Quail Mutterings #11: New Phase of Life (September 24, 2011)

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QUAIL MUTTERINGS # 11.  New Phase of Life – September 24, 2011

            About a month ago we got back home from taking our son, Chance, toChicoStateUniversityfor his freshman fall semester. Feeling tired and a bit empty, without him around, I was pleasantly surprised to see two vultures hunched together on the cross arm of the power pole up on the ridge. Alas, at least the raptors are still inhabiting the canyon with us. This bottom end ofMussey Grade Roadused to be known as Buzzard Gulch.

My husband and I have now joined countless others ahead of us in the “empty nest syndrome.” Having the youngest of three fly the coup, so to speak, launches us parents into the next phase of life. It feels like old age. Without serious effort one could easily believe that you are just careening toward your own demise. I had an inkling that it might be like this so I warned Kent how important I thought it was that we make a monumental effort to do far more often than usual “dates” with each other. These “dates” don’t have to be money spending adventures. For us, they could just as easily be picnics at the park, hikes up the mountain or even doing work around the place or making dinner together. Anything to make sure we stay connected with each other and not go solo down our own paths for too long at a time.

We take turns bolstering each other when we sense the other sliding. If we’re both slipping at the same time we find that attempting to detach from our own feelings long enough to joke around about it helps us over the hump. But sometimes, I end up just dwelling in it. Our social lives have picked up as a conscious effort to stay afloat and move through this phase. But there are also good things about it.

We still have a daughter and three-year-old grandson living on the property. They helpKentand me stay connected with the younger generations and hopefully keep us from getting old and stuck in our ways, too quickly. Trying to see through the eyes of a pre-schooler helps to keep things in perspective. The simplest things can often bring the most pleasure. Among them are spontaneous hugs, fascination with a lizard’s pushups on a rock, and a warm little body climbing up on my lap for a snuggle.

The morning after we got back fromChico, Kent and I were out running in the canyon. One of our young Red-tail Hawk friends swooped down and called out, seemingly to us. Life is good. It warmed my heart knowing that they were still around and doing well.

Last week I rode my horse out to a County preserve where I volunteer as a park ranger. It had been quite a while since I’d been out there and was happy to see that a fallen tree across the dirt road had been hauled away. Last time I had to dismount off of Molasses and bush-whack through dense brush to get around it. That was last spring and I found a few ticks on my clothes. This can be a down side to the job. On my way back there was a deer on the ridge picking its way through the rocks and chaparral. On this trek the only animal I saw besides the birds, rabbits and squirrels was a medium-sized garter snake beside the trail. I steered my horse around as it scurried through the grass.

On Monday, I joined a friend for an early morning hike out at the Ramona Grasslands. It’s beautiful there: open range land and cattle trails; huge, old oak trees and abundant wildlife. A coyote took note of us before loping over the hill. He looked healthy and in good shape. I always love hearing them in the canyon at night. Their songs are comforting to me.

Yesterday, on my morning run, the dog barked and headed up the hill. I called him back and watched three deer bound through the brush. I stopped to make sure Job stayed with me and enjoyed seeing our hoofed friends enjoying the foggy morning. About ten minutes laterKentsaid he saw a deer further down the dirt road. I think I had come across that same one last week. On my way back from a walk I’d seen him run up the hill and then stop. This young adolescent stared at me for several minutes while I talked to him saying how beautiful he was and telling him that he might want to spend more time further up the canyon where people wouldn’t bother him. When he’d had enough of me he turned and meandered up the mountain.

So, our life in the canyon goes on shared by numerous winged, hoofed and pawed neighbors. They didn’t seem to notice when the power went off a couple weeks ago. I, actually, kind of liked it. After gathering various candles I lit up the house and Kent and I enjoyed a quiet, flickering light dinner. We made do with not much fuss being careful not to open the refrigerator more than two or three times during the entire blackout, and only for brief moments. We didn’t want our food to spoil.

It might not be such a bad thing to do this once a week or so. What if families could regularly take a night and not turn on any electric thing? No light, television, computer, phone, game box… Wouldn’t that be a nice alternative? Just to be together and enjoy each other’s company? It sounds good to me.

Chi Varnado is a contributing writer for The San Diego Reader. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire, is available on www.amazon.com. The Tale of Broken Tail, her children’s book, should be coming out this spring and she is currently working on a novel set in her father’s Mississippi homeland. Chi directs The Dance Centre of Ramona. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, will appear on Ramonapatch.com every month or so. Please visit www.thedancecentreoframona.com & www.chivarnado.com.  

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #10. My Front Yard (August 6, 2011)

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QUAIL MUTTERINGS #10. My Front Yard (August 6, 2011)

It’s August 6th, and I’m still listening to and watching the young Cooper’s Hawks. Almost any time of day you can hear their sharp, raspy whistles coming from various areas around our front yard. Most hawks have similar sounding calls, but the volume and timber seem to vary with the species. Lately, I’m hearing both the Cooper’s loud, urgent calls as well as their descending whistles which they can do during flight. The canyon is filled with hawk sounds from daybreak to dusk which I find exhilarating.

These Accipiters careen through the canopy zooming like fighter jets between bushes and expertly threading through tree foliage. They quickly clip around rocks and tree trunks reminding me of a cutting horse skillfully maneuvering around barrels or cattle, except they are much faster and more agile. Sometimes when I’m sitting out on the front porch I feel like I’m observing an air show of F-14’s minus the deafening explosions created when the sound barrier is broken. The Red-tails spend more time up in the sky whereas these guys tend to hang lower, right in our line of sight.

During more calm periods of their day they seem to find respite in the bird bath out front. Now, these are no small birds, mind you. They are quite large, fourteen to twenty-one inches tall with a wingspan of up to three feet. Mostly I see small wrens and Black Phoebes enjoying the shallow layer of water spanning the top of the cement disk. They like to sit on the edge, then hop into the wetness and splash around, and go back to the side to shake off and preen themselves.

But it’s a whole different activity to witness these practically full-grown hawks do the same thing in this small amount of water. It’s during these times when you can notice the dark, broad bands on their tail feathers. Usually, one at a time will fly down and perch on the split-rail fence before hopping over to the bird bath to play in the water and flap around. When he’s had enough bath time he’ll crow-hop over the split-rail fence to the plow handle beyond for a perch. Sometimes they even fly up to the house to sit on the porch railings. I guess I don’t pose too much of a threat to them.

I’m wondering now how much longer these Accipiters will call our front yard their home. I suppose that they too, like my Red-tail friends, will grow up and move on. At least to a larger territory than just my view from the front porch. We leave in a week to take our son up to Chico State University and will be gone for ten days. Will my feathered family still be here when I get back? Or will I miss them too at the end of summer?

Chance feels ready, for the most part, to embark on his new college adventure and I realize, at least in my head, that it’s time for my youngest to spread his wings and leave the nest. But my heart is probably going to have a rough time of it. We’ll both, he and I, embark on a new chapter in our lives. Each of us will practice letting go while at the same time, inevitably, grasp for something new to hold onto. He’ll have his x-country running and engineering classes to focus on, along with a whole host of new college experiences, no doubt. I wish him well and hope he’s ready.

But what about me? Am I ready? Is a mother ever ready either to raise a child, with all those unforeseen situations; or to step back, just enough, when it’s time for them to be on their own? When there are younger ones to continue to care for when the older one leaves, the brunt of the loss is probably not as much. But when it’s my youngest, and the last one, how will it feel?

I remember my mom going through a tough patch when both my sister and I were in college. We just thought she ought to “adopt another kid.” What did we know? Ultimately, she found her way by focusing on her job, but also allowing herself more time to explore her interests. Taking classes, volunteering, working, and caring for her many animals filled the time so that the space in her heart could slowly fill with other things, or at least different proportions of the same things.

Now, as the parents of the young Cooper’s Hawks allow their young more responsibilities to care for themselves, they, the adults, can fly farther away and for longer periods of time. In their world, it’s the adults that leave the children when the time comes. For us, it seems, it’s the other way around.

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #9. Bye-Bye Baby Buteos; Hello Accipiters (July 15, 2011)

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QUAIL MUTTERINGS #9. Bye-Bye Baby Buteos; Hello Accipiters (July 15, 2011)

Good things don’t last forever. But sometimes they last longer than we expect. I feel so fortunate that I got to watch those juvenile Red-tail Hawks for almost two months before they presumably left the canyon for larger territory. Daily, or sometimes more often than that, I headed out with binoculars to enter into the private world of my “baby Buteos.”

I could hear them calling periodically throughout the day, pleading with a parent to “Bring Food!” Their requests were incessant especially at dawn and dusk. No matter where they were on the canyon walls I could hear them, and therefore find them, to spy on their not so private childhood. Often there would be only one youngster visible.

When a parent would fly over, the juvenile would really start to carry on. The meal would be delivered and set down and then the parent would quickly leave. Almost without fail she would circle higher and higher, sometimes kiting (hovering), probably to get a better view of the next meal victim. The young Red-tail would then study the morsel before pecking at it and eventually devouring it. Raptors are carnivores and attack their prey aggressively. I’d see the parents bring mice, rats, a snake, and small squirrels or rabbits – slightly bigger prey.

I’d be thrilled when one of the younglings, at dusk, would come settle for the night in the tall eucalyptus tree near our house. The other one was sometimes in the old eucalyptus across the creek in the same tree where their nest had been. I’d go to bed content knowing that my baby Buteos were nestled safely right outside. I had fallen in love with them.

My oldest daughter, Jessie, came home for the summer, from China, where she’ll return in the fall for a second year teaching English. On Monday evening, July 11, the two of us took a walk up the canyon. We stood on a boulder and watched both juveniles and a parent fly around and take turns landing on various rocks and trees up on the north ridge. Last week, during my morning run, I had watched one of the youngsters come in a little too fast, for a landing on top of a yucca plant, of all things, having to flap wildly to stop his forward momentum. I handed the binoculars to Jessie so that she could peer into their world, glimpsing a special moment of shared life in the canyon. We humans are not alone. There are so many intertwining lives that exist here, apart from us.

That evening was the last time that I saw or heard, for sure, my baby Buteos. I expect they were ready to expand their horizons. The canyon’s not all that big. It amazes me they stayed as long as they did. I’ll probably see them soaring above, but just not realize it’s them, specifically. I miss them, but know it’s for the best.

By Friday, four days later, I notice the young Cooper’s Hawks have just fledged their nest, high in an oak tree directly over our dirt road out front. It’s a good thing that we are the only traffic around. The two adults have been active here for a couple months, flying back and forth through the oak canopy hunting for their prey. Being smaller raptors enables them to sprint through air and foliage quickly. Unfortunately, they eat song birds. We live in an incredible bird sanctuary here. I don’t like the idea of my little musical friends getting eaten, but I know the Cooper’s Hawks need to survive too. I’m glad I haven’t witnessed any of their hunting missions. They tend to vocalize a lot and are quite bold. I witnessed one of them pestering a juvenile Red-tail Hawk when they were still around.

Their nest also happens to contain two youngsters. One of them seems to like hanging out on a branch near the nest while the other prefers his home sweet home. We watched one of the parents bring something in its beak, stopping momentarily to drop it in the nest before taking off again almost immediately. The kids squawked and squawked before the nest dweller won out and the other went back to its branch. I hope this one is getting enough to eat and not just perching out on the limb to keep from getting bullied. I’ll keep watching.

Two evenings later I hear one of them calling. I walk over to the road and look up. The noisy one is on the branch and the nest dweller is quiet. I can see it moving around up there. As I look up at the branch sitter I tell him how beautiful he looks. These smaller raptors are Accipiters, being smaller that Buteos. But they’re not that little. Certainly too big, I would have thought, for bathing in the bird bath that stands in the front yard. It was quite a sight. I saw him do it a couple different times over the next few days. I guess he doesn’t know any better yet. Maybe his mommy didn’t tell him he’s a Hawk.

So it’s not time to put away my binoculars yet. There’s more to see and learn about out in our front yard. For now, I’ll be watching my “Baby Accipiters,” spying through tree limbs for a closer look.