|Rufous hummingbird that has been hanging out lately|
Enough of this interview claptrap and chicanery. They would always want even the explanation explained! And any writer worth her salt would lead them on, tease them, lead them up the garden path. Wasn't it bloody obvious? It was about being true to the very stuff of life, it was about trying to capture, though you never could, the very feel of being alive. It was about finding a language. And it was about being true to the fact, the one thing only followed from the other, that many things in life--oh so many more than we think--can never be explained at all.
--from the final page of Mothering Sunday, by Graham Swift
|I wish I could identify this bee but, well, I can't.*|
Not that most of the weekend wasn't given over to other things. Making jam, for one thing. We made thirty-odd jars of apricot and twenty-five jars of raspberry jam on Sunday, after stocking up on apricots and on raspberries at the Farmers Market. If I could get the photos off my phone I'd be posting photos of transferring a bit more than sixteen pounds of somewhat nasty apricot "seconds" from a large box to one of the panniers on Scott's bike. Trust me when I say it was quite the impressive bit of bicycle hauling.
|Oddly pale (and yellow-headed) presumably Anna's hummingbird|
Instead we walked to Camp Long where we saw neither owl nor pileated woodpecker, but we did find a number of charming little fledglings, including what I've had identified as a golden-crowned kinglet.
|Golden-crowned kinglet fledgling @ Camp Long|
There were also a surprising number of bunnies about; perhaps the owls have relocated for the summer.
|One of several Camp Long bunnies seen this afternoon|