Flying birds and bricks

An expert weighs in on bird migration and a 'crotchety old bag' has the last laugh.

Apr 29, 2024

An Orange-crowned Warbler bathing in our pond.

IN THE LAST EDITION, I wrote that I hadn’t yet seen some of the migrating birds that usually turn up around the same time our old apple tree blooms. Local field biologist and bird guru Steve Hampton has explained why:

The birds are not late. The trees are blooming about 20 days earlier this year. While plants essentially have thermometers that add up the cumulative heat until they bloom—and the insects respond—migrant birds are hard-wired by day length. This produces the "ecological mismatch" of climate change. Your observation is the perfect illustration of the mismatch.

In the past week, Yellow-rumped and Orange-crowned Warblers have turned up in the yard, feeding on local blooms and dipping in our pond, along with some hummingbirds and a kinglet. And Steve reported seeing tanagers and sixty-six (!) other species, most of them migrants or seasonal visitors, at a nearby farm last week.

If you’re interested in learning more about bird migration on the Olympic Peninsula, check out a short slide-show video I put together for Jefferson Land Trust.

ALABAMA STORIES

Feisty

By Barbara Ramsey

“AH MUST TELL YOU what I said to Mr. Beech last week,” my mother said. “That man thought he was such a smart fella, but you know how they are down here.” At the time, she was seventy-five years old. I’d traveled from California to visit her in southern Alabama, a place so swamp-ridden that a gas station attendant in Birmingham once told a friend who asked for directions, “Oh son, you don’t wanna go there. The gators will get ya.” Although she had lived elsewhere much of her life, my mother was born and raised in southern Alabama and returned there in retirement.

Some years after she returned, she was chosen to chair of the committee that ran the county library. The county needed a bigger library and had the means to build one, thanks to a large legacy from my mother’s sister and husband. It was considered only natural that she should oversee the erection of the expanded library, though her qualifications were scanty. She had no special knowledge of libraries, architecture, or construction.

But local people knew she was a keen judge of people and a good organizer. They called her “feisty”—sometimes meaning she was a pain in the neck, which she certainly could be, though they were also paying tribute to her toughness, her refusal to be underestimated. They knew she was smart, dedicated, and had raised additional funds for the building. And she found people with expertise in libraries, architecture, and construction to advise her. She hired Mr. Beech to build it.

He turned out to be a capable contractor. “You wouldn’t believe the problems we’ve had. Cost overruns, delays with building supplies, and that trouble with the soil on the southwest corner,” mother said. But Beech was an experienced good ole boy who knew how to wheedle or even bully when needed. He was also the swaggering type. Many people had a high opinion of him, but his was even higher.

“Oh, Ah know he’s good at his job. But he thinks Ah don’t know what Ah’m doin, just because Ah don’t lay bricks for a livin,” she said. “That man is too big for his britches.” Still, she treated him with the consideration he was due and claimed to have kept her opinion of him to herself. (Knowing my mother, that part of the story sounded dubious.)

When the building was nearing completion, my mother led the board of directors on a walk-through, along with a few others knowledgeable in the building trades. They inspected the whole place, noting minor deficits and problems. She didn’t invite the contractor, figuring he couldn’t tolerate much criticism of his work. Instead, she reviewed their recommendations with him the next day.

“Ah kept it businesslike. Just gave him the punch list and went over it.” She said that she was respectful but firm. He agreed to follow up on the entire list, but clearly thought she was a crotchety old bag and needed to be put in her place. “Miz Ramsey, if I do each and every one of these things, will everybody be happy?”

She ignored his sarcasm. “Ah told him, ‘Mr. Beech, in my experience, there is almost no situation in which everybody is happy.’

“And he says, ‘Well, Miz Ramsey, last night when I had sex, everybody was happy.’ Then he grinned lakh a fool.” Mother paused for effect. “So Ah asked him, Ah said Oh really. Were you masturbatin?”

“That shut him up real good,” she said.