Yes, we do miss seeing the sunrise over an uncluttered horizon, and hanging out in the tropics when it's winter elsewhere.
|S/V Journey, under sail as the sun rises over our watery horizon.|
Meanwhile, here in The Dalles, we went from summer to winter within two weeks.
|Our backyard, not that long ago, before we covered our pool for the season.|
I picked up these flip-flops in New Zealand. They've seen better days but I'm not ready to let them go yet.
My goal was to get in some spring bulbs before the ground froze. I just barely made it, sinking in a couple hundred bulbs for some select spots—something to dream about for the next five months or so.
West of our front porch, early crocus and iris, and mid-spring hyacinths and tulips
which are now in the ground.
It's "warming up" to the mid-30s during the dim and relatively brief daylight hours—our salad days are less frequent. This is stew, mac 'n cheese, and bean soup weather. Yesterday, Wayne requested oatmeal-raisin or peanut butter cookies.
|Gluten-free comfort food to brighten a dull wintery November day.|
The beautiful dishes are courtesy of my friend, Connie Dorigan.
We entertain ourselves—and our comedic kitty Shiva by luring in the greater winter bird population of the area. Jays, robins, sparrows, goldfinch, doves and quail, to name the few I know. And then there's (still) the hummingbirds.
The emerald Anna hummingbirds stick around through the winter, when they're cold and hungry and most folks give up on their feeders until spring. We're bringing in our new, more robust feeder every eve so it doesn't freeze, and bringing it back out first light. We also added a heated feeder. The hummers buzz past my head when I bring the feeder out. They're so fast I can't see them. I hear and feel them.
|Yes—some hummers hang out here through the winter.|
Photo credit Harrison Haines on Pexels.
Our two "regular" bird feeders were getting emptied daily. We decided to encourage our feathered friends to get to know the rest of the 'hood by only refilling the feeders every other day.
But these guys are the ones who inspired Wayne to move one of our feeders under the eves. Today we watched one launch itself off our frozen birdbath, onto the pole holding the remaining apparently still squirrel accessible bird feeder, then get jiggy with it.
This feeder will soon follow its mate under the eves, relegating the squirrels to the ground pickup crew—we hope.
But if silly squirrel vids of humans failing to outwit the craft critters are your thing, here is the master
The Dalles, Oregon. Where for now not only do we not own a boat, I don't even own a kayak—yet. We still haven't written off future adventures, either.
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