| From West by Northwest.org Voices of Spencer Creek The Sunnyside of Spencer Butte: Two Winter Tales and Birding on the Butte By Edie Self, Margie Ferguson and Lois Barton Nov 26, 2002 Our neighborhood writers group meets once a month for a potluck dinner together, after which we share our writings as we have something ready. We are amateurs and enjoy the fellowship as much as we achieve any serious written material. Several times we have had a lot of fun challenging ourselves to produce a story from randomly offered words or phrases from each participant. The Early Spring 2002 issue of West By Northwest.org carried a haiku which resulted from this exercise. Following are two stories incorporating the following words and phrases: snow, man, winter, sun, temporary, emergency, tomorrow is the shortest day of the year, I couldn't believe it.- L.B. "Come, Cricket," said Mouse. "Come sit by the fire and I'll tell you the story about the snowman who saved our dinner." They made themselves comfortable and Mouse took a deep breath. "It all began one December morning. The winter sun slanted low behind the trees beyond the south field. Maisie and I had just marveled at the quantity if light that comes inside when the hangs so far south." "Like now?" asked Cricket. "Like now," answered Mouse. "Tomorrow is our shortest day of the year. The next day the sun will begin to climb back up the sky until June, when it won't even come in the south window at all. But that's another story." "Yes, tell me about the snowman," said Cricket. "The snowman stood near the gate in the front yard of our peoples' house. The human children were out first thing next morning after a wet, cold storm brought several inches of snow in the night. They rolled big snowballs and stacked them, and had that snowman built before breakfast. Our own children spent the rest of that day creating a maze of tunnels in the bottom of that first big snowball. They knew it would last even after the snow around it melted -- at least for a while." "But what about dinner?" Cricket asked "I'm getting to that," said Mouse. "The next morning, the dairy van came down the street, making deliveries of milk and butter and yes, Cricket, even CHEESE! Now, on this day, a wonderful thing occurred." "What?" demanded Cricket. "A package of cheese fell out of the milk man's basket, and landed in the rut behind the truck. Our children saw it fall and came and fetched us right away. We all ran out to carry the cheese in to our house for supper. Just as we got to the street, two things happened. First, the milkman got into his van and drove on down the street to make his next delivery. Fine! Now we could work in peace! But then..." he paused. "Then we heard the snow plow coming. and the cheese was right in its path! I couldn't believe it! We were going to lose our wonderful treat! We knew there was not time to get the cheese up the walk to our place. If we left it where it was, it would be buried in a snow pile." "Oh, No! ejaculated" Cricket. "What did you do?" "Well," said Mouse, "my youngest spoke up. 'Let's put the cheese in our snowman! The plow won't mess with him.' And that's what we did. It was only a temporary emergency after all. With the cheese safely inside the snowman right there by the street, the plow passed harmlessly, and we all had a little snack which helped two ways." "How's that?" Cricket chirped. "We had more energy," explained Mouse, "to carry that cheese into the house. And... there was less of it to carry! So that's how the snowman saved our dinner, and why we always remember him, on the shortest day of the year."
Chickadee blinked his eyes and ruffled his feathers, stretching his tiny legs, first one, then the other. Morning was almost here. soon he winter sun would peek through a crack in the clouds. What will we eat today, Chickadee wondered. snow covers most of the ground. The seeds have all fallen and are buried. He stretched again. this time spreading his wings as wide as they would go. Ruffling his feathers once more and settling them sleekly, he flitted from his sleeping place onto the tip of a high branch, his bright black eyes never still as he watched for danger. The spots of snow were heaviest in the meadow places where, before the snow fell, a few seeds were still to be found. there was no heat in the sun to thaw out the patches of snow. Chickadee and his kind had been hungry for several days. He shivered, just thinking about it, and fluffed out his feathers to help hold his body heat. Tomorrow is the shortest day of the year, he thought. Then as the days grow longer, we will have more time to hunt for food. Other birds began to gather around Chickadee. They scattered to search for something to eat. Not much was found. By late in the morning the wind picked up, and the clouds piled up making the day appear like dusk even though it was only mid-day. snow began to fall lightly, then increased. Icy crystals pelted the little feathered folks, driving them to shelter in the big evergreens. Huddled in his protected spot Chickadee feared for his fellows. some of the birds were weak already, and now another storm. The next morning dawned bright and sunny. Chickadee flew on a mission. food must be found. Going farther than usual, Chickadee came to a big field. There, two children of men were romping in the snow. they had rolled big balls, and were stacking them up. curious, Chickadee paused in his search to watch a few moments. He couldn't figure out what they were doing. The urgency of hunger soon sent him on his search. He found nothing. Flying homeward some time later, he passed through the big field again. There was the interesting snow-pile- now recognizable as a snowman. As Chickadee investigated, he was startled to hear the snowman speak to him. "Food for hungry birds," said Snowman. "In a funny box by the house of the men." Chickadee cocked his head to one side, staring at Snowman from his vantage point on a weathered fence post. "Food?" inquired Chickadee. "Food for feathered folks?" "Yes!" Snowman replied, and gave directions to find it. Chickadee flew off to the house place of men. and there, just as Snowman had said, he found food. Watchful for danger, Chickadee approached the feed place. He flitted down to the food, snatched a seed in his beak, and quickly flew into a nearby tree. Nothing happened to him, and the seed was so good. He hurriedly ate a few more seeds, snatching them in his beak and flying to a safe spot in the tree to eat them. Suddenly remembering his starving fellows, Chickadee flew as quickly as he could to tell the rest of his kind about the discovery. "...and when snowman told me about it, I couldn't believe it!" he chirped to them. "But it is just as he said. Follow me, and I will show you." And for the rest of the winter, Chickadee and his friends found food at the place of man to fill their hungry tummies. Visit Heron Watching by Margie Ferguson for more writing and info about the Spencer Butte Writers Group. by Lois Barton An all season and delightful method of adding beauty and entertainment to your days is as simple as keeping a bird feeder within easy view of your living area. Since establishing our feeding station my concept of "familiar" local birds has altered dramatically. I've discovered how little I knew about many birds that are native to this area. I never had seen most of the brightly colored birds that come regularly to our feeder. Most of this article was written in summer. This fall I am learning more about seasonal residents as some of the exotic folks go south.
Not all birds come to eat seeds or suet. White crowned and gold crowned sparrows do come, as well as song sparrows. Today 3 juvenile song sparrows fluttered to the feeder, their newly fledged wings still a challenge to them, and their course pretty uncertain. In years past I've occasionally seen cowbirds on our cows. Now we don't have cows, but a brown-headed cowbird and its mate come to the feeder several times a day. Do you know about lesser or green backed goldfinches, or brown-backed chickadees? Pine siskins are new to us. My thistle feeder, their favorite food, has 6 perches. Such a to do when nine or ten siskins and a few goldfinches jockey for a place to eat. My bird feeding area is a few feet from our kitchen window. As I wash dishes or prepare food I have a constant view of avian visitors. Until the birds had found this comestible location I had no acquaintance with many of the regular callers. Their presence has brought great entertainment and satisfaction to the time I spend in the kitchen. I find myself checking that window as soon as I get out of bed in the morning, even before dressing for the day. Daughter Margie has followed my lead in providing food for the birds. The other day she said she'd been hoping to see red, blue and yellow birds at the same time. It happened! For me too!
We have an old cat, probably fifteen years old, who is slow and arthritic, but every once in a while I find a pile of feathers somewhere near the feeder. It took me years and some remodeling of the porch area to spot a place where I could reach to fill a feeder, but where the cat and squirrels couldn't get to it. Last fall I added a bird bath to the area. By now enough birds have spotted it that I see one or more there every day. As creeping limitations of age handicap me, this new hobby brings special satisfaction to this octogenarian. Visit the Heron Rookery with Lois.
Lois Barton is an 84 year old mother of eight children. She has lived on the same rural acreage just south of Eugene, Oregon for more than 50 years. All their children learned to milk, to keep the woodboxes filled, to do their share of household and garden chores. Her first book, Spencer Butte Pioneers, was published in 1982 when her youngest started to school. Since then she wrote five other books: Daughter of the Soil, now out of print; One Woman's West; A Quaker Promise Kept; and Through My Window, autobiographical sketches, sequel to Daughter Of the Soil. Through the years Lois has been a 4H leader, president of the neighborhood association, a precinct committee woman, election board clerk, editor of the Lane County Historian, and a life long Quaker. She spent a month in Southeast Asia in 1974 as a member of a church peace mission, after working for ten years as director of the Eugene Chapter of the World Without War Council. See more of Lois Barton's Articles in West By Northwest Sauerkraut and All That Charlotte's Overdose - Just who is Charlotte and what did she take? The Midwife - The midnight call awoke an unusual midwife. The Mystery of Fox Hollow - Fact and fiction meet in this story of the origins of Faith Rock. Trees, Tame Trees and Squirrel.
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