Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, the family’s mixed Lab.
When I stopped to take a photo of some 16 Canada swimming on the southwest corner of the north old clay pit, another flock of 11 came in low. They were cupped up ready to land with the earlier flock.
Then spotted us. With that, they began diving and rolling.
These were not innocent suburban geese used to waddling around retention ponds. They must have been hunted somewhere.
Experience matters. Getting older gives it.
Six more geese came in to land with the three swimming in the middle. I saw more geese tucked around the edges of the north pit.
A good brisk fall morning.
A mourning dove cooed as we walked down the alley by the bus barn this morning. That is a sound I had not heard in a while.
The sun was just coming up as we came around the ball field on the edge of town.
I loved the scene and it made my morning. And it made me think of playoff baseball.
As much as I want the Pittsburgh Pirates to win for sentimental reasons, I expect them to lose.
The St. Louis Cardinals have all kinds of playoff experience. The Pirates do not.
Experience matters when it comes to playoff baseball.
A red-winged blackbird trilled on the north pit as we approached the town pond. That was another sound I had not heard in a while.
A squirrel must have lugged an ear of field corn to the path on the east side of the south pit. It was just there in the middle of the path, partially eaten.
Seven hedge apples were down this morning. So I took another home for my wife.
Another 25 geese came in low from the lake to the west, cupped up and landed on the north pit. By the time we walked out of the wildness of the area I loosely call the town pond and back into town, the north pit held at least 100 geese.
Geese much prefer the larger and more open north pit to the south pit. I expect they know open areas are safer.
Experience matters. And Canada geese with it live longer.
Storm continues to earn his true name and I hold off calling him by his sometimes well-earned nickname.
Somebody has been cleaning up the downed trees on the old rail bed, now a trail, above the south end of the south pit.
But I still need to cross over several downed trees. I am at that age where I really don’t want to crawl under a downed tree and would much rather climb over.
So I have been teaching Storm to jump over the up and over the downed trees. And he learns surprisingly quickly.
And he is far more athletic than I would expect him to be since he is roughly my age in dog years.
Experience matters. Getting older means you know enough to climb over rather than under downed trees.
Back in town, a handful of doves sat on the wires in the alley by the bus barn.
A gray squirrel rustled climbing up the field corn stalks and pumpkins, part of a Halloween display by the neighbor with the bur oaks.
Another gray squirrel loped off from under the neighbor’s gnarled old elm.
Experience matters. It leads to longevity.