On the Road Again

We're moving back West; to the Mountain West.  Kentucky has been nice, but we found out that we need an arid climate to thrive.  So goodbye tornado alley, hello water restrictions.

Since this blog is called "Moving East," it is no longer suited for my next journey in life.  Instead of changing its name, I've decided to stop blogging at this location and marry my two blogs.  Ein Windig Baum will now not only be my art but also include ramblings on nature and life.  This change will be easier for me and my loyal reader (my Dad).

I am still a California Emigrant, finding my place in this large and diverse country--you'll just be reading about it here from now on.

Ta ta for now!

Clovers

My dad always called clovers Rabbit Candy; we used to snack on it when we went to the park.  But in Kentucky, clover is just not for rabbits and children; groundhogs like the sweet flavor too.

A groundhog munching on some clover along the Ohio River.

Taking it Slow in Canada

Photos from hiking in Lake Superior Provincial Park, Ontario over Memorial Day weekend.

Canada was a great place to spend Memorial Day because their were no crowds;

I was able to relax, slow down, and truly soak in my surroundings.  

An Afternoon Nap

A Spring Hike at Bernheim

These turtles were enjoying the sun on this nice spring day back in March.

Bernheim Arboretum & Research Forest

The Bird Feeder

The Tufted Titmouse, with its little mohawk, takes one safflower seed out of the feeder, flies to the tree, and taps the seed against the branch, cracking the shell to retrieve the nutty flesh.  Then the titmouse flies back to the feeder, retrieves one seed, and flies back to the tree again, eating one seed at a time until it is full.

The Sharp-shinned Hawk stands on his captured Morning Dove, shaking it occasionally to check for life.  Once the hawk is satisfied that its prey is dead, it begins the ritual of plucking feathers while constantly surveying the yard for threats.  It looks up, to its right, to its left; it is safe and the plucking resumes.  All the other birds have left the yard, the squirrels scattered as well.  It is empty and quiet except for the hawk and its dead, plucked dove.  Now the hawk, starting with a leg, begins digging into the flesh.  Tearing piece by piece, the scene turns bloody.  When the hawk has devoured enough of the dove, it flies back to its nest, carrying the carcass with it, leaving behind a circular patch of plucked feathers on the ground.  The other birds slowly return back to the feeder as down feathers start to float away in the breeze.

Your window can be your personal nature show, if only you turn the TV off.