"It is always a poet's winter."
― Kate Braverman
I don't have much for ya! I didn't go birding this weekend on account a cold virus that kept my energy level and motivation to an absolute minimum above non-existent. The above photograph of Barneveld Prairie was taken one morning last week upon arriving to work. We got a pretty heavy snowfall ― I'd say around 8" in Middleton. Below, not my car, but this poor devil had some work ahead of him.
What's this? OMG! Look ― a Purple Finch!
Did anyone get that? Crikey, what an old and hilarious graze to bring up. After all the callow threats and fuss from a few arseholes, nothing happened. Time has a natural way of turning just about everything into an utter triviality. Whatever happened to Starling, anyway? I saw him walk past my birding posse at Pheasant Branch last spring with his head hung low. He didn't seem up for a cordial conversation, so nobody said anything as he sheepishly sauntered past us. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap-fallen?
Who cares.
Anyway, feeder birds can render an ornithological spark to an otherwise boring weekend stuck inside. Well, not stuck per se, but not feeling up to getting out of my PJs. My regular avian visitors include House Finches, Black-capped Chickadees, Dark-eyed Juncos, Northern Cardinals, Blue Jays, Mourning Doves, Downy Woodpeckers, Hairy Woodpeckers, House Sparrows, and occasionally a Red-breasted Nuthatch. Typical city fare, but my courtyard list includes some real gems like Hoary Redpoll, Bohemian Waxwing, Northern Shrike, Carolina Wren, Gray-cheeked Thrush, and more.
I love this little chickadee feeder. When the food is low, they go inside.
In physicality news, I probably broke my index finger on that spill I took a few weeks ago at Devil's Lake SP ― it's healing somewhat crookedly. It's still quite swollen so perhaps I need to go in and have it checked out. I've been using a finger splint, but maybe there's something festering inside the knuckle that requires medical attention. Thankfully, it does not impede my guitaring. And speaking of that, I was really ticked when the non-Fender gold pickguard screws I bought from Guitar Parts Factory began to fade:
Sheesh! I'm done with them. I suppose it serves me right for not getting genuine parts from Fender, which was an easy fix:
All better again.
I recently spruced-up my 1995 Crimson Burst American Standard Stratocaster ― removed the strings, cleaned the fretboard, lightly oiled the wood, polished the body, and put new strings on it. The pickguard has tinted a little over time, as have other plastic parts. I think at one time they were as white as the pickup covers, but maybe I'm wrong. Whatever the case, I've ordered some replacement parts to give the guitar a little zing.
I'll keep the original parts, of course. I doubt I'll ever sell this one, though.
From the project development department, I've been looking at custom bodies at Warmoth. I'm undecided on whether to go with black or this interesting Black Cherry Metallic HSS layout:
Gold or chrome?
Simply waiting for spring ...
All images © 2023 Mike McDowell