I finished my errands early this morning, but told God that I was just too tired to go to the Wetlands today.
I was restless, though, aching to take pictures even though I was so tired I could cry.
God spoke to my heart and said, How 'bout the park across the street? You haven't been there in a while.
"Really, God," I said. "It's winter, the flowers are all dead, and there were absolutely no birds out when I drove by a few minutes ago."
Go to the park across the street.
A few minutes later, I fought the urge to say "I told you so," when I pulled into Suseda Park. Not only were there no flowers, but everything looked dead, brown and dry. One lone gulf fritillary fluttered around, but also saw nothing worth stopping for.
I took a picture of a mourning dove and a squirrel. I spotted a tri-colored heron and an ibis across the water, but I was so unimpressed, I actually stopped to take a picture of the light patterns reflecting on the underside of the pedestrian bridge from the water.
As I turned to head back to the car, I noticed a woman with binoculars and a camera staring at a tree. I couldn't see what she was looking at, but I could hear the woodpecker.
"I can hear it," I said to her.
She pointed him out. It was a red-bellied woodpecker. The lighting was poor though and once again I felt disappointed.
I said something to the woman--I can't even remember what except that I was mentally kicking myself when the words left my mouth. I am so bad at breaking-the-ice-conversation-with-strangers. She walked off down the path behind me and I thought that was the end of that.
But then she stopped and turned around. "Did you see the ducks around the bend? I heard there were ducks. Do you want to walk out there with me?"
I was exhausted and cranky. I wanted to head back home and to the couch and covers, but I didn't want to be rude to this woman and I couldn't take five minutes to explain to her my health problems.
"Sure," I said.
And off we went.
We talked about the Wetlands, the different birds we had seen there and when we had seen them last. She mentioned several birds that I had never seen before and I told her about the loggerhead shrike I had seen the other day.
We talked about cameras and compared ours. I had to be obnoxious about my 83x optical zoom. Everyone should be jealous of it. But, I told the woman, while the zoom is great, the pictures are not always so crisp. That was my poor attempt at humility.
We made our way around the small island and found the ducks she had promised, blue-winged teals and ring necks. There were killdeer too and when we stopped to look at some mottled ducks, I zoomed in on two lampposts that the woman had told me was a stop and rest place for a kestrel. Surprisingly, I found not a kestrel, but the masked bandit, the loggerhead shrike.
Like many things, once you see one for the first time, you'll see them everywhere.
The woman wanted to continue on. She told me how nice it was to walk with someone who could appreciate the birds. But I had reached my limit and knew I had to head back while I still had the energy.
I said goodbye and wished her a Merry Christmas.
Go to the park, God had said. I know you're an introvert and terrified of strangers, but there's someone I need you to meet.
I was restless, though, aching to take pictures even though I was so tired I could cry.
God spoke to my heart and said, How 'bout the park across the street? You haven't been there in a while.
"Really, God," I said. "It's winter, the flowers are all dead, and there were absolutely no birds out when I drove by a few minutes ago."
Go to the park across the street.
A few minutes later, I fought the urge to say "I told you so," when I pulled into Suseda Park. Not only were there no flowers, but everything looked dead, brown and dry. One lone gulf fritillary fluttered around, but also saw nothing worth stopping for.
I took a picture of a mourning dove and a squirrel. I spotted a tri-colored heron and an ibis across the water, but I was so unimpressed, I actually stopped to take a picture of the light patterns reflecting on the underside of the pedestrian bridge from the water.
As I turned to head back to the car, I noticed a woman with binoculars and a camera staring at a tree. I couldn't see what she was looking at, but I could hear the woodpecker.
"I can hear it," I said to her.
She pointed him out. It was a red-bellied woodpecker. The lighting was poor though and once again I felt disappointed.
I said something to the woman--I can't even remember what except that I was mentally kicking myself when the words left my mouth. I am so bad at breaking-the-ice-conversation-with-strangers. She walked off down the path behind me and I thought that was the end of that.
But then she stopped and turned around. "Did you see the ducks around the bend? I heard there were ducks. Do you want to walk out there with me?"
I was exhausted and cranky. I wanted to head back home and to the couch and covers, but I didn't want to be rude to this woman and I couldn't take five minutes to explain to her my health problems.
"Sure," I said.
And off we went.
We talked about the Wetlands, the different birds we had seen there and when we had seen them last. She mentioned several birds that I had never seen before and I told her about the loggerhead shrike I had seen the other day.
We talked about cameras and compared ours. I had to be obnoxious about my 83x optical zoom. Everyone should be jealous of it. But, I told the woman, while the zoom is great, the pictures are not always so crisp. That was my poor attempt at humility.
We made our way around the small island and found the ducks she had promised, blue-winged teals and ring necks. There were killdeer too and when we stopped to look at some mottled ducks, I zoomed in on two lampposts that the woman had told me was a stop and rest place for a kestrel. Surprisingly, I found not a kestrel, but the masked bandit, the loggerhead shrike.
Like many things, once you see one for the first time, you'll see them everywhere.
The woman wanted to continue on. She told me how nice it was to walk with someone who could appreciate the birds. But I had reached my limit and knew I had to head back while I still had the energy.
I said goodbye and wished her a Merry Christmas.
Go to the park, God had said. I know you're an introvert and terrified of strangers, but there's someone I need you to meet.
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