Kennesaw Mountain park is the site of tons of history for our area. The park preserves important sites in the Atlanta Campaign. This was an epic battle between Sherman and Johnston, and the mountain itself was a killing field for something like 4000 soldiers.
It's kind of nice that now it's one of the most heavily used parks in the area. If you arrive BEFORE the place opens, you have a chance of getting a spot to park. Otherwise, plan to park and walk in. It's also nice that it's ranked as an Important Birding Area.
I love taking guided walks with Audubon Society Guides. I have never met a guide who wasn't wicked smart, not just about identification, but about overall birding behavior. They will give you tips about optics, and help you distinguish between even the most similar birds. And for us, the day began with a caution.
Fall migration is one of the best times to bird in this location. It's described as a huge landing strip for all the birds heading to warmer climates. Unfortunately, the weather here as been GREAT. That's a problem. Because GREAT weather doesn't drag the birds to the ground like a nice wet and cold front would. So, instead of stopping here to fill up and get a happy meal for the teenagers, the birds do the equivalent of "driving until nightfall." Sounds like lots of them won't slow down until Florida.
Now, there are pros and cons to being alone and being with guides. We had a large group today, around 30 birders. Loud birders. The things I like about birding include nature, solitude and quiet, so that's a big consideration for me. On the other hand, I love being with the pros. Today, we were led by Chuck.
Imagine getting your morning exercise in - over a mile on a fairly steep grade. Imagine heading back down the moutain, thinking about that great breakfast you're planning. Imagine hearing this.
"YOU HAVE GOT TO SEE THIS! IT IS A BLACKBURNIAN! OH THAT MAKES THE TRIP FOR ME."
Chalk up another positive to birding with a group. I love the geekiness attached to it like a veil of morning dew on an open field. There's no set meeting point for the bird walk in Kennesaw Mtn., but you have absolutely no difficulty locating the birders. Muted colored clothes, cargo pants so no one has to carry bags, low profile caps, binoculars in one hand (often with harnesses to avoid neck strain), and Sibley guide books tucked in back pockets.
You can also find them on any trail, if they are walking in a group. They are the big blob of humanity that moves in unison, stopping, staring into trees and pointing with binoculars. And though all the action takes place yards away, the collective gasps also come in unison.
Look! he moved!
Over there!
Between the V of the tree! Up there!
I admit it. I did it too. Particularly when I saw the Peregrine Falcon and the Yellow-Billed Cuckoo.
More than once, walkers on the way up or down would stop, try to follow where we were looking, and then walk on. One even said, "I wish I knew what they were looking at."
Yep. I like that too. We had the keys to secret knowledge on top of the mountain.
So, what did we see?
White-eyed vireo
Red-eyed vireo
Philadelphia Vireo
Yellow-throated Vireo
Swainson's Thrush
Blue-Grey Gnatcatcher
Sharp-shinned hawk
Peregrine falcon
Yellow-Billed cuckoos (beautiful, and I think my favorite spotting today
Cliff swallows
Chestnut-sided Warbler
Magnolia Warbler
Blackburnian Warbler
Black and white Warbler
Tennessee Warbler
Black-throated Green warbler
Eastern Wood Pewee (which I thought was a Phoebe)
Goldfinches
Red-Bellied Woodpecker
Downy Woodpecker
Summer tanager
Scarlet tanger (who aren't scarlet right now, but a sweet greenish yellow)
Rose-breasted grosbeak-who sounded his night migration call rather than his usual daytime squeak)
Eastern Phoebe
Brown Thrasher (our state bird)
Not a big day for the pro maybe, but a big day for me. Now to upgrade to the 8x40 binoculars. Or maybe 10x50.
--Laura
Showing posts with label " Georgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label " Georgia. Show all posts
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Sunday, August 16, 2009
going to market
During the summer, fruit and vegetable stands litter our landscape. I can drive from here to the mall in Douglasville and I pass two established fruit stands, one flea market where you can get fruit and at least two areas where you're likely to see the tailgaters - people on the roadside with a folding tent or umbrella and a folding chair, selling anything from watermelon to pineapple.
Unfortunately, in recent years (I'm not sure how recent, but that's another story), this has become a sort of jaded exercise. It's because few if any of these people are growers. You don't see a long sweeping vista of farmland behind them. More often than not, they are simply mom and pop shippers. They have driven down to Florida or South Georgia, or over to South Carolina, or out to Alabama. Because of where I live, this is what amounts to fresh produce.
And when you consider that Kroger imports from California, and Publix goes to Ecuador, I have to realize -- it IS fresh produce. Baby needs to accept a fact of life. Baby doesn't live in the country anymore.
So it's a nice thing to visit a farmer's market. It's an even nicer thing to have a conversation with the people who are selling wares there. Because you have the same situation there as you do along the side of the road. Some of the vendors at the farmer's market are shippers. They've loaded a wood sided truck with boxes and boxes of "local" produce, and they've set up shop to sell it to you. But there are also those who've walked out their backdoor to fields of tomatoes, rows of squash, and planting boxes of organic eggplant. And when you speak to them, you learn their names and who they are and what they do. And before too long, you have an accurate picture of what came from where. So while I pay $3.50/lb for my farmer's market tomatoes, I come home with a sack of Cherokee purples and zebra stripes from a Georgia backyard, and they taste wonderful compared to the plastic mealy substitutes for nutrition I get from the store. And because I ask the shippers, I even know where they got their peaches from. And if I'm not convinced that his peaches are worth $2/lb, which is at least .30 more than I can find in the store, he slices off a piece of it for me to taste.
"Ma'am, would you like to try this peach?"
"Yes sir, where did you get these?"
"We went out to South Carolina for these. These are clearstone peaches."
My smile brightens. "I know what that is, I might need to get some of these."
A clearstone peach is a rare commodity in a grocery store. Large commercial shippers despise them. See, when you pick a peach, it stops ripening. The only fate a peach can suffer after it comes off the branch is Rot City. You can't buy a hard-as-a-rock peach in the store, bring it home and set it on the counter, hoping it will ripen. It won't. It will only soften as it's disintegrating into mush. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but it's true.
Clearstone peaches come into this world on the soft side. They aren't a canning peach, the kind growers love because they are firm and hardy. They are table peaches. They belong in smaller, family orchards. They are the kind you pick as they ripen. They are the kind you pick at the height of summer and enjoy in the moment. They are the high note in summer's song.
"Now ma'am, there's nothing wrong with a Georgia peach," the old man confided in me. He looked to be in his late 60's or early 70's. I had been to his stand before and bought cucumbers from his daughter. She was friendly, but it had only taken a few questions from me before I understood that she didn't know the land, and didn't know her produce. She was there to smile and take money. I had walked away a little disappointed, but I'm glad I returned the following week to speak to this man. I was now staring -- smiling -- at the brains of the outfit. And I think he was worried that I'd be offended that he wasn't selling Georgia peaches.
I wasn't. "I just want you to know, there's nothing wrong with a Georgia peach, but they aren't table peaches."
"I lived a lot of years in South Carolina, and I'm real familiar with table peaches," I said to him. "Could we fill up a bag?"
"Ma'am, I have the diabetes, but when these come in, I have to have at least one a day."
"I totally understand." And I did. And he talked me into 5lbs of fresh, delicate South Carolina table peaches. And I'm so glad he did. Because that was two weeks ago, and for whatever reason I haven't been able to get back there to the stand. And that's a shame, because while they're probably still coming in, I missed getting anymore at their peak. The next time I go, the peaches will probably be south Georgia peaches. Or they will be Alabama Chilton peaches. And they will be good. But they won't sing in my mouth the way those did. It was a fleeting glimpse of the best of summer.
--Laura
Unfortunately, in recent years (I'm not sure how recent, but that's another story), this has become a sort of jaded exercise. It's because few if any of these people are growers. You don't see a long sweeping vista of farmland behind them. More often than not, they are simply mom and pop shippers. They have driven down to Florida or South Georgia, or over to South Carolina, or out to Alabama. Because of where I live, this is what amounts to fresh produce.
And when you consider that Kroger imports from California, and Publix goes to Ecuador, I have to realize -- it IS fresh produce. Baby needs to accept a fact of life. Baby doesn't live in the country anymore.
So it's a nice thing to visit a farmer's market. It's an even nicer thing to have a conversation with the people who are selling wares there. Because you have the same situation there as you do along the side of the road. Some of the vendors at the farmer's market are shippers. They've loaded a wood sided truck with boxes and boxes of "local" produce, and they've set up shop to sell it to you. But there are also those who've walked out their backdoor to fields of tomatoes, rows of squash, and planting boxes of organic eggplant. And when you speak to them, you learn their names and who they are and what they do. And before too long, you have an accurate picture of what came from where. So while I pay $3.50/lb for my farmer's market tomatoes, I come home with a sack of Cherokee purples and zebra stripes from a Georgia backyard, and they taste wonderful compared to the plastic mealy substitutes for nutrition I get from the store. And because I ask the shippers, I even know where they got their peaches from. And if I'm not convinced that his peaches are worth $2/lb, which is at least .30 more than I can find in the store, he slices off a piece of it for me to taste.
"Ma'am, would you like to try this peach?"
"Yes sir, where did you get these?"
"We went out to South Carolina for these. These are clearstone peaches."
My smile brightens. "I know what that is, I might need to get some of these."
A clearstone peach is a rare commodity in a grocery store. Large commercial shippers despise them. See, when you pick a peach, it stops ripening. The only fate a peach can suffer after it comes off the branch is Rot City. You can't buy a hard-as-a-rock peach in the store, bring it home and set it on the counter, hoping it will ripen. It won't. It will only soften as it's disintegrating into mush. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but it's true.
Clearstone peaches come into this world on the soft side. They aren't a canning peach, the kind growers love because they are firm and hardy. They are table peaches. They belong in smaller, family orchards. They are the kind you pick as they ripen. They are the kind you pick at the height of summer and enjoy in the moment. They are the high note in summer's song.
"Now ma'am, there's nothing wrong with a Georgia peach," the old man confided in me. He looked to be in his late 60's or early 70's. I had been to his stand before and bought cucumbers from his daughter. She was friendly, but it had only taken a few questions from me before I understood that she didn't know the land, and didn't know her produce. She was there to smile and take money. I had walked away a little disappointed, but I'm glad I returned the following week to speak to this man. I was now staring -- smiling -- at the brains of the outfit. And I think he was worried that I'd be offended that he wasn't selling Georgia peaches.
I wasn't. "I just want you to know, there's nothing wrong with a Georgia peach, but they aren't table peaches."
"I lived a lot of years in South Carolina, and I'm real familiar with table peaches," I said to him. "Could we fill up a bag?"
"Ma'am, I have the diabetes, but when these come in, I have to have at least one a day."
"I totally understand." And I did. And he talked me into 5lbs of fresh, delicate South Carolina table peaches. And I'm so glad he did. Because that was two weeks ago, and for whatever reason I haven't been able to get back there to the stand. And that's a shame, because while they're probably still coming in, I missed getting anymore at their peak. The next time I go, the peaches will probably be south Georgia peaches. Or they will be Alabama Chilton peaches. And they will be good. But they won't sing in my mouth the way those did. It was a fleeting glimpse of the best of summer.
--Laura
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
State Capitol
A Georgia man was executed today.
While I was sitting in choir practice, lethal injection took the life of Robert Newland, who killed a woman in 1986. He was 65 years old when he died. When he killed the woman on St. Simon's Island, I was living in South Carolina, near Savannah, quite close by. By accounts, he was on a drinking binge, he tried to kiss her and she rejected him. He stabbed her repeatedly. She was able to identify him before she died.
As of April 1, 2008, the Death Penalty was authorized by 37 states, the Federal Government, and the U.S. Military. Those jurisdictions without the Death Penalty include 13 states and the District of Columbia. (Alaska, Hawaii, Iowa, Maine, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, New Jersey, North Dakota, Rhode Island, Vermont, West Virginia, and Wisconsin). Nebraska and New York both have death penalties, but recently passed legislation declaring certain types of execution unconstitutional, this essentially eliminating the death penalty in their states.
The publicity about the number of people executed in Texas is loud, but Georgia is 7th in the country for executions. From this article:
"Debate over the death penalty has undergone key shifts over the years. During the past decade, the discussion has focused on accuracy and fairness, with exonerations of dozens of Death Row inmates sparking calls for reform and abolition. Now, with the nation's economy slumping, the issue is cost.
Several states, including New Mexico, have introduced measures to abolish the death penalty, many of them citing its costs. In Colorado, a bill would take money usually spent on capital cases and use it to help clear unsolved cases. In Kansas, a legislator wants to use money for capital cases to close a budget shortfall."
In Georgia, the cost of trying Brian Nichols surpassed $2 Millon dollars.
You may have guessed that I oppose the death penalty. My reasons are mainly spiritual, though I'm often surprised by the number of fellow Catholics who disagree with me, even priests who've told me that abortion is wrong but the death penalty is okay because the adults who kill aren't innocent babies. I get where they are coming from. I do not doubt the guilt of Mr. Newland. I do not diminish the value of his victim's life or the grief of her family. I just don't see the justice in taking his life. I don't see how killing him makes it clear that killing is wrong.
It was a sad note to end the day. I don't think I would ever show up on the capitol steps to light candles or pray with protestors. I respect the families for whom each case is an intensely personal issue. But I can disagree with the people who find this a fitting end to a life, whether the person be a hapless victim or a convicted killer.
And so I do. On my little blog. I protest.
--Laura
While I was sitting in choir practice, lethal injection took the life of Robert Newland, who killed a woman in 1986. He was 65 years old when he died. When he killed the woman on St. Simon's Island, I was living in South Carolina, near Savannah, quite close by. By accounts, he was on a drinking binge, he tried to kiss her and she rejected him. He stabbed her repeatedly. She was able to identify him before she died.
As of April 1, 2008, the Death Penalty was authorized by 37 states, the Federal Government, and the U.S. Military. Those jurisdictions without the Death Penalty include 13 states and the District of Columbia. (Alaska, Hawaii, Iowa, Maine, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, New Jersey, North Dakota, Rhode Island, Vermont, West Virginia, and Wisconsin). Nebraska and New York both have death penalties, but recently passed legislation declaring certain types of execution unconstitutional, this essentially eliminating the death penalty in their states.
The publicity about the number of people executed in Texas is loud, but Georgia is 7th in the country for executions. From this article:
"Debate over the death penalty has undergone key shifts over the years. During the past decade, the discussion has focused on accuracy and fairness, with exonerations of dozens of Death Row inmates sparking calls for reform and abolition. Now, with the nation's economy slumping, the issue is cost.
Several states, including New Mexico, have introduced measures to abolish the death penalty, many of them citing its costs. In Colorado, a bill would take money usually spent on capital cases and use it to help clear unsolved cases. In Kansas, a legislator wants to use money for capital cases to close a budget shortfall."
In Georgia, the cost of trying Brian Nichols surpassed $2 Millon dollars.
You may have guessed that I oppose the death penalty. My reasons are mainly spiritual, though I'm often surprised by the number of fellow Catholics who disagree with me, even priests who've told me that abortion is wrong but the death penalty is okay because the adults who kill aren't innocent babies. I get where they are coming from. I do not doubt the guilt of Mr. Newland. I do not diminish the value of his victim's life or the grief of her family. I just don't see the justice in taking his life. I don't see how killing him makes it clear that killing is wrong.
It was a sad note to end the day. I don't think I would ever show up on the capitol steps to light candles or pray with protestors. I respect the families for whom each case is an intensely personal issue. But I can disagree with the people who find this a fitting end to a life, whether the person be a hapless victim or a convicted killer.
And so I do. On my little blog. I protest.
--Laura
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