Big Red. Miracle. All of it.

It’s Sunday morning, post my Cove Island Park morning walk with Sully. I’m filling the car with gas at Conoco. Sully, all paws, ears and head is at the window urging me to hurry up, barking like a madman.  I lift my head and look across the street.

Here we are on Main St. in Stamford, a stone’s throw from Exit 9 on I-95.  The Red Barn is a failed drive-through grocery store. It sits empty, and presume it follows a succession of other failed retailers that occupied this high traffic location.

But overshadowing Red Barn is Big Red. A magnificent, giant Red Maple, in full bloom. Each year, he perseveres, bundling up in bone chilling winters, crouching down to avoid lightning, swaying to and fro to keep his balance in high winds, and spitting out polluted air and ground water. And, he somehow manages to survive Humans, a series of one new home owner after another, let him stand — and did not take a ax to him because his roots were breaking up sidewalks, driveways or foundations of their homes.

Here’s to Big Red.

May he outlive us all.


More pictures from the Sunday morning walk here.

Sunday Morning


Notes:

  • Photos: Northern Cardinals. May 23, 2022. Darien, CT
  • The real show was during my morning walk @ daybreak @ Calf Pasture Beach.  See photos here and here.

Really Red

Humanity’s love affair with red lipstick dates back to 3500 B.C. when Queen Shub-Ad of Ur, one of the Sumerian city-states of ancient Mesopotamia, first wore a red lip made with a base of white lead and crushed red rocks…

For years I wore Really Red to make me look like I felt OK. Six years later my collection of lipsticks has expanded, but every shade is red. It’s the color I wear because when I wear it now I actually believe I’m OK, because it’s still the color that gets me, and because on any given day when I catch myself in the mirror with it on, I see the person I want to be. And therein lies the power of red lipstick: its innate ability to be anything at any time for its wearer…

~ Alison Fishburn, from “When Lips Speak for Themselves

 


Photo: julia leonidovna with self-portrait

the miraculous, every day in winter, not 15 feet from my window

red-birds-at-feeder

To the Editor:

Re “The Solace of Birds in Winter” (Op-Ed, Dec. 15): I am smitten with my backyard birds. What is it about the industrious little souls leaping delicately about my tray feeder that so lifts the spirit? Their spunk? Their equanimity no matter the weather? The variety in their eating habits?

Mourning doves plunk themselves down in the center of the tray to chow down. The red-bellied woodpecker grips the edge and won’t yield his position. The chickadees and nuthatches take a seed each, one at a time, to a nearby branch to nibble.

A chickadee weighs less than half an ounce. Its coat of feathers, half an inch thick, keeps its tiny body at about 90 degrees even when the air temperature is zero. It is this, then, that takes my breath away and is the source of my affection — the miraculous, every day in winter, not 15 feet from my window.

Margaret McGirr
Greenwich, Conn.

New York Times, Letters, December 17, 2018


Photo: Project Feeder Watch titled “See Red” by Stephen & Judy Shelasky, Longmeadow, MA. 4 male Cardinals, a Red-bellied Woodpecker and a little sparrow checking out a female Cardinal as she flies into view.

T.G.I.F. (from another seat)


A migrant, part of a group intercepted aboard two dinghies in the Mediterranean Sea, rests after arriving at the port of Malaga, Spain. (Jon Nazca, Reuters, wsj.com, April 26, 2018)