Look closely...My brother couldn't get too close to his not-to-be-opened-soon pool, because he already has visitors.  This is a Michigan mallard, and her 12 babies.  She and the Mister have been in Brother's yard and pool since the snow was melting.  Even then, Brother and his wife suspected there might be babies, but, nahhhh....

Well, they were very surprised when last Sunday afternoon, they noticed that Momma had returned, with her brood, all in the pool.  This was the first that Brother had seen the babies, and they don't look like newly hatched babies, to me or him.

The winter cover is still on, so in the next two pictures, you will see that Brother had to build a ramp in order for the babies to get out of the pool.  Momma can fly out, but babies were stuck.

Babies all got on, and then decided it was a good spot to nap.  All that swimming must have made them tired!  At first nobody, including Momma wanted to get near the 'ramp'.  But once Momma realized it was OK, she let the babies explore, and now all is well.

Momma is resting while babies rest, but she is out of the pool.

Ain't life grand?!!  I think my Brother and Wife will be busy for a few weeks, making sure the ducks enjoy their stay, keeping their supply of food adequate, and cleaning up after them!  Needless to say I'm sure he will have quite an experience, but I'm not sure I'll volunteer to help open the pool, rather late, this June.

Some things just can't wait until Fall to blog about.  This is pretty special.

Most of us remember the first time we heard our own voice on a recording. It was a disquieting experience. First denial, "I don't sound like that!", then, much later, acceptance, "Well, I don't sound that bad. It just wasn't what I was expecting."

Today we can have the jolting experience of seeing ourself on video.  I don't mean family weddings or picnics.  I mean YouTube and FaceBook stuff.  I mean the intended videos wherein we attempt to convey feelings and oratory and composure...and it doesn't work to our expectations.  Once again you have denial, but it is much more fleeting (we've been through this before in the audio arena).  Once again we have acceptance, and it is much more pragmatic (okay, this must be how we look to other humans, and I'm suddenly over an acting career).

Making a video, as Alex and I did for business today, gives an appreciation of acting talent.  Not only do most actors look attractive, they remember their lines!  I don't know how they do it.  We were presenting a script that was less that one page, double spaced, and I was having trouble getting through it.  And I wrote the thing.

John Wayne was supposed to have explained the formula for acting success this way:  'Show up on time and know your lines.'

Well, I respect John and other actors much more now.  It isn't enough to look pretty.  They must remember lots and lots of lines, and they must deliver them convincingly.

Maybe the Emmies aren't as vacuous as I've thought.

We've learned a lot about raw (unpasteurized) milk.  It is very tasty.  It makes wonderful buttermilk.  It doesn't hurt my stomach.  I can't drink it because it give me moose-gas while I sleep.

In the picture, above, Jackie shows her undivertable interest in some whole-wheat buttermilk pancakes we made.  The pancakes were good, and the dogs will concur.

We also discovered that the cod we bought in a doubtful moment (we are ashamed to admit that we can't cook fish) went from dreadful baked to wonderful fried in deep oil, after a dip in buttermilk and Frying Magic.  The irony, of course, is that the more unhealthy the cooking method, the better the flavor.

Finally, I found a buttermilk salad dressing recipe.  I used it on a cobbled-up slaw made from bok choy, radishes, chopped onion, sliced carrot and fresh parsley.  It was very darned good.  The bok choy was a refreshing, light alternative to green cabbage, and the great clump I made fed me for a week, Michele not sharing because she is not a cabbage/radish/onion person.

And that is that.  We'll forego the raw milk and we'll embrace the benefits of including buttermilk in our cooking.

By the way, there are two kinds of buttermilk.  The very old kind is awful, being the thin liquid that is left after churning cream into butter.  The vastly better, tangy, tasty, alluring kind is made by adding a culture to whole milk.  The process is similar to yogurt and sour cream.  Cultured buttermilk is yummy.  Cultured buttermilk from raw milk is incredible...if you can digest it.

Yes, yes, Michele encouraged me to take lactaid.  Me bowels laughed with great, gaseous flatulence at the stuff.

Our bodies have a variety of soreness associated with spring/going-on-summer.  It is mostly the garden.  The garden requires turning-over, which sounds benign, but it is actually very laborious.  We have a skinny little roto-tiller called a Mantis.  It is only about 10 inches wide, and has the heart of a tractor (rather like our Jack Russell Terriers).  Still, the little machine needs a lot of passes to till a garden.  We break it up into manageable bouts.  Then there is the leveling...

Michele and I went out late this afternoon to level the garden.  She was handling the rake, and I was throwing the dirt with a pointed shovel.  It was reflective work, meaning that one thinks about other thoughts while straining and grunting.

Michele said, "I think we should give the blog a rest for the summer."

Me:  "We've already done that."

Michele:  "One of our original and best correspondents (note:  from England) said as much.  Too much to do to keep up the blog."

So there you have it, kids.  We're taking off for the summer.  If you'd like to keep in touch on a personal level, our email is donbeesley@comcast.net.

Have a good growing season!

(This entry is a first.  Don and Michele are contributing in a joint, if disjointed, effort.)

Our name is Beesley, so you should get the Bees part...it is our nick-name.  The bird part of the title comes from our feeding and nurturing birds year 'round.

This time of year (spring) is especially interesting for us in Michigan.  The winter birds, as in juncos, head north of here, and the summer birds, as in orioles, grosbeaks, rufus towhees, robins, grackles, red-winged blackbirds and others return to share the mild weather with us.  The humming birds, which we call hummers, are the very best guests, because they claim their territory at our hummingbird feeders and entertain us until fall.

Today, at breakfast, Michele gave a low, warning whisper, "Look."

I knew there was something special that could be easily spooked.  It was a pileated woodpecker!  They drop in about once a year to land on our upper deck.  They look longingly at the suet and sometimes figure out how to place their crow-sized bodies on the little hanging suet-cages.  Today's specimen couldn't work it out, but it was a privilege to observe the odd physical makeup of the bird that Woody Woodpecker was based on.

We've also interacted with a determined, if demented, pair of robins.  They are set upon making a nest in inappropriate areas.  The first nest was on a trellis that supports a clematis vine.  They made a nest, then abandoned it.  The second attempt was on a stored set of garden stakes, made to house a glass candle holder for outdoor candlelight,  that were over-wintering on our tiny front porch.  The third nest-attempt was on our front porch light...the light that is motion sensitive, and which would eventually set a nest on fire!

I built a tidy robin-shelf and hung it under our eaves, hoping that the tiched birds will use it.  They haven't.  Last night I wove grapevines around the shelf to make it more natural.  We'll see if the birds and I have the same perspective.

This is really a beautiful nest, but not such a good site!  It was built in a day, as Michele was keeping track of the Robins.  They were constantly in the yard on the lawn.  Last year they built one just on the other side of the vine, but inside of the tangle of interwoven vines.  They laid eggs, had babies, and then one day the babies were gone.  The chicks were too young to be on their own.  And this nest is even more exposed.  No eggs in this nest.

The garden candle holders. It was full of nesting material, but Michele cleaned it out, after I discouraged the Robins from further building, by placing it in one of the front gardens.

This is our front porch light, another very inappropriate place for a nest, not big enough, too exposed and too flammable.  We quickly removed the material, discouraging their efforts, and preventing them from wasting their efforts.  The newlyweds need to concentrate on using their energies wisely. 

The angle is a little off as Michele took the picture and she is short.  But here is the Robin's ledge we provided...decorated for them, even!  So far, no takers.  Michele has seen the birds at some cedars to the left of the house, so they may have already chosen their own more appropriate nesting spot, in a tree!  Kids!

Our Baltimore Oriole, on his favorite food, oranges.  He hasn't brought the Mrs. around yet. 

This female Grosbeak is on the hanger for suet, off our upper deck.  She is looking at me, (Michele), but the sun makes her look like she is looking out.  Then she doesn't really look like a grosbeak!  You have to know that their beaks are large, and at the correct angle you would see that.  You cannot, here.

Mrs. Grosbeak's guy, Mr. Grosbeak.  We are seeing them now everyday, sometimes two females and two males together.  The males are very handsome, and both sexes are the most gentle birds in the gardens.  Not one of my best shots, but I take the photos from inside the house, and try not to spook them. 

Someday we'll reveal the paintball gun deterent for unwanted species.  It is harmless, effective and fun.

Here's a picture of a couple of cows in the barn at the milking station.  When the cows are lead into the barn they all go to their designated spots on their own.  All except for Sasha that is.  She is in awe every time she enters the barn.  According to her owner, she may be pretty but there's not a lot going on in the head of hers!  Hence the reason they only have one of that breed (except for her baby Nicholas) on the farm. 

While we were in the barn learning about the milking process and visiting with Sasha, a curious friend gazed in wondering what she was missing out on. 

Like mother, like son.  Nicholas was just as interested in everything as his mother, Sasha, was.  He is just about 4-5 months old and is quite a big boy charming his way to the open gate!  According to his owner he will bolt right out of the pen if given the chance. 

Here is sweet little Millie, just one week old, getting some pointers from the older calves in the pen next to her.  As you can see, Millie has no electric fencing on her side.  She hasn't figured that out yet.  When she learns that she can't just plow the fence down she will get to join the other calves in the "big kid" pen.   

A couple of days ago, Don and I and Alex and Michelle and girls, went to a small local dairy farm.  Don and I had watched a television program on raw milk (unpasteurized milk), and Don has been fascinated with the idea ever since.  He looked up area farms that provide raw milk, and found one close to home, about 10 minutes away, for us.  For Alex and Michelle, much farther!  The following pictures are some I took of the cows and kids and owner. 

Sasha and her owner have a special bond, that was apparent!  Michaela was right in line to see her up close and give her a pat.  Sasha is a Swiss Brown Guernsey, with gorgeous eyes. 

All of the cows were outside, and lunch was a big attraction.  Can't remember this one's name, but I did ask how big she was, and that I remembered.  The really large mommas are around 1700 to 1800 pounds.  They all appeared to be very gentle, and I asked about that, too.  The dairy owner confirmed that they all seem to have very sweet dispositions.  I think that would be important, as he has six children, and the four oldest were good helpers, one studying to be a Veterinarian.  Stories of James Herriott were with me the rest of the day.

This is Nicholas, about 4 to 5 months old.  He is Sasha's baby boy, born on St. Nicholas day, Dec. 6.  These Swiss Browns are born pure white.  When he was born in snow, Sasha couldn't see him.  The owner thinks Sasha thought he was dead.  They didn't find him for about 6 hours, and it took many hours to get him warm and responding.  And he appears just fine!  He is a beautiful boy, and actually has his mother's eyes, but the sun seemed to cause him to close his eyes somewhat.

 This is Millie, one week old.

Isn't she a beauty!?  She is also a Guernsey, but not a Swiss Brown, which are really brown.

I just fell in love with these eyes.  Right now Millie is in with the chickens, in a large pen where everyone has room to roam and no one gets stepped on.  Dennis couldn't see her, because of trees and structures so he went into the pen to find her.  She was chasing Dennis as he came around a few trees, and it was a very cute sight to see this week old calf.  Millie is about 80 pounds, the size she was at birth.

We liked the idea of raw milk quite a bit, because it tastes sooo fresh, and because we thought this dairy really loves their animals, and takes very good care of them and the milk process.  Their bacteria level in their milk is much, much lower than the standard set by the government.  Right now, it is expensive, as you need to buy a share in a cow in order to buy her milk.  One of the best features is that lactose intolerant people seem to be able to tolerate raw milk.  Less chemicals, actually no chemicals, compared to pasteurized milk.  Great experience for all.   And two more pictures..

Well not everyone was as tickled with this calf.  Carrie saw a cat just after this, and that really caught her attention.  Cows, not so much.

Alex and Lily in the barn, Lily with her own bottle of milk.  She didn't need these cows! 

Note:  This little story is so silly that most people will just laugh.  A few people will look at you like you are titched.  It is a good method for discovering who has a sense of humor and who is humor-challenged.

There were two little boys, about five years old, sitting in a hospital waiting room.  They didn't know each other.  Their Mums were off taking care of paperwork for some surgical procedures for the lads.

Eddie asked Brad, "What are they going to do to you?"

Brad answered, "I don't know.  It's something called a sir, sir, sir-something."

Eddie gasped and asked, "A circumcision?"

"Yeah!" Brad responded brightly, "That's it!  A sir-come-whatever-you-said!"

"Oh, man," Eddie gravely noted,  "I had one of those when I was a month old, and I couldn't walk for a year!"

A stranger, new to this town, walked into a bar and ordered two beers, explaining that one was for his poor, infirm brother in the 'old country'.

He spent the rest of the evening drinking two beers at a time, always honoring his brother..  He returned for the next several nights and repeated his behavior, always ordering and drinking two beers at a go.

Finally, he arrived for the sixth evening and ordered a single beer.  The bartender noticed this, and quietly asked, "So, ah, your brother, ah....?"

The stranger replied, "No, no.  Me brother's fine.  It's me.  I've givin' up drinkin'."

WARNING!  The following is a little off-color.  Don't tell this story until your friends have their mouths full of food or drink.

I was talking with a sweet elderly lady yesterday, and she told me how disappointed she was with the hearing aid she'd finally gotten.

I asked her why, and she explained that after she'd gotten the hearing aid she had discovered that her farts weren't silent after all.