Of Starlings and Barn Swallows

“You’re not an ornithologist,” said my husband.

barn swallow
barn swallow child

Got that right.

Thanks to Roy, a reader in Columbia, Missouri, we discovered the starlings featured in yesterday’s post are actually a fine family of barn swallows.

Roy was kind enough to include a link to photos that helped us identify the nest and the birds. Mother-Daughter Press & Gay Bumgarner Images might as well have shot the pictures at my house.

Barn swallow child doesn’t have quite the same je nais se quoi as starling child.

And this isn’t the first time I’ve had to eat crow on the blog, nor will it be the last. But this is the first time I’ve had to do so over an ornithological misnomer.

“The point is that the bird kept jumping out of the nest,” said my husband.

Yes, dear. Reminds me of a certain blogger we know.

Enthusiasm without knowledge is no good;
haste makes mistakes. Proverbs 19:2 NLT

Little Bird by the Annie Lennox: I’ve just got to put these wings to test.

Who’s next to share an experience of eating crow?

There’s Always One

Our home is becoming a wildlife sanctuary.

My husband and son rescued this little bunny from our window well and set him free to rejoin his family. I’d post video of the rabbit rodeo, but I’d like to stay married.

rabbit baby
baby bunny

Two toads have taken up permanent residence in the window well turned terrarium. Our eyes sift through the sand to detect their camouflaged bodies.

The robins in our holly tree who survived the tornado have long since gone. Another resourceful robin laid eggs in a coil of electrical wire tucked under our deck. She’s fearlessly raising her brood to fledging status this week.

Some starlings constructed a muddy nest under the deck, too.

This past Tuesday morning, I let the dog out to roam in the backyard. As we ate breakfast inside, we heard her urgent barking.

“She wants to come in already?”

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” said my son.

“Okay, just make sure you lock up after you let her in.”

He scurried downstairs to open the door.

“No, Ella! No!”

My skinny seven-year-old lugged our overweight dog into the house.

“Ella was trying to bite the baby bird!” he said.

A starling chick had fallen from the nest. His four brothers and sisters peeked out of their dirt clod cone of a home.

“Don’t touch it!” I said. The tiny bird lie on his back struggling to breathe. Gingerly, I flipped him over. He waddled a few steps.

“Let’s call your dad and figure out what to do,” I said.

My husband was in a meeting, unavailable to take our call. So I did what any modern woman on the prairie does. I Googled it.

perched on stacked garden benches
perched

The Miami Science Museum website gave us instructions:

“Don’t worry about ‘smelling like a human.’ Actually, most birds have a very poor sense of smell and won’t be able to tell that you helped their baby… If you can find the nest, then put the baby bird into it.”

We stacked benches and climbed up.

“Spot me, will ya?”

I carefully lifted the chick up to the nest. He disappeared down into the funnel. He was a goner for sure.

By evening, he’d fallen out again. We stacked the benches, climbed up, placed him with his siblings. Only this time he didn’t disappear.

This time he turned around and perched on the rim of the dirt cone.

“Go back in,” I said and nudged him. He refused to move, stretching his neck out between my fingers.

baby starling at nest edge
on the edge

The next morning, he’d hopped out again. And again in the afternoon.

This bird is not old enough to leave the nest. He’s just beginning to open his eyes. There are downy tufts on his head. He’d be defenseless on the ground if a snake or cat came prowling. My husband thinks he’s trying to find relief from the triple digit heat.

Soon he’ll fly like the adult starlings who circle and complain as we return their offspring to the nest. We’ll save him from danger for as long as we can. But he’s tasted the cool, sweetness of freedom.

Wednesday evening we sat by the window under the deck, quietly watching avian parents fly back and forth. The robins landed and stayed to feed their chicks. But the starlings swooped in and hovered beside the mud nest, their apricot chests suspended by strong, flapping wings.

baby starling
starling child

If they landed, it was like angels touching earth, too quick for us to see.

Swan-diving starling child, do you show your siblings how to fall into this air?

There’s always one who leads.

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead. 1 Corinthians 15:20-21 ESV

I would give my life to find it. I would give it all. Catch me if I fall. 

Who do you lead? Who do you follow?

The Room Next Door

room next door
room next door

Must have been around 9 p.m. when it began. Shouting rattled our hotel room.

My husband turned up the volume on the TV as the argument continued, peppered with expletives. I picked up the phone.

“Yes, there’s a hostile conversation in the room next door. Well, I think it’s next door. Can you check? It’s really loud.”

We waited. The yelling permeated the walls. My husband called this time.

“Will you send someone up to our floor right away? Sounds like a fight.”

I stood on my toes and watched through the peephole. A man in a uniform appeared and knocked on our neighbors’ door. “Security. Open up.”

A sing-song voice answered. “Everything’s all right in here.”

“Open the door!” said the security guard. He knocked some more, but the door was shut tight and the yelling inside escalated.

“He’s gone!” I said as they guard left. My husband held our wide-eyed son.

elevator going down
elevator going down

The voices cut loose, cursing and screaming. Then we heard what sounded like fists punching a feather pillow in staccato jabs. Thump, thump, thump! 

I grabbed the phone again. “This is the third time we’ve called! You have to do something! Call the police! It sounds like he’s hitting her!”

Through the peephole I watched four officers rush the hall.

“Police!” Bang, bang, bang, they pounded on the door. “Open up!”

“I’m scared,” said our son.

Finally our neighbors opened their door. A middle-aged man dressed in pajamas marched out into the hallway. The police checked his identification.

glasses and cup in the hallway
in the hallway

“Who’s in the room?”

“My wife.”

“Were you yelling at your wife?”

“Yes.”

“You argue with your wife a lot?”

“No.”

“You ever hit your wife?”

Never.”

An officer entered the room. Minutes later, he came out of the room, released the husband, and the police left.

Guess she didn’t want to press charges. No law against punching pillows, right?

clean up, exit
clean up, exit

The room next door was quiet the rest of the night, but our room lost sleep.

Our neighbors were gone by morning. Our business-class hotel was apologetic. No harm done, right?

You keeping things on the down-low? Think no one will ever find out what’s done in secret? Don’t kid yourself.

Sin is never a private affair.

Our behavior impacts those around us. Boils over. Burns bystanders as well as those in our line of fire. Leaves us all in dire need of redemption.

You spread out our sins before You—
our secret sins—and You see them all. Psalm 90:8 NLT

In America, one in four women and one in nine men will suffer physical or emotional violence at the hands of an intimate partner (Centers for Disease Control, 2008).

If you or someone you know is being abused or is an abuser, please reach out for help. Contact local authorities, your pastor, or the National Domestic Violence Hotline 1.800.799.SAFE (7233) or TTY 1-800-787-3224.

What does it mean that secret sin isn’t really secret?

Along the Way

The day before the Tony’s, I watched an interview with actress Judith Light. Remember Judith from Who’s the Boss?

Judith Light
Judith Light, image from wikipedia

She shared how she started her career with preconceived notions about the types of roles she would and would not accept. When her expectations were unmet and she wasn’t offered the roles she desired, she began to look at what was being offered to her. What doors were open.

A soap opera. A sitcom. Eventually Broadway.

She stopped fighting the current and sailed on it instead.

A day after the interview, Judith was awarded a 2012 Tony for her performance as Silda in Other Desert Cities.

You and I may never win a Tony, an Oscar, a Pulitzer, or a Fortune 500 ranking. But we all sail this current. We all run this race.

There is much to be gained along the way.

But my life is worth nothing to me unless I use it for finishing the work assigned me by the Lord Jesus—the work of telling others the Good News about the wonderful grace of God. Acts 20:24 NLT

Only Love by Wynonna Judd. Out of all the flags I’ve flown, one flies high and stands alone.

What’s being offered to you? What doors are open?

Milk Wars Becomes Top Post

The past week’s traffic boosted Milk Wars into first place as the most read post on everyday epistle.

beautiful calf in Milk Wars
beautiful, image from Troxel Dairy Farm, Indiana

Milk Wars unseated I Like My Bike to take the top spot. I Like My Bike was featured by WordPress on their Freshly Pressed page last August.

Milk Wars was first posted more than a year ago. Besides being our most read post, it’s also our most shared post with 528 Facebook shares and counting.

Apparently, the message still resonates.

I know that You can do all things;
no purpose of Yours can be thwarted. Job 42:2 NIV

10,000 Reasons by Matt Redman, a new favorite in my house: Let me be singing when the evening comes.

See what all the fuss is about in Milk Wars.

A Banner Day on the Blog

Yesterday was a banner dayThank you for reading and sharing.

open for comments
open for comments

To any new readers, welcome aboard, folks. Fasten your seat belts.

A few things you should know. First, this isn’t a farm and food blog. If it were, it’d be called Farmilicious or Chick & Biscuit or Butterbean Babe.

I’m a suburban girl who didn’t grow up on a farm and doesn’t live on a farm now. I write all sorts of things. You never know what’s coming next, and neither do I.

This isn’t a devotional, although there are Bible verses that apply to the posts.

This isn’t a music blog either, but I really like music, hence the links to songs. Like a soundtrack for a movie.

Now about yesterday’s post Food Fright. Your response encouraged me to take inventory. Lo and behold, a pattern emerged.

Posts about what’s true and what’s not true about farming and food matter to you.

field of dreams
field of dreams

Since Milk Wars exploded a year ago, I’ve met a lot of cool people. Yesterday reminded me there are stories waiting to be told. Questions begging for answers.

Is my food safe? Are farms ruining the environment? Who’s behind all this? Will there be a Madagascar 4?

So among the posts about the dog, the family, the ups and down, the cosmetics and clothes, the social issues and flashback hits, don’t be surprised to see more about farming and food.

Chick & Biscuit can take a hint.

Let them praise the Lord for His great love
and for the wonderful things He has done for them.
For He satisfies the thirsty
and fills the hungry with good things. Psalm 107:8-9 NLT

Something to Say by Matthew West.

The floor is now open for suggested post topics or anything else you’d like to say, serious or otherwise.

Food Fright

This post was featured by BlogHer on July 17, 2012.

Something’s awry in the 630s and the 338.19s.

cauliflower
cauliflower

Recently I ventured into the 630s and 338.19s at the downtown branch of the Wichita Public Library. Those are the Dewey Decimal call numbers for farming and production.

I was looking for a book that could help me address the concerns of yet another well-intentioned friend who watched Food, Inc. and hit the panic button.

Food giant Cargill headquarters its meat operations in Wichita. Kansas ranks seventh among states for total agricultural production. You’d think this prairie town would be dyed-in-the-wool pro-ag. Not so fast.

Instead of books about the dignity of farming and food production, here’s a sample of the titles I found:

The End of Food: How the Food Industry is Destroying Our Food Supply–And What You Can Do About It

Tomatoland: How Modern Industrial Agriculture Destroyed Our Most Alluring Fruit

Stuffed & Starved: The Hidden Battle for the World Food System

A Nation of Farmers: Defeating the Food Crisis on American  Soil

Against the Grain: How Agriculture Has Hijacked Civilization

Really?

Did you eat today? How about yesterday? Last year? Do you plan to eat again?

Did you have trouble finding food? Or did you have your choice of food at your choice of markets? Is someone preventing you from growing your own food if you want to do so?

I know your food didn’t kill you or you wouldn’t be reading this.

steak
steak

I have a child. To borrow a line of reasoning from Katie Pinke, because I have a child, do you think I abuse him? How about my dog? Do you assume I abuse her?

If you have children or animals, should I assume you abuse them? How about livestock or poultry? If a farmer raises livestock or poultry, is it a foregone conclusion that those animals are abused?

You know how I feel about milk.

Did you find insects in your produce? How about fungi on your fruit? Was your corn sweet and robust or wimpy and weedy? Was it dripping with chemicals?

Bad things happen in agriculture. There are accidents and outbreaks. There are crimes. Sometimes animals are abused. Sometimes people die.

There’s always room for improvement.

Bad things happen at local swimming pools. And at city halls. In factories. Police departments. Schools. Daycares. Animal shelters. Fortune 500 companies. Convenience stores.

There are accidents and outbreaks. There are crimes. Sometimes animals are abused. Sometimes people die. There’s always room for improvement.

Bad things happen, but they’re not the norm.

They’re certainly not the intention of the majority of people who work in these sectors. Crimes should be prosecuted. Innocent people shouldn’t be attacked.

Research, funding, and lifetimes of labor by dedicated farmers go into improving farming and our food. The result is one of the safest, most plentiful, least expensive food supplies in history. We have choices of what to eat.

Surely there must be something right about farming and food.

Much of what’s wrong appears to be grown and harvested on a bookshelf of misinformation. And don’t even get me started about what’s on the internet.

radicchio
radicchio

Show me the right path, O Lord;
point out the road for me to follow. Psalm 25:4 NLT

The Farmer’s Song by Murray McLaughlin. Thanks for the meal, here’s a song that is real from a kid from the city to you.

I snapped the food photos in this post at The Fresh Market in Wichita, where conventional, organic, homegrown, and imported foods are sold from the same shelves.

What’s your take on this? What are your concerns about farming and food? What would you like to stay the same? What would you like to change? 

Get on the Bus

Some things should go without saying. When in doubt, you can usually find a sign to help like this one I spotted last week.

no boarding after bus leaves curb
no boarding after bus leaves curb

Cracks me up. Of course there’s no boarding after bus leaves curb. Theoretically, it would be moving! Doors closed. Game over.

Life’s like that.

We have one life and one death. No reincarnation. No do-overs or second chances from the grave. We die and face judgment. We face God.

But Christ also died once. In Him there is salvation without condemnation, the assurance of eternal life.

What? No one ever told you?

Consider this is your sign. Your ride is parked at the curb. The doors are open. Get on the bus.

And just as each person is destined to die once and after that comes judgment, so also Christ died once for all time as a sacrifice to take away the sins of many people. He will come again, not to deal with our sins, but to bring salvation to all who are eagerly waiting for him. Hebrews 9:27-28 NLT

Funk musician Frankie Smith says, “Get on the bus!” The Double Dutch Bus.

Will you sit with me on the bus?

The Very Busy Vacation

In the realm of respite, there are restful vacations and there are very busy vacations. My family gravitates toward the busy.

Montpelier Vermont state Capitol Building
Mr. Whetstine goes to Montpelier

None of us had ever been to Vermont until last week. We were going to make the most of it.

We cruised Lake Champlain, shopped April Cornell’s comeback store in Burlington, visited the state capitol in Montpelier, toured the Ben & Jerry’s factory in Waterbury, and witnessed the birth of a goat at Shelburne Farms (timing is everything, folks). That was the first half of the week.

The second half bowed to my husband’s business commitments. He worked while I entertained our energetic seven-year-old in an unfamiliar city.

ben & jerry's factory in Waterbury, VT
this way to Ben & Jerry’s

Our itinerary included swimming, hiking, tree climbing, rock skipping, iPhone games, MythBusters marathons, and a shoreline run to the U.S. Coast Guard station for a band-aid.

We arrived home exhausted, hauling 135 pounds of laundry, a bevy of memories, and one air travel induced backache, namely mine.

A very busy vacation requires a stay in recovery.

“Mom,” said my son, “next time can we just go to Kitty Hawk?” He remembers restful vacations are possible even for us.

We vacation busy because we don’t want to miss a thing.
We vacation restful because we all need time out to recharge.

Lake Champlain, VT
Lake Champlain

Most vacations fall between the two extremes. There are degrees. There is balance. There is a remote, beachfront condo braving the wild ocean somewhere in my future.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
my hope comes from Him. Psalm 62:5 NIV1984

Vacation by The Go-Go’s.

Do you prefer busy or restful vacations? Why?

You’re Not Special or Are You?

I have a tiny bone to pick with Wellesley High School English teacher David McCullough’s assessment, “You’re not special.”

You’ve probably heard about McCullough’s “You’re Not Special” commencement speech. Delivered on June 1, the speech quickly went viral.

king of the world?
king of the world?

It’s not hard to understand why this speech appeals to folks. Much of what we teach our children and how we treat them hinges on overprotection. We work very hard to prevent bad things from happening to them. We do all we can to ensure their success. We treat them as if they are, well, special.

They may get the idea they are entitled to a life of ease without frustration. But the real world doesn’t work that way.

If you’ve ever struggled to earn a paycheck, overcome a hardship, or climb out of a dysfunction, you know life can be tough. The world is no respecter of persons when it comes to fairness. The sun rises and the rain falls on the righteous and the unrighteous, the special and the ordinary.

As an occasional helicopter parent, I agree with the gist of McCullough’s speech. But it troubles me for another reason.

I cringe because the speech’s implication is as dangerous as what it argues against.

“You see, if everyone is special, then no one is,” said McCullough. In order to be special, we must do something special. Our worth depends on our performance.

And if no one is special, then is every one replaceable? Disposable even? If only those who perform and do something special—if only those have worth—who’s to say what’s to become of the rest of us?

Our children, including the young adults graduating from Wellesley High School this year, are special to their families. Or at least they should be. They’re special to their country as our best natural resource. Or at least they should be.

Most assuredly, they’re special to God. So are you and I.

With God, your worth doesn’t depend on what you do or don’t do. He created you, so you have intrinsic value. He loves you, so you have worth. He died and rose to save your life, so your life is beyond price.

all hands on deck
all hands on deck

Maybe it’s semantics. I wish McCullough would have said, “You’re not entitled.” Of course that doesn’t sound nearly as provocative as, “You’re not special.”

And I suppose he’s right. Performance is our measure in this world’s economy.

Thank God it’s not our measure in His eyes.

God saved you by His grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. Ephesians 2:8-9 NLT

Stars by Switchfoot, the acoustic version because that’s how we roll.

What do you think? Are we special or not?

“Seduced by Bacon” Book Found

Book lovers rejoice. My copy of Seduced by Bacon has been recovered.

Guess where it was?

seduced by bacon book
whoomp there it is

On the cookbook shelf in the kitchen. Who’d have thunk it? Mere weeks ago I feared it was a casualty of our move.

Found it by accident while looking for my smoothies recipe book—which incidentally is now missing. Happened upon Seduced by Bacon as I combed the cookbook spines.

Sometimes what we’re looking for is exactly where it’s supposed to be, maybe even right in front of us, whether we see it or not.

Gives me hope Cassatt will turn up, too. And I’m thinking of a new motto:

Leave no book behind. 

Works for lost books at home and returns to the library. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with the bacon that’s long overdue.

“I was ready to respond, but no one asked for help.
I was ready to be found, but no one was looking for me.
I said, ‘Here I am, here I am!’
to a nation that did not call on my name.” Isaiah 65:1 NLT

Whoomp! (There It Is) by Tag Team. Can y’all dig it?

Ever “lost” something that was right in front of you?
Ever “found” something when you weren’t looking? 

A Taste for Cat Food

My dog Ella loves cat food. To her it’s a delicacy.

Gracie the princess cat
Gracie the princess cat

Ella went with us to Kansas City where we visited a friend who owns a cat named Gracie. Ella approached Gracie, tail a wagging. The feline was reserved.

As the humans visited, we lost track of our animal children. Then we heard it.

“Hiss! Spat! Smack!”

We turned to see the cat retract as the dog slid across the entryway floor. An investigation told the story.

Ella had sniffed out Gracie’s bowl of cat food and devoured every last morsel. She was still licking her muzzle to erase the evidence. But the cat knew the dog’s crime and was not pleased.

There’s something in cat food Ella finds irresistible.

The higher protein content? The smell of fish? The fact that it’s not for dogs?

She’s been known to raid litter boxes and ingest deposits left in our yard by cats traveling through, all for trace amounts of that something. We stop her the second we catch her in this undignified behavior. We scold her. But the temptation is too great.

She gets dog food. Good dog food. The expensive kind we have to buy from the veterinarian. She ignores it until she’s sure there will be no table scraps, no milk in the bottom of cereal bowls after breakfast, and no cat food.

Ellacairnterrier
Ella the baby dog

Gracie’s mom Janis thinks I need to get a cat. All true writers have a cat, she says. Low barrier to entry. I can do this one.

Besides, my son wants a Siamese cat named Bill or an orange tabby named Teddy. I could probably talk him into a gray named Louie. If only we could convince my husband, the cat magnet who insists he doesn’t like cats.

Ella votes with her eyebrows (terriers have eyebrows) and ears.

“Would you like a puppy?” No response.

“A bunny?” Slight ear prick.

“How about a cat?” Her eyebrows and ears stand at attention.

“Yes,” they say, “with cat food, please.”

Temptation comes from our own desires, which entice us and drag us away. James 1:14 NLT

S.O.S by Rihanna, the woman with more than 57 million Facebook likes to date.

What’s your cat food?