Killdeer are Back

Another sure sign of spring here in Eastern Idaho is the return of the killdeer. When I hear their peculiar call, my heart soars knowing that spring is here and that summer sin't far behind.

Again, I'm grateful I live in a place where the killdeer will come. We don't often see them in our back yard, but last year we did have a pair that nested in the alley and occasionally came into the yard looking for bugs. We're also not far from that ubiquitous cow pasture, so hearing their calls isn't an uncommon occurrence.

Odd thing -- we don't often see them doing their broken wing act, even if we get close. They'll do their little chirpy calls -- but not the piping, which I've heaerd from killdeer in some YouTube videos -- but when we get cloe, they just jog along even faster. The broken-wing and piping things must be for their eastern counsins. They do perform their killdeer chant which, for me, is always enchanting.

Now that we've got a good digital video camera, I plan on doing some birding this spring and summer, just for the fun of it.

I see (and hear) these little buggers out at work all the time. We often have a pair nest in the little patch of grass outside our trailer, so all spring long we can hear them chattering outside and, when the eggs hatch, we can watch the chicks scuttle about and be herded around by mom and dad. Just another advantage to working at a nuclear waste dump way in the hell out in the middle of nowhere.

Thirty-Five Degrees

Yesterday, I heard a telephone bird for the first time this spring.

Even with a foot of snow still on the ground, even with the threat of more snow ever on the horizon, I can still connect the two: Telephone bird and spring.

This is where the Internet fails me. I have no idea what the real name of the telephone bird is. If someone out there knows, please tell me. I think it's a type of jay or thrush, but the bird has a distinct call that sounds like a telephone -- and old one, with the dial -- ringing. They always sing spring to me.

Yesterday was beautiful. High thirties and low forties for highs. Relatively speaking, that's tropical. That sets the snow on the roof of the house to melting, dripping down the shingles and splatting on the ground. It makes me want to smash. Smash the ice and snow caked on the driveway, smash the ice and snow caked on the edges of the sidewalks, smash the ice and snow clinging to the sunlit edges of snowdrifts and piles so it falls apart and melts faster.

Things emerge as the snow melts. The wood pile doubles in size as the stuff that's been covered on the ground is revealed and begins to dry. I see snatches of grass next to the house where the snow can't fall. Underneath the snow lays the promises of crocuses, tulips, and the brae branches of the cherry trees yearn to explode.

When I hear the meadowlark, I know spring is here and winter cannot return until the season is right. But as long as I can hear the telephone bird, spring lays waiting, in hope.

Spring Fever . . . or is it Bean Fever?

I know. It's been a week since I posted. But since there are only two regular readers of this blog -- and I can't even count myself among them -- I'm not overy concerned.

I worry, though, that I'm not worried enough about this conversion to digital television. I stopped watching most broadcast and cable TV shows about 11 years ago. I'm in the dark most of the time on politics, because I don't get the constant feed television offers. Oh, I get news i want on the Internet, but since I can pick and choose what I want to consume, I skip most of the "politic slop," as Ralphie Parker's Dad would say. So I can't say I'm all that bothered with the thought that broadcasters are going from analog to digital. I'm not lining up for one of those converter boxes the government is pushing on everyone. Heck, I don't even watch the taped TV shows we get from my father-in-law anymore. I amy soon revert to squatting in a corner of the basement and drawing pictograms on the walls with red clay.

Next week, layoffs begin. People are looking for signs in the stars everywhere to know if they'll be axed or spared. Including me. I began fretting last night that because I hadn't heard from my employers on a new bus pass -- mine expires Tuesday -- that they knew I was on the list to get the flush and figured it would be a waste of time communicating with me. But this morning I get news on the bus pass, and they ask me to fill out a company contact form. Maybe so they know where to train the security cameras when they lay off my sorry ass next week . . . Ah, the paranoia continues.

I'm coming, slowly, to a realization: The book I'm working on isn't going to write itself. Maybe it should try, because it might turn out better if I'm not connected with it.

Spring is finally starting to show up around here. We had rain yesterday. Honest rain, helping to usher the snow away. We still have a ton of snow in the front yard, but where the snow didn't fall as thick next to the house, we have tulips starting to poke out of the ground. They look really excited to be here. Really excited. We've also cleard the driveway of snow and ice, which is nice, because the vehicles now don't have to park at an angle. Uncovering the driveway was like chiseling through a glacier, except that I'm sure glaciers don't have the Pomeranian poop content that our driveay ice has. Max is a good little dog, but he really can pound out the biscuits over the winter.

I'm crabby. I'm ready for the snow to go away. Liam was watching over my shoulder last night as I was playing Sim City 4, and it got so irritating I had to stop before I really got cranky and shooed him away. This layoff situation just has me really tense. I'm ready for next week to be over, no matter the outcome.

I need some kind of tension-breaker that doesn't involve Starbursts. Maybe I'll move on to cigars, pipes, chewing tobacco and then I'll go onto that nicotine gum. A good five-year plan.

Disappointment: Saw a copy of Airplane! in the discount bin at Wal-Mart earlier this week. Went to get it last night, figuring I could sneak it into the house over Michelle's objections. All the copies had been cherry-picked out of the bin, leaving only stupid movies behind. Sigh. I shouldn't complain. She got me a copy of The Dilbert Principle and Spies Like Us, so I'm not totally bereft of token consumerist swag this week.