Yellow-belly Ned predicts.

Six more weeks of greyness, followed by six more weeks of greyness, followed by a partly sunny afternoon, followed by six more weeks of greyness.  Same as always.

Lunch Fairy

1.  Despite the ample, easily understood signage, there were four teenage males out on the ice, throwing each others' backpacks out to the thin spots.  What fun.  I remember what fun that was, when my brain was less complete.

I was riding my bike around the pond slowly, listening for birds.  A man about my age walking past said, "What they're doing is really stupid."  He pointed at the boys.

"Yes," I said. I squeezed the brakes.

"Someone should tell them to get off the ice," and then he continued walking.  I think he was implying that  I should tell them to get off the ice.  I didn't do that.  I didn't see why I should be the one to yell helpful advice at reckless teenagers. When has that ever worked?

The man continued walking to the far side of the pond, and from there he yelled at them.  "Hey, get off the ice!  That's really dangerous!"

The teenagers laughed at him, and yelled things back that at their nicest were sarcastic.

They started playing hockey with fallen birch branches and a knot of wood.  The game didn't last long because the equipment kept failing.  I watched them give up and shimmy back to shore.  All the while my hand was on my phone in my pocket.  When they were back on solid ground, on the path to the high school, I pedalled away. I didn't believe that there was a magical way to convince them not to fall through the ice.  That choice was up to them.  I was willing to wait and watch and call for help if they did.  Modern communications allow you to be seemingly uncaring and potentially useful at the same time.


2.  Today my kids were home from school with mild fevers. A virus is going around, Angry Bird I-Pad flu.  Thus I was stuck at home, dumping a can of chicken soup into a saucepan when the phone rang. It was about twenty minutes past noon.

"Hello?"

A unknown child's pleading voice:  "I don't have my lunch and I'm really really hungry."  A young girl, I guessed six to eight years old.  Why did she phone me?

Me: "Where are you?"

Her: "At Such & Such School. I'm a student at Such & Such School."

I know where Such & Such School is.  It's in the local district.

Me: "Okay, now why did you call me?"

Her:  "Because my daddy didn't bring my lunch."

I'm kind of getting the picture.  Someone at the school tried to call her home, but dialled the wrong number.  They handed her the phone without telling her who they were calling.  She didn't know that the person answering was supposed to be her dad.  To her, the person answering was the Lunch Fairy.

Me: "What's your name?"

Her:  "Amy."

Me:  "Amy, could you please give the phone to a grown-up?"

Her:  "There aren't any grown-ups."  Then she hung up. 

Me:  "No grown-ups?"  My children raised their febrile heads from sofa cushions to look at me.  I went upstairs to the find the school district website and the number for Such & Such School, to call and check if Amy had been connected with her lunch.  I dialled.

Voice:  "Such & Such School."  This voice sounded like another young girl, scarcely older than Amy.  Oh, right.  It started to make more sense.  Lunch hour.  At many schools, grade 6 and 7 students are in charge of monitoring the office at lunch hour, no grown-ups around.

Me:  "Hi.  A little girl named Amy just called me from your school to tell me she doesn't have any lunch."

Voice:  "Oh, I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry we bothered you.  We called the wrong number."

Me:  "That's okay.  I just want to make sure that someone is making sure that Amy is getting her lunch."

Voice:  "We're just so sorry to bother you.  I'm sorry..."  She sounded mortified, very upset with herself.

Me:  "It's okay, don't worry about that..."

She hung up.

I went downstairs to find both kids staring goggle-eyed at the television as the soup boiled over on the stove top.


Summation.  Even in a world populated mostly by strangers, we are pretty much hard-wired to help.  We're not always very good at it, but we try.

Whilst there was snow.

Walking through the forest, looking for mammal tracks.  Suddenly, a cribbage game broke out.

Precip.

 Morning sky, after the rain.

Last night a hefty rain event--also known as a storm-- went through, and did what rain events here do to recent snowfalls.  Everything turned to water and went down the drains.

The drains drain to the ditches, which are filling up.

Here is some serious influx.  Imagine if both pipes were open, how serious that would be.

A hint of peaty brown.

Fun with shutter speeds. A slow shutter makes the water go faster.

Another winter bird (an especially handsome one).

Unlike wanderers like redpolls, the Varied Thrush is a reliable find when it snows.  They come down to the lowlands and skulk around in parks and gardens.  When flushed, they fly up about 10-15 feet, and then nervously glance at you over their shoulders.   You quietly approach, hoping to get a twig-free shot...

whoops, he's gone.

Winter, with birds.

I went for a wander in cental Richmond to get a snow-fix (as much as is possible when not even an inch fell).  Near the corner of Gilbert and Lucas Roads, I saw a flock of 15-20 Common Redpolls picking at catkins in a birch tree.  What joy.  It's been at least five years since I've seen one of these little beauties in this city. By the time I had fished Mr. Hesitation from my pack, and Mr. H. found the tree, two crows had arrived to scare the redpolls away.  No joy.

But even Mr. H. couldn't mess up with a flock of robins (above), who were apparently frozen to their twigs.

Farther along, someone had a Weather Lion (two, actually), which corroborated the recent data from Weather Frog.

Weather Frog detects snow.

Here is Weather Frog at first light this morning.  WF has detected a thin layer of granular snow, which is crunchy to walk on, and hopeless for snowball construction.