We have been feeding now for about two months and have attracted a following of regulars.
At breakfast there is a show outside our windows which is a great way to start the day.
The Blue Jays knock on the glass if their peanuts are not out on time.
The other birds are less greedy and their feeders last a couple of days before they need refilling.
Here are some of our regulars.
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When you hate winter, you risk not seeing this.
Calm, pristine, delicate, comforting elegant.
Real and ephemeral at the same time.
A sweet memory for the next time you pass this way.
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Blue Jays love peanuts.
The shell makes for a challenge, but the Jays are up to it.
The reward is worth it.
The Jays return time and time again.
Until there are no more peanuts in the feeder.
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The pile of spilled seeds under our feeder has attracted unusual wildlife this year.
In 25 years living here a pine marten has never visited.
This fellow has been around the house and in the neighbourhood over the past couple of weeks.
The other day he showed up when the light was right and I was able to make some photographs to record the event.
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Strap on your snowshoes and follow the trail.
Quiet calm and tranquility await.
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The walk that you make after the storm is often filled with pristine and gentle delicacy.
The memory of yesterday’s mayhem is erased by the beauty remaining after the event has passed.
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Not all leaves let go and fall to the ground when winter comes.
Some show more persistence than others.
Their resolve to continue in their role is reaffirming.
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Recently a pair of Mallard ducks has been waddling up from the lake to pick through the seed pile that has formed from the messy habits of the upstairs inhabitants at the feeder.
They show up in the morning early, stay for a short time and then make their way back to the lake and carry on with their morning tour.
Occasionally they return later in the afternoon for another nosh.
It snowed the other day.
“Good weather for ducks”, doesn’t usually include frozen feet.
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Late November morning, crisp, windless.
Sparse snowflakes drift lazily to meet the water.
In the distance,
The Bay turns around the corner and meets the Lake.
Quietly.
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There is a small plantation of red pines at the beginning of my road.
Over the past 25 years, the trees have grown taller but not much larger in diameter. Occasionally one will succumb to age or rot, falling down and creating the odd open space.
However, the military alignment never changes.
When it snows for the first time in the winter, it becomes evident that the word “bush” cannot be used to describe this collection of trees. Not much randomness here.
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photodyssey 