writing Archives - Page 4 of 11

Evening Shadows

September 17, 2017September 17, 2017

August 30, 2017, 730 pm, 95 degrees

Heat still hangs heavy in the air. A gentle breeze passes by offering a sense of relief.

Shadows lengthen on both sides of the river. Sun is below the riverbank. The sky is ringed with a pale pink panorama. Is it smoke filled air or the varied pinks of the sunset?

Four Mallards swim at twlight, sharing the river with the two fisherman.

A boater sits, casting his line into the shadows. A few walkers cross Fair Oaks Bridge, glowing red with sunburn. Others out for an evening stroll. An exuberant cyclist proclaims “descent” on his way across the bridge. The white Pekin duck joins his friends for a float trip. Likely abandoned by its human family, the Pekin has found a new home.

A dog barks. The next sound I hear is a faint and distant chorus of quacks. A group of six ducks float under the bridge as the sun sets below the horizon and shadows turn into darkness.

Music of the Morning

September 17, 2017September 17, 2017

Sunday, September 3, 2017, 620 am 74 degrees

Chickens are singing their morning songs in harmony today.

Each chicken is still hidden away for the night in tree branches and crowing without end. The two chickens pictured believe they are still hiding. The morning sunrise is barely visible behind clouds. A cool breeze blows on me – it feels like the air is already too warm for so early in the morning.

Three cyclists rumble past me on Fair Oaks Bridge as fast as they can move. I see one turn his head to the left and looks to the American River. The others are focused straight ahead.

Five boats sit in the river and another boater arrives on the boat launch ramp. This one plays music far too loud. Far too early for me to hear music – especially when I watching for wildlife and listening to their morning calls. I hear John Denver singing “Born a County Man,” from the boat ramp more than 100 yards away.

I watch as the burning pink sunrise spreads across the sky and changes colors, reflecting on thick white, puffy clouds. Thirty pigeons land on the bridge all at once. Where are the ducks today? Where are the geese? Everyone is out of sight. I hear some distant quacks. They could be 100 yards away or more.

The hot orange sun rises above the trees – Another HOT day. At 710 am, morning temperature is already 82 degrees.

What Sounds Go Unheard?

September 17, 2017September 17, 2017

September 8, 2017, 635 am 64 degrees

Mist covers my car windshield. I wonder if this morning chill will continue in mornings to come.

My mornings of wearing shorts, a t-shirt and sandals are certainly to become less frequent. Chickens that provide daily wake up calls in Fair Oaks Village are still slumbering. I see three cars as I walk through the village streets. Hot Yoga parking lot is double stacked with cars – located on the street about 100 steps from Fair Oaks Bridge.

chickens, morning, sounds, greet, Fair Oaks Bridge, American River — Okay, take the photo so I can finish crossing the street.

Today is a cloudy morning. By the time I wake up, any color in the sky from the sunrise has vanished. A trio of chickens wake up and stand in the street on the way to the bridge. Only one greets me with a good morning crow. The others are far too busy scratching the dirt to find breakfast. On my walk to Fair Oaks Bridge, one small chicken is raising a panic. Instead of crowing to greet the day, this chicken sounds more like it is complaining over and over again.

What other sounds does the morning air hold that I am not hearing?

American River, Fair Oaks Bridge, water, sounds, erosion, fisherman, river, morning, salmon — Fisherman sit beneath the Fair Oaks Bluffs and alongside trees uprooted during flooding early this year.

Three boats sit a few yards away on the east side of the bridge. The fishermen wait. Everyone prefers the east side. They are so intensely committed to catching fish, they arrive before dawn and wait for hours. I often see men in each boat talk to each other, swapping stories of who caught what and where, what bait they use and other conversation as they wait. Two more boats sit 100 yards farther east.

For a moment, the same tiny bird that greeted me each morning last fall with “too, too” returned to its post at the top of the bridge. Not intending to stay for long, it took a look around and flew away. The glowing yellow sun emerges in the eastern sky over the heads of trees lining the American River No waterfowl are out yet this morning. Not even one. As I sit and listen in the still air, I hear a distant call of a Canada Goose, and then a quack and then silence. I wonder how far away are the geese?

After nearly a year of observation, I have a baseline of observing what happened each month. Yet, as the fifth year of drought concluded with heavy rain and flooding, I wonder what is usual and customary on the river? How will activity on the river change this coming fall? Will the waterfowl return? How many salmon will come? Will other wildlife return to feed on the salmon as they did last fall?

American River, trees, erosion, ducks, morning, Fair Oaks Bridge — One of several trees with exposed roots clinging to eroded riverbank.

chicken, ducks, erosion, morning, Fair Oaks Bridge — Scavenging the shallow water to find breakfast

Four ducks emerges from their evening hiding places and swim under the bridge heading west. They swim past fallen trees laying on the river bottom visible in the clear, shallow water. They pass trees with exposed roots along the eroded riverbank. These prominent features are a few of many ways flooding and erosion over time has shaped and scarred the integrity of this river channel.

The fisherman continue to sit and wait and I see nothing jumping in the water. The water is as still as it can be in this flat section of the American River. Birds are twittering unseen. I do my regular spider web check and see no evidence. I look for the fallen tree that was once an ideal sunbathing spot for turtles. It has fallen farther into the river. Where have the turtles gone? Another visitor to Fair Oaks Bridge remarked there were a dozen turtles or more. I saw only two. Now they have moved somewhere else.

Reflections on Wildlife

September 18, 2017September 18, 2017

Sunday September 10, 2017, 630 am 68 degrees

From my front porch, I watch the orange glow of sunrise above towering trees and behind scattered clouds.

A tiny bird greeted me this morning, with ‘Ti Too.”

I ride to Jim’s Bridge hoping to see a crowd of Canada Geese and ducks engaged in morning rituals and scavenging for breakfast. They hang out on the south side of the riverbank first. Often women come to feed them seeds. When alone, they poke at the rocky shore and swim in shallow water, looking for worms, insects and other morning nibbles.

So few waterfowl are swimming near the Fair Oaks Bridge and nearby boat launch ramp. It is disappointing to visit the bridge and see only boaters. The river today is home to no life beyond that. I remember the Egrets that sat on the north riverbank each morning and the Great Blue Heron that came for an occasional visit. I remember the Egret flying farther east to avoid the Heron as it arrived. I think back to when the Canada Geese and the Mallards fight over food and fight among themselves. Geese hiss and bite. Mallards quack and complain, then chase away who they don’t like.

I arrive at Jim’s Bridge and all the waterfowl are here! The abandoned Pekin duck has joined the Mallard families. Quack! Quack! Quack! The ducks are quietly waking up, swimming, cleaning, quietly poking their head into the water searching for a morning meal. Occasionally one duck will rant, Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! and no one pays attention. The geese and the ducks are expecting a morning handout.

Mallards are so unlike chickens that call out to each other all day long, and call when no one is there to hear. When I hear ducks voice their opinions, no others respond.

In a moment, three ducks rise and fly quietly to the opposite shore. They are too far away and too fast to photograph. Watching them gives me a chance to take a big breath in, feel the chill on my skin. I look up in time to see 20 birds sitting on power lines above the Sunrise Blvd. bridge.

Temperatures are getting warmer already. I ride on to Fair Oaks Bridge. The parking lot for the boat launch ramp is filled with pickup trucks and utility vehicles equipped to tow their boats. I count seven boats in the river, all on the east side of the bridge. I see nearly as many fishermen on the American River as there are ducks.

A mother duck leaders the way for her two young ducks. They casually swim by boats, leaning trees and those uprooted and fallen into the river. They pause their morning a few moments before moving on. So many birds twitter, unseen. So many times, I see feathers on the ground. I pick them up and wonder how did the birds or the chickens or even an owl lose their feathers? Was it a battle or an argument? Or was losing a feather a natural part of their growth? How do birds lose their feathers?

I believe that ducks, geese and birds exercise far more patience than people. People are often in a rush to get anywhere – pack in as much into the day as possible before dropping off to sleep or not even sleep. Waterfowl take their time to swim, to play, and to clean their feathers…and of course, finding food. A duck’s days are for sunning, sleeping, eating, relating to other ducks.

I sit here and wonder what is my role in helping to preserve this peaceful spot where wildlife can thrive?

If more of us sat down to wonder about the miracles of the natural world, would we enjoy more forward thinking environmental concerns and actions? Would more collaborative actions and few disagreements make a bigger difference? I am surprised at how many are just passing through, not noticing the scope of what is here. Envisioning a positive future is rarely a casual visitor’s first thought.

Morning of Peace on Sept. 11

September 23, 2017September 23, 2017

September 11, 2017 620 am 72 degrees

Enjoying the serenity of the morning on Fair Oaks Bridge, I am very conscious of the time and place – on this anniversary day of the disaster that rocked the country to its core.

I arrive at Fair Oaks Bridge with the morning light still in shadows. I hear a single chicken boast his wake up call. A cool breeze blows. The air feels crisp, even at 72 degrees. The sun is emerging. A scattered orange glow of excitement for the new day spreads across the sky.

As tired as I sometimes feel waking up in the morning, the cool air, the scenic views from Fair Oaks Bridge always wake me up. I wake to the sound of enduring and hidden chickens, sight of radiant orange sunrises, and the touch of gentle breezes.

A lone fisherman waits on the river. A second one prepares to launch. Three Canada Geese fly silently high over the bridge heading west. Many walkers are out early this morning. A third boater arrives and launches. A lone chicken continues its solo. A full chorus of birds sing unseen in the distance when the chicken pauses its song.

I see something emerge from the water – a salmon, a otter, a duck, a beaver? Movement is too sudden to get a good look. With the glow of sunrise faded away, deep gray shadows hide morning clouds stretched like spun sugar.Read more

Great Blue Heron Returns

September 23, 2017September 23, 2017

Thursday, September 14, 2017, 620 am 64 degrees

It is barely dawn and cloudy. Will there be a sunrise today? A strong, cool wind blows and street lights still aglow.

Chickens hidden in trees for their night’s rest are calling out this morning in rapid succession. Today, instead of wearing shorts, sandals and a t-shirt, I wear jeans. Two cyclists pass with headlights flashing as the night passes and morning emerges. Three cars pass me on the street. The Hot Yoga studio lot is completely filled and double stack parked. As I approach the bridge, the sky is still cloudy gray.

One lone chicken hides in bushes on Bridge Street and calls out good morning to no one. It continues to call out most of my morning on Fair Oaks Bridge and I wonder who else is listening?

Haven’t checked for spider webs on the bridge for several visits. I find a huge web without its spider.

Four fishermen sit on the east side of Fair Oaks Bridge waiting. Another fisherman backs down the ramp. I see a flock of Canada Geese fly over in complete silence, flapping wildly.

Two photographers set up their cameras on tripods to capture the sunrise and the wildlife of the river. All I can see are boats sitting quietly. The chicken is still calling and waiting for someone or something to respond. Ducks have yet to emerge from a night’s sleep. The day brightens. There is no sun anywhere. Pigeons coo from a distance unseen. The chicken is still crowing.

I am watching the river and see a Great Blue Heron fly in – first of the season. It blends with the colors of the river and I can barely see it from the bridge.

I walk down to the boat launch ramp and the Heron stands watching the river in a frozen pose. Then it flies off, chortling, to the opposite (north) shore and lands on the riverbank.

Ducks swim. I brought no food. I need to bring something next time. Mallards swim peacefully. They search for breakfast, clean their wings and watch the river.

As fishermen continue to float by, any traces of early sunrise are gone. Cloudy, gray skies cover the sun.

Diverse Wildlife Wait for Salmon

September 24, 2017September 24, 2017

Friday, September 15, 2017, 630 am 62 degrees

What a beautiful morning!

A soft orange glow peeks behind clouds. Cool, moist air leaves dew on my windshield. I wear jeans and need two layers of shirts for the first time. Clouds stretch the eastern sky in wisps as the sun casts a pale glow behind them.

diverse wildlife, morning rituals, Fair Oaks Bridge, American River, pigeons, — Fair Oaks Bridge is a Truss Bridge completed in 1909. As many as 40 pigeons rest here each morning.

One lone boater sits near the end of the river. Three boats sit a few yards away from Fair Oaks Bridge engaged in conversation. This morning I see more boats on the river than waterfowl.

Ducks greet the morning with their persistent quacks. Pigeons sit in their usual spot. Other birds join them.

I see the Great Blue Heron return to the boat launch ramp this morning. My second sighting. It stands on the boat launch ramp watching the river, rises up with a chortle and flies to the opposite riverbank. A few minutes later, it returns to the south side of the river, this time landing at the water’s edge a few yards from the bridge and walks the edge until I can no longer see it. I suspect this arrival at 630 will become a morning ritual for the season. I wonder what the Great Blue Heron will find to eat this morning?

Diverse wildlife returning to the Fair Oaks Bridge is yet another sign of the changing season and expectation that salmon will be arriving soon.

Excitement builds on the American River waiting for the salmon to come. Now four boats line the river and three cluster around the bridge. Everyone sits and waits. Some stand in the water past their knees and watch for movements. Kayaks arrive and launch. A group of Mallards emerge from hiding to greet the passengers.

It amazes me that fishermen can rise long before dawn to launch their boats and sit or stand for hours on the river waiting for a tug on their fishing pole. I imagine that being at the river in this especially quiet place slows people down and willing to wait for nature’s time.

I wonder with all the rains and flooding and disruption of habitat, with the warming climate, will there be enough salmon to last a full season this year? Will there be enough to feed the wildlife, to supply the fisherman, and for all the other places and people hungry for salmon on their menu? I continue to wonder about the long-term survival of the salmon with so much other life depending on them.

Two Canada Geese fly swiftly overhead. I imagine they plan to travel long distances because they are so much higher in the sky than I usually see them. The sky is striped with jet streams left by distant unseen airplanes.

A cyclist passes me. He looks sideways and says, “Beautiful,” and races away.

A loud noise erupts from the Sunrise Blvd. bridge and 30 pigeons react with their own eruption of feathers flying immediately to the sky, circling the bridge and vanishing. I have yet to discover why pigeons are so nervous, or why they fly in circles only to land again moments later. I witness this event every time I visit the bridge, so it must be their morning ritual. In the afternoons, only a few pigeons sit on the bridge.

diverse wildlife, Mallard, salmon, American River, water, Fair Oaks Bridge — Morning meditation

Still the day is extraordinarily quiet. The river is very low. Canada Geese have been conspicuously absent from the river lately. Usually they are the late arrivals. For weeks, I have seen them fly overhead and very few land. They are usually feeding at Jim’s Bridge or farther west on the river

By 7:20 am, the sun has risen above the trees on the south shore and I feel its warmth as I walk off the bridge. On the north shore trees, I catch a shadow of the bridge and myself standing on it. I have a few moments to take one quick photo before the sun rises further and the shadow vanishes.

Morning Rituals of Fall

October 6, 2017October 6, 2017

Friday, September 22, 2017 635 am 55 degrees

Not a single chicken in sight when drive into Fair Oaks Village. Yet the morning symphony is as loud and as long as ever.

The songs of Fair Oaks Chickens are my favorite way to start the day – far better than a wake me up beverage!

Today is a cool morning! It is only 55 degrees. I wonder if the cool temperatures wake them earlier and inspire them to begin calling each other.

The brutal 100-degree days of summer are behind us. What a change from two weeks ago when morning temperature had not dropped below 72 degrees at 630 am. I wear a light jacket and jeans. For the first time, my hands feel chilled in the moist morning air.

Loosely scattered clouds define this morning’s sunrise. I missed yesterday’s fiery orange sunrise behind a dense cloud cover and hoped for a repeat. Not today. I watched yesterday’s sunrise from afar as the brilliant yellow ball emerged from the clouds a full 45 minutes after the first glow rose from the horizon.

Fair Oaks Bridge is one of few places where I can find joy when my days are filled with too much drama. I always hope others can find peace in sharing these morning walks on the bridge and the river’s edge.

Rare Vibrant Sunrise!

October 16, 2017October 22, 2017

September 29, 2017 60 degrees, 630 am

I look west from my front door and WOW! A rare sunrise glowing orange through clouds at 620 am.

sunrise, mornings, Fair Oaks Bridge, fishermen walkers, — Rare sunrise colors the sky with orange, purple and pink long before the sun emerges. Clouds hang like woven baskets in the sky. This sunrise lasted 45 minutes before colors faded to shades of whites and grays.

I leave the house quickly and drive toward the sunrise. The dark sky is a blanket of deep gray clouds and shades of orange. I hurry to the Fair Oaks Bridge to catch the sunrise and hear the lone chicken singing from its tree on Bridge Street.

Village chickens greet me with a rousing symphony this morning. So many awake and singing early.

I shoot a dozen pictures to capture the changing light as the sky brightens. I stand and watch the sky change as the sun slowly rises over distant trees. The clouds turn to gray and then white as vibrant colors shift and fade. Two women cross the bridge quietly holding flashlights. Then I am alone to treasure the colors of morning light with the fisherman below. Three boats sit on the east side and two on the west. The sun I still rising and hidden by long blankets of heavy, dense clouds.Read more

Mallard Speak

October 21, 2017October 22, 2017

October 1, 2017 630 pm 72 degrees

A beautiful fall evening capping a warm, breezy day – a fragment of stronger winds of earlier today.

mallard speak, American River, Fair Oaks Bridge, morning, salmon, Cormorant — A year ago, this island was large enough to support fisherman docking their boats, bringing a folding chair and ice chest. Now there is barely enough island for Cormorants to stand on.

I stand on Fair Oaks Bridge wondering where the spider webs? I do not see a single one. On a bike ride earlier today, two Cormorants rested on an island in the middle of the river channel. From the bridge I see an Egret return to the riverbank. It huddles on the north side. Egrets and Great Blue Herons are almost always alone. I wonder why?

narrow, American River, Fair Oaks Bridge, salmon, ducks, swim, morning, Mallard speak — American River winds downstream. This is the narrow and shallow area of the river, offering the best viewing of salmon jumping upstream and others spawning in the shallow water.

A few ducks swim around the boat launch ramp – a favorite spot. They are always found in groups or at least in pairs. The ramp is where they are most likely to find a human visitor providing them an easy meal. I rarely see Mallards alone. Even the domestic white Pekin duck, likely released into the river by a family, joins the crowd.

Several Mallards speak, arguing loudly in duck speak language that I do not understand.

Pigeons repeat their circles near the bridge. Once, twice, three times before settle and quickly depart for another destination. All is quiet on American River today. One fishing boat sits. Clouds dot the other side and blanketing the west in overlapping strips of white. The eastern sky resembles an artist palette of pale blue, tinged with gray at the horizon, and pinks and white stretching across the sky.

I hear a splash in the water. What was it? I am not fast enough to see if it was a salmon, beaver or otter? Usually, salmons are the noisy ones. Otters and beavers surface and vanish with hardly a ripple. As I stand on the bridge, I hear a single chicken call. Its voice is loud enough for me to hear standing at least 50 yards away. People are walking dogs.

Six ducks fly under the bridge and I miss photographing their landing. I love watching ducks land on the river. Each time, they stretch out their legs and ski into the water with their webbed feet laid flat, creating a huge splash. Then before two seconds have passed, they fold their legs and wings, settling into the water. Then all is calm.

The pink sunset spreads across the horizon and I watch the blurred edges of dusk transform the landscape into dark shadows.