I Spy a Bird Feeder

Brunnera with tiny pale blue flowers and seeds

Your job is to find it in these pictures. Watching the little brown bird (Song Sparrow) give me a big hint is one of the first Things I get to do today. 

My camera and I could not capture this sweet Song Sparrow as it
hopped up onto the flower stalks for an instant, plucking off the tiny
seed heads.  I had no idea this was a bird feeder.

I am always stunned at the details Nature reveals to anyone who stands still long enough. It takes only a few thoughtful moments to collect dozens of secrets throughout your day.  I'd love to hear about some of your special discoveries in stillness.

What to My Wondering Eyes Should Appear!

A mass of spent canes forms a woven wall

I'm not a weaver.  Several of my friends are:  Kathe Todd-Hooker of Fine Fibre Press and Studio  www.finefibrepress.com does exquisite tapestries.  Joanne from Cup On The Bus, has made an enormous number of rugs in her life time.  This morning in the intense sun I thought of them as the Things I get to do today brought me together with the marionberry vines.




Cane berries need to have the old vines removed and the growth sprung fresh this summer wound up in some order so one can pick what they fruit the next year.  Early seemed better than late to get this project over and done with since even the worst of weathermen could tell us all we were going to be sizzling this afternoon.

Song Sparrow nest

Removing the spent vines means heavy gloves and clippers.  Prickly work, it is quite simple to snip out sections of the vine, pull it away from the berry "tapestry", and toss it into the wheelbarrow.  And then, there it was!  An abandoned Song Sparrow nest sheltered and protected like Fort Knox by the serious armor of interwoven berry stalks sat in the shadows.


No alarmed mother had tried to get my attention to stop work.  I checked the energy of the egg for life.  None.  So slower now, more carefully, I continued the unravelling of the berry web.

Rewoven and ready

Sorting and untangling the 15 to 25 foot canes requires at times longer arms even than mine, but eventually they made sense and the weaving process began.  Over and under.  Over and under.  No fine threads, nor rags torn in strips, no changes of color.  The trellis is covered only with the same thorny canes--over and under until all the new growth is secured and supported for next year.

Maybe next year.

And under some of the newly interwoven stalks sits the nest.