Sign Of The Times

The ant invasion seems to be over, at least they're not appearing en masse as they were.  What I don't understand is, if they lay down a trail for the troops to follow to the goodies, why can't they tell when there's been a huge massacre?  I killed 'em by the hundreds and still they came.  I felt secure enough yesterday to put the cans of ant spray I'd had at the ready back into the cupboard.  Whew.

The vultures are gathering, more each day.  There were thirty resting in the barren branches of the dead oak over the barn yesterday morning.  Normally, these huge, silent birds fly off as I approach.  It was strange to walk slowly to the barn as they sat above and watched me.  Along about September 19-24, the vultures will get into formation for their migration to the Owens Valley.  It's an awesome sight I look forward to every year.

When Camille came over the other night, she brought a feather for me to identify.  She was not happy when I told her it was from a red-tail hawk because she'd found it in the open breezeway of her barn where her chickens live, especially because she's getting new pullets today.  I'm thinking the hawk lost it over her pasture and the wind blew it in.  The birds are pretty savvy about going into enclosed spaces.  Since it is apparently illegal to possess one of these feathers, I wasn't too happy with Camille because she left the evidence with me!

The last time I saw Tom, we had just had the Great Pie Day to celebrate family birthdays.  I described the "menu."  When I mentioned pecan pie, his eyes lit up.  "Would you make a pecan pie for me?"  That was months ago.  He gave me a day's notice that he was coming by yesterday for milk.  I think he'd forgotten all about it, but I surprised him with a pecan pie just coming out of the oven when he arrived.  He went away one happy man.  It's possible that Deb and Craig might come up this weekend.  It's a good thing I made crust for two pies because pecan is Craig's favorite and I'll be making one for him too.  I couldn't bear the guilt if I had to tell him I'd made a pie for someone else and not for him.  I don't have any buttermilk, or I'd make Deb's favorite, also.  Maybe next time.