I Heard the Owl Call My Name

At 4:12 a.m., I was sitting at my computer, thinking I'd blog about Kristen Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset, when I heard a great horned owl calling. I ran downstairs (in the dark -- crazy, I know, but I didn't want to alert it by turning on a light), and popped outside, where I stood barefoot, in my PJs and bathrobe, listening as a second owl responded, and then a third! I knew they were different birds, as the voice of the first bird, the caller, was slightly higher than the second bird, the responder. The third bird called from somewhere south, but never flew closer to join his comrades.

Temperature was close to 58 degrees, with a light wind blowing from the south. I got cold after 18 minutes and came inside, as it seemed the calls were becoming fainter. I'd hung in, hoping they'd fly west, directly over the house, but they must have flown east, where the eating is better.

4:39 a.m. and they're still calling! (Renee. Come. Out...Renee. Come Out.) I worry a lot about these birds, but tonight, at least, my faith in their future is restored.

Big Bird(s)

Brown pelicans, Santa Barbara, California. I love this pic.


Photo by SPT

Grand Ol' Bull Elk and His Sugarbabe

Steve was in Montana last week, attending a Board meeting for the National Wildlife Refuge Association. He took this shot of a meadow near Melville, about 20 miles north of Big Timber. Those are the Crazy Mountains in the background.



Here, he's leaving Charles M. Russell National Wildlife Refuge (1.1 million acres), located north of Lewistown, as evening approaches and the moon rises. The landscape looks much as it did in the early 1800s, when Lewis and Clark stood in this spot, contemplating what they'd have for dinner, and who would cook it.


Steve spotted this pronghorn near Melville (it's munching a bit of grass). The pronghorn is the swiftest of North America's land mammals (it runs at about 55 mph, for several minutes at a time), and is among the fastest in the world.


A bull elk and his sugarbabe. Or one of many sugarbabes, I should say.



In the end, I made it not quite six weeks without blogging (see the Ron Carlson Kool-Aid Caper, below), and might have lasted longer, but I wanted so much to post these photos of Steve's. I regret not having gone with him -- I had the chance, but I passed, wanting to wrestle with the new novel, which is kinda driving me nuts. I'm taking a break from it, working on a short story, which features an elk as a character, though not as "fancy" as the grand old bull, below. Anyway, glad to be back -- and just in time, too. The mountain bluebirds are in, and I saw a flicker on Friday. Got a lot to talk about!

Drinking Ron Carlson's Kool-Aid

While at Squaw Valley Writers Workshop in August, Ron Carlson, one of our fiction workshop leaders, encouraged us to lay off the email until after 4:00 p.m., and to forgo blogging altogether. He's no Luddite, but he's got a point: all things technology are time suckers -- and he never even mentioned Facebook, which I confess is an all-out addiction.

The point is that there are too many distractions for writers, most having to do with eating, coffee drinking, and excuse-making in general, and if we're "working" on anything other than fiction, we're simply goofing off.

So I'm taking a sabbatical from blogging, and limiting myself to two Facebook visits per day -- before 9:00 a.m., and after 4:00 p.m., when I'll also check email.

Can I do it? Heck if I know, but I'm gonna try. I gotta try. I've got a deadline for the first draft of my new novel, and if I'm going to nail it, I've got to drink Ron's Kool-Aid.

See you April 1?

Dusty Checkin Us Out

Dusty is a four-year-old Morgan gelding owned by Toni Deery. I met with Toni on Saturday to get a better understanding of horses and their habits, hoping to incorporate this knowledge into my new novel. Dusty was a kick, no pun intended. Steve took the photo.

New Wildlife Pics

Off to Squaw Valley Writers Workshop, but before I go, I wanted to post a couple of photos that Steve took in/around Grover Hot Springs during our 3-day camping excursion earlier this week. (Top photo is of a mule deer buck; he stood outside our tent in early evening and browsed on a plant that looked a lot like a wild rose; second photo is of a cinnamon-colored black bear with her two cubs. She appeared on the outskirts of Markleeville, around 12:00 p.m.)

First afternoon we were rained out, but timing was perfect: we'd just set up the tent when the first drops hit, and not having eaten yet, ate our sandwiches in the tent, then sacked out for a nap. That evening, we took a nice soak in the hot springs, and by 6:30 the next morning, the coffee was on the camp stove and Steve was off to do a little fishing in the creek. I stayed behind, finalizing my manuscript for Squaw, sipping coffee near the fire. Ah, glorious Sierra. How we love to visit.