We were taking in the views Tuesday morning, glad for moisture in the midst of drought. The first bird I saw was a Townsend solitaire perched on a fence post. Cabezon was clear to the west. Maybe unwisely, I decided to check my email. The first message was a little more odd than the regular …
Winter solstice, Monday, Dec. 21, 2020.
For the birds: johnrobertson@jrobertsonNM·45m There are scrub jays and titmouses, (Yes, pundits say that’s the plural), and I usually root for the titmouse. johnrobertson@jrobertsonNM·12m Still reeling from @nytfood‘s latest Brussels sprout recipe, I am going for a walk. johnrobertson@jrobertsonNM·3m And, yes, I read the @newrepublic piece on the Supreme Court and standing before leaving. (All …
Towhee. Lost gloves. Hillside romance. Titmouse. Good book, (hat tip to a friend). Sunday clouds. Last of the Oct. 26-27 snow. Voting souvenir. More visitors: Titmouse. House finch. Junco. Western bluebird, one of many robins. Click on Nate Silver/FiveThirtyEight for his final Nov. 3 election forecast. What’s cookin’. Also stopping by: Mountain bluebird. Sage thrasher. …
Two days: First winter weather approaching piñon/juniper country.
It’s become part of the morning routine: Checking the smoke map. As I clear my head and loosen old joints, the daily drill is this: Fill the birds’ water dish, make coffee, feed Cowboy and check the smoke reports. I’ve already seen from bed that the smoke has blown in again. I can’t see the …
dream ranch 