Farm Babies

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The birds are going crazy at the farm.

They are mating.

They are incubating.

Cycling from mating, egg laying, to fledging.

And then they start again.

Sometimes I miss most of this cycle, knowing evidence of its occurrence from the bits of egg shell, sprinkled on whatever surface lies below their nest as the naked babies hatch. And then, poof, in no more than a couple of weeks, the nest is vacated, the hatchlings flying around on their own or victims of natures culling.

And then it starts again.

A lot of the birds at the farm apparently have more than one brooding season.

It was a cacophony of bird calls at the farm this weekend.

It was a busy weekend in bird world.

The male and female red tail  hawks that have a nest on the Buddhists property next door,  count our middle pasture as theirs. They flew around the tops of the old pine trees, screeing madly that we were interrupting their day. The male called to the female and she back at him.  I guess they were hunting mice and rabbits. We were scattering their forage. Either that or they were hoping to get at my Mother’s little toy poodles. What must it be like to have the space between ground and the tops of tall old trees and even a bit beyond, your