Date: 12/31/20 12:52 pm From: Ryan Tomazin <wvwarblers...> Subject: Re: [VTBIRD] December 31, 2020: Coyote Hollow , Thetford Center
Absolutely. That closing paragraph, I'm sure everyone has their own version, and I can relate to his emotion there very much.
Luckily, after a positively shivery spring here in Western PA, where an unbelievable glut of work kept me inside, June and July brought me wonderful memories. A misplaced Western Meadowlark that took up residence in northeastern WV and became a life bird for me. Doing BBS routes, whether the USGS wants the data or not.
My favorite memory being, among many nights out in various woodlands and edges with my new moth light setup, one on July 20th. The night was comfortable and stone-silent, save for a Barred Owl and a Yellow-billed Cuckoo that chimed in occasionally. I spent five quick hours photographing hundreds of moths, and was in bliss when covered with moths. Beautiful Wood Nymphs on my shorts and boots. Various green and gold slug moths on my shirt. A Luna and a couple of Polyphemus moths landing on my back, shoulder and pants after literally crashing out of the forest uphill from me. And all the other ones, both identified and not, that covered me, my moth sheet, and the trees and foliage all around.
Somewhere during all that joy, I accommodated many dozens of biting gnats and mosquitoes, but the itches are long gone. The memories remain!
The 2nd snowiest December in Pittsburgh's modern history, Evening Grosbeaks, tons of good homemade food and drink, fantastic music...this year didn't claim me, as other personally bad ones have. On to next year for us all!
Cheers to all the faraway Vermont people that I hope to meet someday, and those I might have met if COVID had not erased our May plans to visit fair VT.
Ryan Tomazin - Bridgeville, PA
From: Vermont Birds <VTBIRD...> on behalf of Nancy PerleeBRISTOL <nperlee...>
Sent: Thursday, December 31, 2020 3:27 PM
To: <VTBIRD...> <VTBIRD...>
Subject: Re: [VTBIRD] December 31, 2020: Coyote Hollow , Thetford Center
One of your best yet!
Sent from my iPad
> On Dec 31, 2020, at 10:28 AM, Ted Levin <tedlevin1966...> wrote:
> 7:18 a.m. 34 degrees, wind SSW 4 mph (music in the beech). Sky: gray, raw,
> on the move, a ruffled quilt, horizon to horizon. A dusting of granular
> snow, tiny balls like upholstery stuffing. Permanent streams: ice . . .
> deep tunnels and submerged sheets, *far *more than I expected. Main
> channels pinched between metastasizing shelves that jut from both shores,
> oddly shaped like Chesapeake Bay's margin. Emergent rocks thickly coated.
> Wetlands: noisy crossbills above a sleepy marsh. I scour the sky and the
> pines, but I can't find them. Silently, red squirrels keep to themselves.
> Pond: even though the night was above freezing, the delta froze shut. The
> surface echos the clouds, gray and ruffled, with a few highlights. Dogs and
> I lurch along the shoreline, hoping for something more than yesterday's
> news . . . nada.
> Last day of a barely endurable year. Astonishing grace notes of a hermit
> thrush, an otherworldly song in the early weeks of the pandemic. Then, as
> time passes, I became hobbled by the constriction of restriction. How do I
> touch the people I love if I can't leave home? Rescued by a comet with a
> million-mile tail. Rescued, again, by the conjugation of planets.
> Repeatedly, staggered by a schizophrenic climate and a leader in diapers.
> Where would I be without chickadees? Day in and day out, they carry-on
> regardless of our news: their voice, their antics, their conviviality, a
> preamble to every sunrise of 2020. Snippets of their lives ground me (for a
> moment, at least). Chickadee: a bird to be thankful for. Silence my
> internal voice with their endless runs of *dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee.*