Birding in My Bathrobe

Early mornings usually find me slow to recover consciousness. The first thing I do is to brew a cup of tea or coffee. I then shuffle to the couch where I sit, sip, and read until I drain the cup, and only then can I force myself off the couch and out the door. That's right, I go out in my zip-up sweatshirt-style bathrobe first thing in the morning all the time, no matter what season it is. (I put on my muck boots first, though.)

I walk with binocs in hand, searching the trees, bushes, and sky for movement. If it's sunny, I perch on one of the rocks in our fields and wait for the birds to come to me. I've even been known to walk a few hundred feet down our mountain road in this attire. That's one of the great things about living in the wilderness. There's no one to know or care what I do. After about a half hour or hour, I go home, eat breakfast, and yes, I do get dressed so that I can get out in the woods without snaring or tearing my bathrobe.


No new migrants this morning. But the mosses and reindeer lichen are so lush--they make the otherwise dull landscape--all grays, browns, and tans--resonate green. I'm trying like crazy to add sketches and drawings to my nature journal, but because I haven't done any art work in about five or six years, I'm finding no end to the mental barriers I'm putting up. Just do it, I say. I'll try again today.