Mountain Musing

Dave and Becky are relatively new neighbors, hard-working, always busy, tiring to watch. Just in the short time they've lived there, he put a new metal roof on their farmhouse, rewired his shop and storage shed, and constructed new corrals for new livestock.

Then Dave turned attention to their windbreaks and fences. He cut trees and ripped out willow and carigana brush until their place could be in the running for the cover of "Country Living" magazine, while their neighbors next door might well serve as "bad examples" in the same photo spread.

However, on February 9th, just five days ago, I stared out my office window at our seldom-used tennis court while mulling a blog problem. "There are two robins outside," I called to Jane.

"Ooh, that's early," she said coming to stand by my desk. "There's pine grosbeaks, too. And a house finch." Just then a cock pheasant strutted down the edge of of the windrow beyond.

"I wonder how many bird species we could identify in our yard," she murmured. In ten minutes, the lady was back. She had towhees, black cap chickadees, three magpies, a thrush, and a sapsucker woodpecker determined to peck a hole in the gable end of our house. (I've got news for that bird!)

Meanwhile Dave bemoans the fact that he seldom sees deer any more, and pheasants have largely abandone their farm as a travel route.

My question: Do Jane and I really enjoy wilderness living? Or am I merely lazy?