Introspective retrospective

Today during my lunchbreak at work, I was showing my RGV pics to a coworker; she lost interest pretty quickly (bless her, I'm sure it was like watching your Aunt Mabel's summer vacation slide show circa 1971) and I started digging waaaaay back into my archives.

I flipped through old pictures from the Marsh House: my garden, the marsh itself, the mountains on the edge of Penns Valley, birds at my feeder. I began to get really sad; I started to feel like maybe it was dumb to go back to those days, or even want to go back to those days. They were hard days sometimes! And I just wanted to leave there!

But then I began to think about it in a different way: those pictures from back then had a certain magic for me.Everywhere, there was magic.

The marsh had magic (along with a lot of purple loosestrife).There's no place like that anywhere here in Texas; even the beach (my favorite place in Texas) isn't as magical to me as that beautiful countryside out there in Central Pennsylvania. Remember when I discovered my "secret" place, the Coburn Rail Trail?Magical spot.

Remember Kline Road?Magical.

Even my garden.Magical spot.*sigh*

Upon further reflection, though, I began to feel it was a good thing that I was going back into those old photos, old posts. It reminded me of how beautiful it is in Pennsylvania and how much I loved being outside in that magical crystal-clear air. By the end of my time in PA, I had pretty much soured on the place; I was so ready to move to California. After everything that had happened with my relationship and my life, my crappy mood led me to feel like I just needed to be elsewhere, like I didn't belong there because I'd only gone there because of Kat.

But now, looking back after everything else that's happened, after I've gotten way way way more changes of scenery than I'd ever wanted in my whole life ever!, I feel like I can look at Central PA with fresh eyes. California was incredible. But I'm not in California, and I doubt I'll be able to go back there. Texas has its pretty places and its amazing birds, but nothing I've seen here has the magic of discovery and beauty that I found in PA.

Maybe it's the lack of pines to keep the place green.

Maybe it's how everything here is so spiny and prickly and poisonous and shrivelled and thirsty-looking.


Maybe it's the lack of snow to turn a country road into a study in blues.

I've found no cool shady green spot under a canopy of dancing maple leaveswith the ground soft and moist and covered in springy green moss soft as a pillow.

I've seen no tufts of fog clinging to the mountainsides, catching the rising sun's rays and and looking like pink and orange cotton candy.

YES, I remember the snow shoveling. I remember being so cold that I just didn't want to move. I remember walking in the dirty slush on the sidewalks, my jeans getting all wet and heavy. I remember the lack of Mexican food!

Besides, without snow, would this picture be as cool?

But I also remember the cool spring and summer nights, filled with the ringing cries of peepers, the low twangs of bullfrogs, and the persistent oh-ka-lees of the Red-winged Blackbirds.I remember driving up a mountain road to gaze out onto a rolling hilly valley, green with young cornstalks and soybean plants. I remember hillsides strewn with the multi-colored confetti of autumn's changing leaves.

Yup, I think my little emotional trip down Memory Lane was a good idea. It made getting back to work a little difficult, as it was hard to focus on debit cards and duplicate charges and customer documents and such. But I think it was a good idea to remember how much fun I've had keeping this blog.

And maybe the next time I live in Pennsylvania, which might be sooner rather than later, I will remember that even if it's cold and hard and shovely, it's also magical and green and birdy.Maybe next time, I won't over-romanticize or under-romanticize it; I'll just look at it with more realistic eyes. I'll take the good with the bad. Certain people won't be there anymore, people like Matty (CA) or my bff Gretchen (DE), but then again, certain people will be there--like AB.So look out, Keystone State. Don't be surprised if a newly appreciative expatriot Texan wanders back your way someday soon.

Note: all these pictures originally appeared on this blog in previous posts.

Final thoughts on the Rio Grande Valley trip

Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge. Photo by Mary Starboard

Who would've thought you could go, fifteen years later, to the very place you grew up and see an entirely different place? I finally got to see the Rio Grande Valley last weekend not as a kid bored out of her mind and thinking she lived on an earthly Tattoine, but as a birder, grown up and in love with nature. I loved the outdoors as a kid, but I was somehow harder then; I never thought of nature as something we could or would destroy. Cities were where everything happened, or so I thought, and all I wanted to do was get out of the Valley and see the world. My childhood playing with frogs and toads, getting bitten by a lizard, being chased and scared by an owl--I figured when I grew up I would live in a big city and go shopping and work and just buy stuff like grownups did. It never entered my mind that I could grow old and learn to appreciate nature in a completely different way, not as just a place to play but as a classroom, a sanctuary, a church.

Being back in the Valley was fascinating; much had changed, but much remained the same. People still had shack-like houses along the highway with "yards" full of junk, there was still too much emphasis on development and "progress," and there were not nearly enough young people out there enjoying the natural world. I guess they were all in the malls and outlet shops. We didn't see one child in any of those birding areas, not one. There was a group of late teens taking a guided walk at SANWR, and a couple of giggly teen girls at Estero Llano, but they were barely engaged in the beauty around them. Like a typical oldster, I wanted to grab them by the shoulders and say, "Appreciate this! Believe me, you'll want to remember it for the rest of your life!" But they continued on their way and so did we.

Right after that, we saw and heard that Swainson's Hawk. What a moment it was, standing there listening to the Birdjam, both of us smiling from ear to ear when we heard that call, and we knew.

Mary the bird photographer/videographer

Mary's helping out with our Raptor Road post, adding quite a bit of photography that I didn't get. She carries a Canon Powershot something-or-other with like a gillion times zoom and stuff, plus a video camera (JVC maybe?). Here's some of her fine work:
Harris's Hawk! I never would've thought I'd see these! Beautiful dark chocolate with a rufous front edging on their wings. And those yellow legs and feet really stand out; note that he's standing on one foot like he stubbed a toe or something. We saw this raptor and the next on Hwy 77 in the King Ranch between Raymondville and Sarita. It was getting darker and with the cloud cover, photo conditions were not optimal. But check out that white underside--that's actually a white band that wraps around on the rump too. At first glance, when we saw one swooping over us in Harlingen before we left to come home, I saw that white rump and guessed Northern Harrier, though I thought it must be a dark morph. Then we saw this guy and stopped for photos, and I checked the guide--Harris's Hawk is beautiful!

We also saw what I'm guessing is a very wind-blown Red-tailed Hawk:I think somebody ran out of hair gel.

We also saw, near the Santa Ana NWP, what I think was a Gray Hawk--it was certainly unlike anything I'd seen before: so light-colored, a light gray all over, with a black tail. They call the Northern Harrier "the gray ghost," but if I really did see a Gray Hawk (which I'm 99.99% sure I did), THAT raptor is the true gray ghost. Amazing bird.

And check this out!
Okay, not a raptor--we're done with those. These are the Western Meadowlarks that Young Mary ID'd all on her own while I napped for a bit in the middle of the King Ranch near Sarita. The really look like Easterns, but according to the guide, whereas Easterns hang out in singles or pairs in meadows away from everything, Westerns are more gregarious, gathering in flocks on the roadside. That's exactly where we found these, a group of probably 15-20 individuals, right by the highway, chillin' and havin' some grub. I think this individual is kinda pigeon-toed, no?

Meanwhile, back to the Valley for more of Mary's coverage of the weekend:

She got a much better pic than I of this Tropical Kingbird. These guys were EVERYWHERE at Estero Llano.

And look, sparrow enthusiasts:

Her photo of the Savannah Sparrow, save for the impeding branches, is like a field guide shot, right down to the yellow eyebrow streak. Nice!

And you want whistling ducks?

She was able to zoom right into the personal space of this Black-bellied Whistling Duck. Look at him giving her the hairy eyeball.

And here's some video from Young Mary. Here, Mary and I discuss sparrows:

That "somebody" turned out to be the freakin' Song Sparrow. Hmph.

And here, finally, is the Great Egret fishing video! This is awesome:

Poor guy! I like the way he has to wash off his beak a couple of times; that dumb big fat fish left a foul taste in his mouth, which is no doubt why he dropped him.