To a Rabbit

After our all-out, no-holds-barred attack on rabbits a couple of days ago, I started to feel bad. I like rabbits! It was Chet who got all uppity about being "king of this blog." He's a guy. Stuff like that happens when you get guys involved. I happen to think Cinnamon is a vision of lagopulchritude. It's the Rex breed of rabbit that I drool over every September, in the Small Animal Barn of our county fair. I'd have a rabbit if they didn't make my nose tickle, and my eyes itch...

So I decided to paint a rabbit, and show the steps of making this little painting here.
First, I start with a sketch I like, of a cottontail resting out on our lawn (made pre-dog, obviously. Cottontails don't get much rest around here anymore.) The next step is to paint some winter weeds around her, and put a nice wet wash of burnt umber and cobalt blue over the wet ground of her body. I make her fur much darker than it should be, because I'm about to sprinkle ordinary table salt atop that wash. Salt is hydrophilic, which means it draws water toward itself. Each grain makes a little puddle, and the pigment settles around that puddle of clear water. This gives a lovely organic effect that you couldn't do convincingly by trying. I use a lot of salt in my paintings these days. It's a big help for someone who is so used to painting feathers, that I panic a bit when asked to render other textures, like fur. The painting's about done now.

I want it to look spontaneous and quick, and it has been. But although a watercolor may be executed very quickly, there's a lot of thought and consideration that goes into making it look spontaneous.

Cinnamon, you're beautiful. This one's for you, kid!

Another snowy day, spent cleaning and getting ready to trim the Christmas tree. Today is a special day: Chet Baker turns 1! We decided to let him eat beef stew out of his bowl at the table with us, something he thought was a great idea. Here, waitress Phoebe helps him with his chair.
Then he digs in with the kids.
We had a ball at the big pet store in town,picking out toys we thought Chet would like. But he's developed a preternatural ability

to get the squeaker out of any toy, always accompanied by clouds of Hollofil. Our house is dotted with Hollofil bunnies from all the toys he's slaughtered. Even this squeaky football fell prey to his teeth. He's unrepentant, even though nobody can say "I'm sorry!" better than a googly-eyed Boston terrier.
I'm sorry about the shirt, Chet.

One Last Post for the Week

Hi Ho, Sharon here!

Okay, one last check of email and interrupting Julie before getting back to serious, hard core, so intense that it is almost soul crushing birding for the next week (and I am loving every minute of it). Yesterday one of my team members Jeff and I prank called Birding Bill. It was awesome.

Tonight we are going back to our oh-so-humble-abode but we are taking a moment to admire the miles and miles of snow geese flying over our heads--too cool (or kewl as my niece Nicole would use with her hip lingo).

I did get to try the famous Ivory-bill Hamburger and will have tons of fun photos to post. Brinnkley, AR is one of the friendliest towns I have ever been in. Everyone is so polite and helpful, I really like it here.

Oh, for the record: canoing across/through ice is a huge and noisy pain in the tookus.

And for those who were curious and or worried about how to use the bathroom in chest waders in the swamp: It's not as hard as you think, you get a system down and quite frankly if you have to go bad enough you don't notice how cold it is as you're whipping them off.

And for the record, Cinnamon may not be able to pull a sled, but she can chew a phone line faster than any other lagomorph this side of the Mississippi.

That Meddlesome Dog

Chet Baker Speaks:

OK, Cinnamon, I've got a challenge for you. How are you at pulling sleds? Huh? I not only pull them, but I cause spectacular wipeouts, then steal the sled, pull it all by myself, and give sloppy kisses to the kids. I'll bet rabbits bite when they kiss. I'm King of this Blog. It's a Dog Blog now, Bunnyface, and for the next week, there's nothing you can do about it. P.S. I CHASE bunnies. Bunnies are very careful around my yard. They come out only at night. Even the word "Bunny" sends me leaping up to the nearest windowsill, looking for my foe. There. I've said it. But you started it. Zick: That'll do, Chet. Down, boy.
It's snowing like crazy again, even though the weather says there's a slight chance of snow showers. Hmmph. Three inches and counting.

I'm home today, trying to get the house back under control so we can put the Christmas tree up tonight. There's something in me that balks at putting up a Christmas tree in a sloppy house. Gotta have it just perfect. We're also celebrating Chet's one-year-birthday tonight. I cannot begin to say what a happy difference that little dog has made in all our lives. The joy quotient has gone way up, and I'm sure we laugh now at least twice as much as we did before he arrived.

Last night was another bacchanale, a wine dinner with wonderful friends. The hosts were showcasing spicy Rhone Valley wines, and each of the seven couples attending made incredibly hearty courses to pair with them--seven incredibly hearty courses. We were all groaning by the time the Thompson/Zickefoose entry came around in slot #7--pork loin with apples, sweet potatoes, and a savory apple juice-honey-pepper sauce. Caveman Bill cooked it outside in his big cast-iron Dutch oven. It was fab, if a little over-the-top for a dessert. The wines were big, hearty, and fabulous. I drank about a tablespoon of each one, since we had a snowy drive home.
Well, back to cleaning the house and hanging dripping snowsuits atop doors. So great to hear from Sharon again!

Bunny Rights

"I disapprove of Chet Baker!"

Hello, Sharon here, I escaped the research station for a momentary check of email and couldn't resist blogging. My email was full of complaints and memos from Cinnamon about "bunny rights" with a petition signed by Hazel and Kabuki that the blog is going to the dogs. I have to placate Cinnamon, but I think Julie is doing a fabulous job and I'm sorry I can't read it day to day.

Well, off to go back to the station before they notice I'm gone and not working and to look for that which cannot be named.

Go Julie!

The snow is grainy and hard, but it still gives enough surface for a pretty good sled ride. Bill and Liam got suited up and took a few trips down our hill. Liam's favorite part is the wipe-out at the bottom. He pitches forward on his face, on purpose. Chet follows them down the hill but won't climb on the sled. His job is to lick faces after the wipeout.
The birds are going through food like there's no tomorrow. I had one goal in my crazy day yesterday, and that was to make a triple batch of peanut butter suet dough so I wouldn't be empty-handed when the Carolina wrens came calling this morning. I did it, just before rushing back out the door, trying not to get lard on my good red sweater, and the wrens have full crops this morning. Those little birds probably owe their lives to suet dough, especially when ice coats everything for the better part of a week.
We had a great time last night playing at a Songwriter's Night in Parkersburg WV. I was impressed by the indelible Appalachian flavor of the music, performer after performer. It's not a World Cafe out there--there are still regional influences and styles of music that persist, something I find comforting.

What a wild day. I set my alarm and, forgetting that the radio volume was turned all the way down, slept hard. Thank goodness Chet came snuffling at the door to wake me, or I'd never have made it to Athens. I had a date to record three commentaries for NPR at 9:30. The roads were horrible, thanks to a snowstorm last night, but I hurried out the door. This is not the first time I've been thankful to have a big fat ol' Explorer. It took two hours to make the normally 1 1/2-hour drive, but I plumped down in the studio chair at 9:28, with two minutes to spare.
The engineer who normally records my pieces is out of town, and so is the guy who fills in for him, so the job of connecting to NPR's studio in Washington was left to a brave soul named Steve Skidmore. In the next half-hour, he figured out a brand new computer setup and finally made the ISDN connection that would allow me to read my commentaries in Athens, Ohio, and have them received and recorded in Washington, D.C. Yikes. We were all sweating bullets. NPR studio time is at a premium, and we burned about 40 minutes of it just trying to figure out how to connect. I roared through three commentaries--actually, I think the adrenaline was a help. Then I recorded one that I wrote, on a notebook balanced on my lap, on the drive over to Athens this morning. I never know when they'll air on All Things Considered until the afternoon that it happens, but I'll try to let you know. In the meantime, you can check out the archives if you've got the time or inclination.
I picked up a computer for a friend who'd bought it on e-Bay, making what seemed like a kind of shady deal for a nice Mac on a streetcorner, then raced home to feed the animals and get ready to go out again this evening. Bill and I are playing music at a singer/songwriter's night in Parkersburg, WV. We've got 15 minutes, and we'll sing five or six of his songs. Running through them, I was struck by how good they are. I'm proud of my big sweet guy. Now to jump in the shower, fix dinner for Liam, and climb back in the Explorer. Phew. No time for pretty pictures or poems today!

Snowed In, Happily

It's snowing like mad right now, huge fluffy flakes pelting down. Bill, Phoebe, Liam and I rode into town this evening to procure our Christmas tree, a 7' Fraser fir that filled the car with heavenly fragrance. This was followed by an outing at the new Mexican restaurant in town. Bill and I eavesdrop on the waiters and really enjoy deciphering what they're saying. One man always touches the kids' foreheads, a lovely ritual that we saw a lot in south Texas, a blessing to the child.
I finished my ivory-bill painting today. I'd love to show it to you, including the progress pictures I took over the week it was on the drawing table, but that will have to wait until after it's been published. I'll have my own blog by then. Charlie likes it, anyway. I tried an interesting thing, sending jpegs out to my artist friends and asking for feedback. It was a first--a painting by committee. Their suggestions were terrific, and I incorporated almost every one, except for my friend Margaret's. She suggested that I add a toad on one of the fallen logs. Nancy Tanner added that the bird was flying too low. There wasn't much I could do about that one!
We shopped for toys for Chet Baker's birthday tonight. He'll be one on December 12. We brought home a couple of bags of ridiculous things for him, and while everyone was out of the room, Chet climbed up on the kitchen table and stole the best one right out of the bag, a Mexican jumping bean that passes gas when bitten. Durn dog.

It figures that it's snowing so hard. I have a date to record some more commentaries for National Public Radio's All Things Considered at 9:30 tomorrow morning. This wouldn't be a problem, but WOUB, the studio where I do the recording, is 1 1/2 hours away in Athens, Ohio. Chances of my getting there in this snow are slim to nil. I started writing and recording three-minute commentaries for NPR in July, 2004, and 16 have aired since then. This is one of the more challenging things in my life, but I absolutely love it; writing something I think my editors might accept is always a gamble, recording the pieces is a gas, and looking for things worth writing about is the most fun of all. I've promised myself that if I do get snowed in tomorrow, I'll spend part of the day thinking up some more topics.
If you're looking for Christmas gifts for your friends and family, try the wish list I made up for NPR's web site. Several of my friends say they've gotten ideas from it. I hope Bill's reading it.
That's enough shameless self-promotion for one evening, I think. And now, to bed.

Moving Scooby-Doo

All apologies to Cinnamon, the rabbit who normally rules this blogsite, but I must tell you about a game Chet Baker and I have been playing this winter. It's called Moving Scooby-Doo. Scooby-Doo is a small basketball, long since deflated by Chet's sharp teeth, that Chet moves a little farther out the meadow every time we walk the Loop. The game started in the yard, when Chet decided to bring Scooby along on a walk. He lost interest after a few yards, though, and there Scoob lay on the meadow path, forgotten until the next walk. Most times, Chet remembers to pick Scoob up and haul him a little farther along the trail, but sometimes, like today, I have to remind him to do it. He seems to get the joke. He gives Scoob a wicked shake and romps about a hundred feet down the trail with it. My goal (I can't really speak for Chet) is to have Scooby go all the way around the Loop and make it back to the house by springtime. In this photo, you can barely see the house in the upper left corner. We've come a long way, but as the hike takes 45 minutes, we've got a ways to go. Notice the buck rub on the little Charlie Brown Christmas pine right behind Chet?

Today was enchanted. I got great looks at five pileated woodpeckers, and heard two more, for a grand total of seven encounters. Two birds flew over the north studio windows, as another pair foraged just outside in the dogwoods, pecking ice off the frozen fruit, then downing entire clusters of four or five fruits in one gulp. I watched them from inside, not moving a muscle, reveling in their beauty. On our walk, Chet and I saw another pileated flapping from tree to tree down in the Chute. Two more were calling at different points along the Loop trail. I've no way of knowing how many birds these sightings represent, but it's possible that there were seven different birds--they're common here. Thinking about it, I realized that it's much easier to see a pileated woodpecker on our land than it is a red-belllied or hairy woodpecker. Crazy but true. How blessed we are to have this noble creature in our midst, not endangered, not back from the brink, but present, visible, treasured.

Chet Discovers Ice

Chet Baker left for his morning ramble as usual, stepping carefully through the icy snow that's been lying around for four days. When he came back inside, he was soaking wet. Pawprints and shattered ice on the fishpond told the story. Chet now knows all about ice. Being a Boston terrier, he thought the whole thing was funny, and made sure to leap on all the beds, trailing pondwater as he zoomed around the house, laughing a wide dog smile. He's bundled in now for most of the rest of the day, until we walk the Loop this afternoon.

Joni Mitchell has a line in her song "Electricity" that I sing to myself as Chet and I set out in the afternoon.

Well, I'm learning-it's peaceful
With a good dog and some trees
Out of touch with the breakdown of the century...