With the warming of the air, the signs of spring begin. The return of this old friend to his favorite post in the old oak tree overlooking the lake is officially the first. I heard him one afternoon, reinstating his dominance over favorite hunting grounds for all the world to hear. He peered at me with his sharp yellow eye through the branches, skeptical of my attempts to find an angle that didn’t make it look like he was holding a stick in his beak (as you can see I was unsuccessful, so let’s just pretend he was grabbing it to add to his nest).
And then, peering up at his grand figure in the branches up there against the blue, I thought of how to describe the call I heard, and came up short. How, exactly, do you describe the call of an eagle? I thought someone more learned in the field of ornithology (the study of birds) than me would have a good answer—but I must say that I was disappointed.
My sources basically couldn’t agree on how to categorize the call of a bald eagle, other than that it was too musical to be called a screech, but not musical enough to be called a song. Some call it a combination of high pitched “whistling” and “piping” (Irish penny whistle, anyone?). Some call it “chattering”, as though it were a squirrel. Still others liken it to “chirping”, oddly bringing the largest bird of prey down to the level of a songbird at the bird feeder. Others go so low as to call it “squeaking”, as though it were a mouse, or, worst yet, “squealing”, which brings to mind a very unhappy pig. I thought of “trilling”, but even that conjures more images of tree frogs and raccoons in my mind than those of soaring eagles. “Twittering”, perhaps? But somehow that just reminds me of a cross old owl scowling at a lot of happily love-sick songbirds in “Bambi”, not a bird who bears the weight of being a national symbol on his shoulders. Come on, now! Is it too much to ask for a word that accurately describes the sound, but still manages to embody the dignity of such a majestic bird?
(To be clear, this is the call I’m talking about, not the peal call of alarm which really is more like screeching.)
So, based on that sound recording, how would you vote to finish this sentence? The eagle __________. (Whistled, piped, chattered, chirped, squeaked, squealed, trilled, twittered, or you fill in the blank with something I haven’t thought of.) Chickens cluck, geese honk, crows caw, swans trumpet, owls hoot—but what do eagles do? Do you think it can be boiled down to a single descriptive word—or not?
I’m somewhat tempted to side with the writer of Proverbs on this point. Describing the voice of the eagle in one word is a mystery that I might have to be content dismissing as “too wonderful for me” and, apparently, the English language. Though, to be perfectly fair and in context, in this case I think this writer was more in awe of the mystery of flight than flummoxed by a fruitless late night Google search for an apparently nonexistent perfect word.
“Three things are too wonderful for me; four I do not understand: the way of an eagle in the sky…” (Proverbs 30:18-19)
When I was a young, aspiring baker, my mother taught me how to frost cookies and cakes. It’s an experience that I remember with striking clarity because, in her kitchen, not just any frosting job would do. Frosting (the verb, not the noun) was not merely a job to get done. It was an art form.
On mornings when I wake up to a frosted world, I can’t help thinking back to what it was like learning to frost. I enjoyed learning, but mastering the techniques certainly didn’t happen overnight. This refined coating of a thousand minute crystals deposited by a sudden drop in temperature, on the other hand, does.
Watching the wind move fine snow over the landscape is mesmerizing to me.
It’s like an Olympic figure skating performance, complete with the artistry, sparkles and gold. The wind and the snow, they are like the perfect couple, as the wind tosses the snow up, spinning, catching it again with effortless ease, moving in perfect time with each other and the sound of their own music. Only it’s right in my front yard, nobody’s keeping track of points, and I seem to be the only one watching.
This is oxalis triangularis, otherwise known as purple shamrock. It sits in my south window in the perfect spot to catch the full sun, positioned right where I can enjoy it whenever I’m sitting in my favorite chair nursing the wee babe, or less frequently, as I am this week, convalescing from illness. I especially love the way the sunlight glows through the translucent lavender petals and maroon leaves, and the way those tri-lobed leaves go to bed every night when the sun goes down, folding up neatly into little origami points.
Oh, to be a porcupine up in a tree,
But I suppose that since I can’t be a porcupine
Favorite Bucket List Score: A non-blurry close-up photo of a hummingbird has been on my list for a long time. If you know how fast these little beauties move, you know why I considered this opportunity a gift! This wasn’t the only shot I scored, either—and you can check out all of them in 
Favorite Associated Memory: Not surprisingly, my favorites are often so because of the stories and memories behind them. 
Favorite Travel Shot: I really had a hard time choosing, but oddly enough, I ended up settling on this one that never even made it into a blog post! (Thus, a bonus photo for you!) My reason is solely based on the humor of the situation. This is a wild turkey mama who apparently doesn’t believe in broadcasting photos of her family for the world to see. She paraded them daringly along the edge of the road, oblivious to traffic roaring by—but when I tried to discreetly poke a camera lens out the truck window, that was a different story. She has at least six chicks, who are down there in the grass by her feet hiding. I’m really not sure if that’s a twinkle of mischief in her eye there, or a glint of suspicion, or just a look of triumph for foiling my designs. She granted me this one cameo peekaboo shot, and that was it.
Favorite Action Shot: The story behind this one can be found 
Favorite Landscape: The more you get into photography, the more you obsess about light. The absence or presence of the right kind of light, outside of actual studio photography, is something you chase after, wait for, wish for, do your best to contrive for, but cannot ever completely control. When you catch it, its a glorious moment. I passed this roadside bed of fire weed many times this summer, but it wasn’t until just the right shaft of late-afternoon golden light hit it, spotlighting the blossoms against the dark backdrop of forest, that it actually became worth stepping on the brakes for.
Favorite Car Window Shot: Hands down. It makes me smile every time I look at it.
Favorite Floral: Obviously I wasn’t the only one who appreciated the cornflower blue of these bachelor buttons in my flower garden this year!
Favorite Challenge (as in the photos I worked the hardest for): That would definitely be any photo containing otters. Just don’t ask how many photos I actually took to secure those I deemed worthy to share with you (you can view a couple more in 
Favorite Nature Close-Up: I love the contrast of this perfect autumn leaf from my parent’s maple-rich yard posing on their picnic table.
Favorite Sky Capture: this alignment of the storm clouds and big round moon just after sunset was so stunning, and I enjoyed the extra fiddling with my camera required to expose those lunar craters just right! It rated high enough in my small world to become my desktop wallpaper. It must have appealed to you, too, because it also rated as the post with the most views for 2017!
This was the most magnificent sunset I have seen in my life, and the pictures (yes, they’re both from the same evening) hardly do it justice. It was also the one redeeming feature of the most severe summer storm I’ve had to drive through in my life. That was the road trip in which we missed half-dollar sized hail by a mere couple miles and because it was raining so hard could see nothing but the taillights ahead of us for what seemed like eternity (probably more like fifteen minutes). It was unforgettable all around.
There’s a new year rising, about ready to break over the horizon just like the sun was on this breathtakingly frosty morn.
Is it Christmas lights? Is it snow?
I find my mailbox stuffed full of shiny catalogs. The sign at Walmart carefully documents exactly how few days are left until the big holiday. My email inbox blinks every morning with a dizzying array of emails from all my favorite companies, wanting to make sure that I don’t forget. Christmas is coming! Whatever we sell is certainly exactly what everyone on your gift list needs!! It’s a sale you can’t beat!!! Finish you gift list with us!!! Hurry, hurry, before it’s too late!!!!
I believe that the best way to keep the motive of our giving pure is to simply seek to give as Christ gave. Jesus put Himself in a manger, knowingly beginning the path to the cross, and gave the greatest gift anyone could possibly give—Himself. What’s more, He gave that gift to everyone in the entire history of the world, past, present and future.
It was a long, happy weekend of giving thanks. During family dinner as the silverware clinked on fine china, then again later as wedges of pie were passed, between friends, during joyful church services and into microphones, I heard people express gratefulness for so many beautiful things.
The dim, dreary skies lit unexpectedly up with all this splendor that kept going and going and going and wouldn’t stop. I paused to notice the first flush of pink, and then stopped to watch in awe as it spread and rippled and flamed across the entire canopy of the heavens curving over my world. Then the coyotes started to yap far off in the forest, and I thought about the fact that there’s more than one way to make your voice heard.
Rejoicing Hills 