I've been exploring new green spaces and revisiting now familiar green spaces in Anchorage, often meeting some lovely people along the way. Lots of birdies, plenty of moose, and loads of lush greenery. Too many mosquitoes, but that's to be expected this time of year.
In our new house we have a rather small back yard, but it's well-visited by birds. The neighbor whose yard backs up to ours found a nest this afternoon. He called to me through the window to let me know he wouldn't clean the gutter on his shed until the eggs hatched and the babies flew away. I suspected that a pair of dark-eyed juncos had a nest just under a pine tree branch which is precisely where he found the nest.
Last week I was able to watch an adult male robin encourage and feed one of his offspring that had landed in our yard and was having trouble flying higher than a few feet above the ground. I watched and whispered encouragement for about fifteen minutes before looking online to find a local bird rescue in case the fledgling was injured. When I went back to the window, they were gone. I was relived and elated, to say the least. After ten minutes I went outside just to be sure the fledgling hadn't been abandoned or simply wasn't visible from our windows. It was nowhere to be found, and I was grateful. There's something quite special about watching a young bird or animal learn to fly or walk. I spent many an hour in Yellowstone watching baby bison and newborn elk calves get their feet under them for the first time. Knowing predators could be nearby and watching, there's real joy in seeing a calf or a chick attain mobility.
This word is what I say to myself when I start stressing over how many empty packing boxes are still in our garage or where I'm going to store all of my books and magazines. This is painted on a sort-of pedestrian bridge over the Knik River.
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