Odd Neighbors

My neighbors had lost their minds. I had been awake until about midnight and awoke, as I frequently do, about five in the morning. So I spent the last two hours trying to capture the last two or three hours of sleep the universe owes me. I had some odd dreams. But this morning I made the amazing discovery that my neighbors listen to KING FM. It was terrible. I could not get back to sleep.

I listen to KING FM, the local listener-supported classical radio station, exclusively. But some of the sort of neo-classical music is discordant and unlovely and misunderstood by my brain. I can't listen to it. From the dim sounds through the walls of my townhouse, some of this unfortunate music was playing. Not only that, but I like to be the one choosing whether to listen to music or not. This was outrageous. And it was so strange, because I rarely hear music through the walls, except for faint wisps of rock music, and always from the other bedroom, not the master bedroom.

It was my own radio downstairs, which I had forgotten to turn off when I went to bed.

I continue to walk at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge once or twice a week, sometimes by myself, sometimes on a Bird Walk. They have been having Bird Walks every Wednesday morning, so I went twice in a row. I learn a lot, and the birders see and hear and can identify a lot of birds [95%] that I would miss on my own. There were probably 20 or 30 people this week, and it can be kind of crowded with an entire herd of people training their binoculars in one direction in the space of a few feet of boardwalk.

I used to carry some very light binoculars I cadged from my daughter, who won them in a drawing contest years ago from the Audibon Society; they are light, but rather weak. The alternative which I have adopted is a pair I inherited from my dad last year; they were among my mother's effects after she passed away. They come, dredged in memories, in a worn rawhide case with an old label maker tag: L. Elwood. The leather strap attached to the binoculars was worn out and I replaced it with a sturdy leather shoelace, doubled up.

My dad's binoculars are probably ancient, it feels as if they weigh ten pounds, and the lenses need to be individually focused for various distances, so they don't seem ideal for birding. The focus is still superior to my daughter's binoculars, so I've been carrying them anyway, dreaming of finding lighter and more powerful binoculars when I again have an income and can justify the expense.

Birders move slowly, quietly, alert to the creatures in the trees or water around them. I often hear, "there's a Western Warbler, it's on the branch of that deciduous tree just above that bare snag, just about three o'clock--whoops, there it went." A lot of time Wednesday in the Riparian forest was spent identifying an odd bird call, which no one could find on their PDA's. A few minutes later, a rare sighting was made--an escaped parakeet, which explained the bird call. Budgie was free at last.

After two hours or more of making our way to the forest we made it out to the boardwalk over the estuary, where the outer dike has been removed a few years ago to allow the salt water of Puget Sound to reclaim its place. The tide was mostly out, but there were one or two herons to be seen, and an osprey overhead. I also saw a white tern, which I would have taken for just another gull. Although the boardwalk is my favorite area, by this time my feet were bothering me. I found that the extended discussions about the particular variety of sandpipers we were looking at, and whether the scapulas were rufous or not, began to exceed my curiosity. I was lucky I could see them. So I headed home.