Chamber of Mirrors

Well now. Crumby actually reached 100 species in January. That's 100 birds of Class Aves for the Big Ass Year to date. But now, that goal met, Crumby is taking a hard earned break from competitive birding. Yes. Crumby is for the nonce alternatively thinking about last weeks house cleaning while preparing himself mentally for this weeks house cleaning. Typically, Friday is the day of the week Crumby cleans house. Last Friday when Crumby brought the mop bucket and mop inside he espied this jumper which must have ridden in on one of the other of those spider conveyances (bucket or mop). Yet Crumby is not the kind of experienced man who could simply let that spider roam the house at will, maybe fixing to get mopped up. No. Crumby needed to catch that particular spider then take it outside. Yet the only spider carrier handy was one of those decorative tins that long ago contained a Christmas cookie or two, but now houses a bag of potpouri or marijuana seeds. Crumby emptied all that out. The chase was on. Jumpers can be hard to catch with only a cookie tin. But this jumper has only seven legs so the want of a leg maybe, slowed her down. Of course, however, once caught, she needed to pose for her pre-release documentation photo. Here that is. Phidippus arizonensis

Products That Go Extinct

It's good that civilized people, as opposed to the ignorant, barbaric majority, fret over the extinction of plants and animals. Yes. Good. But what about commercial products that go extinct? Not the crap or evil products that nobody cares about or say, good riddance to, but the good yet endangered products like Sunshine Crispy Crackers and whole green chiles in the small cans. Yes. Sadly, Crumby is outliving a great many of the wonderful products he once knew and depended upon for surety or comfort. Here is another example. This is Crumby's personal binocular harness. Note the twain leather pieces. You don't see those anymore. No. These days the binocular harnesses are all inferior, featuring only one leather piece. Plus, the straps are liable to be elastic, so that eventually they stretch out permanently, rendering themselves obsolete.

The really wierd thing is, Crumby's bin harness has no identifying marks at all. That's right. There is nothing on Crumby's apparatus indicating its origin. So poor Crumby can't trace it down. And Crumby so would like another one just like it. But Crumby can't get another one just like it. Cause it's, boo-hoo, extinct.

The AnsweP is Flappin' in the Wind

Many may recall that the slanted leg sometimes falls of the capital R, leaving a capital P.  As in, CHRIST IS THE ANSWEP or more famously, MOOPS.

HOW MANY ROADS MUST A CORMORANT FLY ALONG
BEFORE THEY DON'T CALL HIM A DUCK
AND HOW MANY SEAS MUST A CORMORANT FLY OVER
BEFORE THEY DON'T CALL HIM A DUCK
AND HOW MANY TIMES MUST A CORMORANT TURN HIS HEAD
BEFORE THEY DON'T CALL HIM A DUCK
THE ANSWEP MY FRIEND, IS FLAPPIN' IN THE WIND
THE ANSWEP IS FLAPPIN' IN THE WIND

Phalacrocorax auritus

Miss Robin Crusoe

Crumby was shocked.   Shocked I tell you. 

That's right.  After an ill-advised afternoon of car birding and fast food, Crumby was so stressed out he woke up at 4am, then couldn't go back to sleep.  For those few ignoramuses who don't know, car birding is when an average birder goes looking for avian friends whilst behind the wheel or totally seated within a great vehicle.  It's a stupid and dangerous practice aggravated by the paucity of public land in these parts.  Not only is there the danger of getting hit by another great vehicle, but curious property owners are liable to accost the mobile yet miserable or intermittently inert birder even when said birder is on the public road right-of-way.   Maybe it's the bins and spotting scopes that spook the locals.  Or maybe they are just nosy and incapable of minding their own business.  Mercy!

Whut ere ye a doin? 

Well sir.  I am a spy for the United Nations.   And guess what.   Your property has been chosen for immediate occupation by the Red Army.  Look there.  The Soviet paratroopers are dropping as we speak.  Now, get ready for free love and abortion on demand. Also, get ready to work or starve.

Yes.  Car birding is stupid and dangerous.  But if you're fixing to do a Big Ass Year, yet yer home base is Les Republico Estrella Uno, then car birding is, sadly, necessary.  Hmm.   Is it worth it?

But Crumby digresses.  There Crumby was, wide awake at 4am fixng to disturb everyone else.  I better get up and go watch TV before I disturb everyone else.  In the pipe, 5-5-5.  That's right.  The selected channed was 555 or Turner Classic Movies (TCM).  And the featured attraction,  a little more than half over, was Miss Robin Crusoe.  Immediately Crumby espeid the familar stern visage and cleavage of Miss Kitty, I mean Miss Robin, I mean Miss Blake.

Holy Smokes!  This is the most racist and sexist movie I have espied ever.  Goodness gracious.  I shouldn't be watching this.   This epic propaganda film, plus fast food poisoning, could leave me voting republican.

However,  Crumby kept on watching right up until the part where the California Negroes corner the white people and Friday.  Then, as Miss Robin fires her flintlock aimlessly,  Crumby, annoyed by the aimless marksmanship,  switches to a soft core porn channel.  Anon, when Crumby switches back, the credits are already rolling. Dang it.  Crumby has to look up the ending on the internet. 

Well.  Praise the Goddess.  The white people and, surpisingly, Friday, got away clean.  Wonder why Friday didn't sacrifice herself to help the white people?  Crumby wondered.

And what is the moral to this particular venue entry.   Well.  The moral is that even a good person like Miss Blake can do bad things to make money.   Which is like car birding except that Crumby didn't get paid.

Documentation Photography at Its Worst (almost)

Today Crumby felt like he needed to fluff up his Big Ass Year List.  Jeez Louise, Crumby reasoned, I need to get at least 100 species for January. 

So Crumby set out to list some more avian or bird species for his Big Ass Year.  Featured is one of the species Crumby listed  for  his Big Ass Year,  today,  the fox sparrow (Passerella iliaca).  Actually, Crumby espied more fox sparrows today,  in 30 minutes than he ever espied in all the previous years combined.  Plus, in addition to this fairly miserable peekture,  Crumby also recorded a couple of the fox sparrows singing.  Weird!  Fox sparrows must be closely related to the Zonotrichias which also sing like canaries all winter.

The Big Ass Year total is 98 and now includes eastern  meadowlark.  Three eastern meadowlarks, out of dozens, vocalized today.  However,  Crumby believes that the peekture in a previous venue entry of a a meadowlark is actually a western.  That's because the yellow invades the eye line.  Nevertheless,  Crumby is not counting that one.  Because believing isn't everything. 

Boog - a - Bears

As everyone knows, Karl the Tracker Druid hates Crumby.  So when Crumby needs to find out something that Karl might know that he (Crumby) doesn't know,  Crumby requires that Ray mediate for Crumby with Karl. 

Ray!  Could you go over to Karl's?  I need you to ask Karl what happens when an average elderly person like myself needs to urniate whilst on a bear tour in Alaska.   Here's some questions you need to ask Karl.

1.   Everyone is going along through a swampy meadow.   Rubber boots in the muck make sucking noises.  My bladder is full.  Can  I say to my fellow or lady bear tour buddies,  Go ahead on,  I shall remain here for the nonce for I much need to relieve myself   'ere some bear scares the piss out of me? 

2.  There we are with only kodiak bears for company.  My bladder is full.  I realize that if I do a number two thereabouts, I shall first need to dig a hole.  But what if I only need to urinate.  Do I still need to dig a hole?  More importantly, what is the impact of my piss on the bears' environment?

3.  There we are, totally surrounded by frolickng 10 foot tall bears.   Let's say I need to urinate.   But I am concerned about my privacy.  Can I go off a ways to pee?   If I go off a ways, from the main group,  for the sake of privacy,  will the bears get me?

4.  OK  Ray.   This last question is off topic.  Ask  Karl if he thinks it's OK to use my flash and better beamer on the bears just in case they won't hold still or it's dark outside. 

Can you please ask Karl for me Ray?  Just four queriies from the Crumby Ovate (CO).

Myocastor coypus

Another common name for the nutria is the very cute sounding name, coypu. I bet that the many who keep nutria as pets are more than likely to refer to their pet as a coypu.  But what about the many that eat nutria?  Seems like coypu might be better for diners too.  Have some of this delicious coypu, it tastes like rabbit.

Ray happens to know where this particular coypu stays.  Because Ray took this picture.  Knowing the location, Ray would neither pet nor eat this particular coypu. Poo-poop-e-doop!

Christ on a Bicycle

Oh my Gosh in the Land o’ Goshen! Red relaxed the CB news ban. So last night everyone gathered around the TV to watch Oprah. Crumby, an avid cyclist, yet normally too nervous to sit for very long at one spell, actually watched probably 3/4 of the show, a high water mark for the attention deficit afflicted Ovate.

What Crumby took away from the show was, how similar and variously different Lance is compared to Jesus. Like, both suffered quite a bit from the persecution that only this cruel planet is capable of inflicting upon its various inhabitants, maybe. However, Jesus, despite the considerable persecution he endured, only took out his frustrations on the money lenders and maybe a Pharisee or two that represented the generic wickedness of those times. Whereas Lance went tit for tat, personally, with those that would persecute him, yea verily.

Yet what if Jesus and his disciples had ridden everywhere on bicycles? Would that have made a difference? Crumby can espy that it might have. That’s assuming Jesus figured out some way to tuck up his robe modestly so it would not get stuck in the chain. Once the robe was tucked up modestly, Crumby believes Jesus would have done even better on a bicycle than he did on a donkey.

However, does anyone seriously think Lance would have done as well on a donkey or burro as he did on a bicycle? Well. Maybe so. Maybe not. Since Le Tour is a tour, not a race, it’s easy to visualize a great herd of donkeys toting dissipated riders through the French countryside, then making a mad dash for the finish line. But could Lance then share in the glory with his ass? Maybe so. Maybe not.

Ever the dawn is the hope of men.

Title is parapharasing Tolkien maybe. Yet on those occasions when Ray espies one of Ogma's more colorful risings he may say out loud, Ever the dawn is the hope of men. Course that's all silly what with the advent of security lighting, night vision goggles or the all pervasive light pollution prevalent in these parts, etc. It's like, there is no true night. So how can dawn be the hope of men? OK. It could be that the Dawn we are now discussing is not necessarily the mere, mundane arising of Ogma Sunface, but some strumpet or Naiad faunching along that is ever the hope of men. Maybe so. Anyhow, here is another CB sunrise over and around the tree of paradise which Crumby planted in the backyard against his better judgement in a so far vain attempt to lure crossbills. OK WG. I am doing a Big Ass Year. So maybe now at last You could send a crossbill or two to the backyard. No! Yes! Maybe Baby! Mercy!

Since Crumby reached 85 sp. the Big Ass Year has been on hold. That's why Crumby made a detour to the Stinky Valley shopping center pond on his way to the HEB this morning. Goodness! Crumby rode his bicycle. But man alive it was surely too cold for bicycle rides this morning. Yet even given the incredibly frigid conditions prevalent in Stinky Valley on this day, Crumby espied twain ducks and twain grebes on the pond. Druid vision revealed that the twain ducks were ring-necks, that should be named ring-bills, and the other twain were grebes. Druid vision indicated pied-billed grebes, but those grebes could also be least grebes. Except they weren't, according to Druid vision. Nevertheles, after Crumby did his frigid ride to the HEB he determined to go back and check on the grebes with bins. Naturally, when Crumby eventually returned, the silly ducks were still around, but the grebes were gone or hiding in the reeds. So Crumby has now missed yet another bird, to whit grebe.

Big Ass Year Contemplations

Here's Crumby in black vulture guise contemplating progress during his Big Ass Year.  Crumby is now up to 85 sp.,  including, of course the bv, which is #15 for Crumby's Big Ass Year.  Yet Crumby is seriously aggravated whenever he misses a bird identification, and therefore, can not count that particular bird.  We have already noted the missed swallow and the missed meadlowlark.  Those twain are still missed;  the swallow because it has not been espied again, and the meadowlark, much espied, yet always mute. 

Then there are the freak occurrences.  There Crumby was, struggling to harness up, when all of a sudden he audited a branch or small tree snapping; which event simultaneously spooked a pipit-sized yellow bird that zipped along close to the ground until it was ouf of state or sight.  Whichever came first.  All this Crumby espied out of the corner of his eye, employing Druid vision.   Trouble is, the responsible party or parties that provide rules or guidelines for the Big Ass Year, don't accept Druid vision particulars.  And well they should not.  Yet that bird was dang sure something.  But Crumby missed it. 

Crumby shall fret over missing that bird for the remainder of his mortal days.  Correct.  Only once the Goddess clasps dead Crumby to Her Ample Bosoms shall Crumby then have some slim chance of identifying that missed bird.  Praise the Goddess!

For many moons Crumby relied upon the Sony Cassette Recorder, Model TCM 818 for bird work.  In fact, as recently as just a few years gone by,  Crumby employed that same recorder as a last resort, yet strictly minding official rules or guidelines, for pulling gcws and bcvs out of the woodwork.  Ha!  Crumby remembers this one time he was standing on the edge of a cliff fixing to play the gcw vocalizations when all of a sudden a totally invisible evil doer sneaked up on Crumby and pushed him over the cliff.  Fortunately Crumby slid down the cliff on his buttocks avoiding any serious damage.  But simutaneously, accidentally,  Crumby pressed the record button on the Sony, thus taping over the gcw in favor of sliding down cliff noises with chickadees and titmice, (chicks and tits) excitedly hollering in the background.  Mercy!  That was a bad day at work!  That event didn't go into the NEPA document!

The Sony still works.  Well, it still records and plays.  But the counter was broke decades ago.  And the cassette door no longer springs open by itself.  Requires a manual assist .  Plus it is, by todays recorder standards, big, clunky and neo-luddite.  So Crumby, since he is in the midst of a Big Ass Year, has figured on updating to a digital PCM type recorder.  The new recorder should arrive this week, just in time for a calling meadowlark, maybe.

Here's another Big Ass Year documentation photo.  #63.

 

Crumby's Big Ass Year - Week Uno

Fer heaven's sake!  Crumby's first week of his Big Year is practically over.  And sadly,  Crumby won't get any more birds this week unless an owl or two hoots or whinnies in the yard tonight or some avian oddity flutters onto the CB pre-sundown.  Which means,  if those events fail  to transpire, Crumby will have identified 79 species during week one of his Big Ass Year. 

Briefly summing up, the first feathered friend Crumby identified on Jan. 1 was a Carolina chickadee in the back yard.  The last species Crumby identified today, Jan. 7,  was vesper sparrows on Platt Lane. 

By the way.  Almost every birder must agree that Big Ass Year is way more cool than just lame-o Big Year.  Crumby's having a Big Ass Year!   Ha! 

One of the avian hoards Crumby espied today is a buff-bellied hummingbird.    That's because when Crumby arrived at the recently established gated terminus of Platt Lane which formerly continued to the ponds, but no longer does,  and Crumby got out to continue afoot, he quickly realized someone had hung  a hummer feeder up on the side of the road.  Whut the Hades is that doing out here?  Then on the way back Crumby espied a big green hummingbird elbowing the ranks of honeybees out of the way to get at the feeder. 

Wow.  Which came first, the buff belly or the feeder? 

Yet to come out victorious in a Big Ass Year competition, an average birder like Crumby must take advantage of those particular strange situations or events we are now discussing such as the mysterious appearance of a hummingbird feeder seeminingly in the middle of nowhere.  Yes.  Espying that hummer in these parts might well spare Crumby a desperation trip to southerly parts next December. 

Yahoo!  Big Ass Year!

A Big Year

Many may recall that the Druids sometimes review movies, then rank the movies, as 1-4star(s).  So there is a movie on TV at this very nonce, The Big Year.   The movie features actors pretending to be birders fixing to espy as many birds as they may espy in a single calendar year.  Thus, The Big Year.  The Druids rank The Big Year, a one star feature film.   That's because the Druid audience was actually able to sit through the entire movie, once.  Not all at once though.  It took three sittings combined for the Druids to get through the whole movie.  But we did sit through it all, eventually.   So it gets one star.  However, had The Big Year featured something besides birds, with all else unchanged,  it probably would not have received an entire star.  No.  It would have received a fraction of a star indicating that we could not watch it all the way through even once. 

Thus, The Big Year is, relatively speaking, a bad movie worth watching once all the way through, but probably not worth watching one time through at one sitting.   But enough.  Suffice that  a lousy movie, The Big Year,  may have inspired Crumby to do his own Big Year.  Actually,  it was not just that stupid movie, but an unusual run of bird sightings  after the Winter Solstice that may be fixing to inspire and fire Crumby up for a Big Year.  Yes.  We have had a pine warbler in the yard,  a purple finch within spitting distance and a fork-tailed flycatcher just across town.  Course none of those would get counted in this  Big Year,  cause that was last year,  but they do serve as inspiration. 

One of the big deals about a Big Year is, to have much chance of espying plenty of birds, the average birder has to travel around to where the birds are, at.   Where the birds are, some bird waits for me.  Woodle, woodle wee.  Tweedly dee!   So everyone was surprised when Crumby announced that he was fixing to do a Big Year, because Crumby hardly ever even leaves the yard.  But then Crumby burned all his notebooks.  Mercy!  All those notebooks full of lists went up in smoke.  There now, that proves I am serious.  I have burned all my notebooks.   Let the new list begin. 

So far Crumby has espied 63 species and two genera or, as genera are known to birders, spuhs.  The spuhs are a swallow and a meadowlark.   The swallow spuh is either a cave swallow or a cliff swalllow.  Who knew that either of those would turn up in these parts on January 1 /   But there they were.  The mute meadowlark spuh indicates  the usual suspects.

But hark.  Crumby took a picture of the meadowlark.  Does the picture help?  Hmm.

Anyway, despite the spuhs already accruing, Crumby is having some luck, like the red-breasted nuthatch at Hornsby Bend today. 

 

A Purple Finch in Stinky Valley

Mercy!   We have been the hapless victims of a cyber attack.  That's why no posts to the venue lately.  And like for over a week the computer has been totally gone from the Cow Barn.  Yet now it is back.  Goodness!  If resolve holds, this is the last pc to afflict the CB, ever.  Mercy!

Well.  Everyone has been plenty excited due to unusual birds showing up at the CB.   Day before yesterday, for example,  featured the second known, and first photo record of a brown creeper.  The week before, over in the neighborhood of the Stinky Valley city hall,  Ray photographed this bird.  We are feeling like the bird here depicted is likely a purple finch (Carpodacus purpureus).   There it sits in the top of a hackberry, fixing to get attacked by its only avain company, blue jays. 

Why do we believe it's a purple finch and not one of the hoards of house finches normally inhabiting these parts?   Well, mostly it's the paucity of flank stripes.