At the Feeder

8 Jan

There is a lot of snow on the ground here.  The snow is deeper than my 25 year old hunting boots are high.

We bought my current boots from a rural Men and Boy’s Store where Jay had his yearly work clothing allowance when he worked as a shepherd. When I went to a local sporting store to find new boots–they are, after all, 25 years old; the lining on one comes out with my foot, the treads are worn down and off, a few grommets have fallen off, and the laces have been retied as they broke — boots for women like these were nil.

There were above the ankle boots that would be suitable for hiking.  But not in deep snow. There were furry higher boots suitable for walking on streets.  But not in snow covered fields and woods.  There were boots of the kind (sort of) like I currently have if I want to buy men’s boots.  These old boots are men’s boots.  But it is 25 years later.  May I please have high hunting boots for me–a woman?

So went my tale of woe to my husband, who had charged me with buying new everyday boots for myself.   So today LL Bean may get a visit.

Isabelle was sent to walk the dog this morning.  Yesterday I spent most of the morning with partially wet legs from the snow over those boots.  Which is how, as I sat reading the Wall Street Journal movie reviews and finishing my decaf-laced cocoa I came to hear the wild, loud woodpecker noise and wonder whether it was a red-bellied woodpecker coming to the venison suet.

Those piercing cries were coming from a pileated woodpecker!  He was very anxious yet managed to eat some suet.

Update: The pileated woodpecker returned while I was on the phone with Jay about whiteflies.  Isabelle got to see it. It ate for about five minutes.  In the interim between this morning and now the downies and a red-bellied came and had their meals.

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