened to be poised on a roof with it just as I walked by with the dog; that they chose to fly off with it right in front of me — you must admit that these are a series of rather special gifts.

So, in a spring season like none we can remember, these pictures are gifts from the crows to you, via me. With love.

 

 

 

 

*This crow is either Mabel, or one of her family.

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© junehunterimages, 2020. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to junehunterimages with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Spring Garden Notes for Sanity

I realize that I’m incredibly lucky to have a garden I can escape into, even if we’re confined to home.

It’s like having a cabin with an outside deck on the cruise ship of pandemic life.

The least I can do, in gratitude for my good fortune, is to share some of the things going on out there.

I hope to be posting every other day, about birds, or crows, or ravens . . . but some days  I (like many of you) feel just a bit too discombobulated to construct a sentence, so bear with me if there are gaps.

Newly returned pine siskin enjoying the bird bath.

Now that it’s officially spring, I took the bold move of finally removing the bird bath heater. Call me crazy! We may even go hog wild and get the small fountain out of winter mothballs too.

I keep thinking that the Steller’s Jays have moved on permanently, but then, when I’m reconciled to their absence, back they come. It’s not hard to know when they’ve arrived, what with the shrieking calls and flashes of electric blue — my cue to stop listening to the radio and rush outside and enjoy them before they move on again.

The finches, House and Gold, are providing a more melodic garden sound track with an almost constant chorus of song.

Mr and Mrs House Finch

The bushtits are back, but often in groups of only two, now that nesting season has arrived.

Female bushtit with her pale gold eyes.

And those bushtits are still using their clever little claws for holding their food like a the world’s smallest burrito.

I have been doing my Feederwatch bird count each week, even though sometimes it’s hard to settle down and do it. I have to say, I highly recommend it as a mental health strategy. Even if you don’t have a garden, you just need to pick a spot with some birds (even if it’s just a few crows or pigeons), register, and do a count when you feel like it. It doesn’t have to be every week — just when you can.

Often when I go out there to count it’s as if the birds know and they all scarper.

But I’ve learned that if you are quiet enough and just sit for a few minutes, you will find that there’s always a bird somewhere out there.

Often it’s just one modest brown song sparrow scuffling ever so softly through the shadowy leaf litter.

Or a finch, outlined against the sun on a high branch, gathering a long breath for the next musical recitation.

I suspect there may be a metaphor to be sifted out of that word litter  . . .

Song sparrow tightrope walking on the Daphne Odora

To close, I’d like to thank you all for reading my blog, and sometimes writing to let me know it helps a bit.

The fact is that writing the blog helps me a lot too, by giving me something positive to focus on at this crazy time.

So, thanks and stay well, be kind to each other. And to the birds, of course.