Housing Market

Eastern Bluebird on Nestbox Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

It’s a good day for a prairie hike. I’m so excited by the happenings in a prairie as it awakens after winter, and I can’t wait to head out into this one.

I hear birds talking somewhere beneath my view in the grasses, their chirping and calls are welcome. It gets me going – what might I see? Are there flowers? Birds? It can be a little tough to spot the emerging plants or find the birds, but eventually, the older vegetation will give way. And there is still opportunity to observe birds before trees and shrubs fully leaf out.

Tree swallows winging low over the dried grasses make a disturbance at a scrubby tree. A nesting box, apparently in a prime, high rent district is their target. In this competitive spring market, they like this nesting box, planted on a slight hill next to the small tree and surrounded by some brush cover.

Tree Swallows wanting the Nestbox Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

But someone had beaten them to it. Their tactics are intimidation of the current tenant.

I spy a bluebird on defense, who alternates perching above, on top, or near to the box. There must be a nesting female inside. I was impressed by his tenacity. One against two or three swallows. He was persistent in staying close – flexible but alert, patrolling the area. I see his brilliant blue back and orange breast feathers as he flies through the brush around the nestbox.

Eastern Bluebird patrolling Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

He scans the sky, watching for the swallows that will try to scare him away.

He stays.

Eastern Bluebird Watchman Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

He is quite determined to keep the nesting box for bluebird eggs. An admirable quality.

My busy brain was curious about one thing: does being protective have a downside? Maybe he’d get hurt by the swallows, or not see other dangers, like a hawk that might be nearby. Maybe there’s a safer location with a nestbox elsewhere?

I don’t need to look too far to make a connection between this drama and how I can be quite protective of me. Being aware is one thing, but when I protect myself too much from imagined outcomes or preconceived notions (it might be “bad!”), I don’t grow. I might miss an opportunity, and I surely am wasting energy. I stay “safe.” Whatever that means. What is safe, anyway?

This bird stays. He doesn’t waste time on “what’s the worst that could happen?”

I respect this bird. I wish the family well. He is doing what is right for him.

As for me, I resolve to spread my wings. Most things that can happen are not “bad.” I won’t look back. I will just move forward a little every day and see if I can feel the difference between being too protective and going ahead anyway. :)

Eastern Bluebird Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

Feeling My Way

Prairie Grasses and Seed Heads, Early Spring, Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

This morning, I headed to the prairie. It’s still early in the season for much activity, but spring has begun, and there is more happening now. I saw great blue herons alone and winging over the dried grasses, their raspy calls echoing in the air. I could hear songbirds and pheasants. And though I didn’t see them myself, there must be insects already, as a few swallows were swooping and diving in the distance and over my head, just over the grasses. They are amazing acrobats, twisting and turning with just a tilt of a wing or a bend of their body.

I scanned over the grasses, then again with my zoom lens and caught a distant flash of bright yellow – a goldfinch foraging for thistle seeds, wearing its bright yellow and black summer plumage. I learned several years ago that these hardy birds remain here all year long. I always thought they left in the fall and didn’t recognize them in their winter plumage, a dull color that blends into the seasonal landscape. I just thought it was a different bird.

Goldfinch on the Prairie Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

Nuthatch, with Goldfinch in winter plumage Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

I'm looking at doing things a bit differently now. I’d heard a podcast interview with a filmmaker and how his willingness to throw his work away freed him up to try things and grow. I’d also read a reminder about the importance of practice in photography, to kick the tires so to speak on the camera and see what it can do. I’ve been told I have a good grasp of the obvious here ("practice makes perfect"), but it occurred to me that I could practice letting go of my old way of going about things. Or maybe I felt that way to work differently? What is the worst that could happen (I see that my pattern of control and thinking is alive and well). I know it’s limiting, but… I still think that way. Ok. So what? Why not practice a different way?

I took photos of the prairie grasses and some emerging plants, experimenting with settings of my camera. I observed that I could focus better by adjusting the lens or change the exposure. Among the photos were two that I took of the landscape of grasses and seed heads. Or what I thought were seed heads - one appeared just a little darker than the ones around it. First attempt was a blurry capture, but I took another, practicing getting a tighter focus on that area. I thought nothing more about it.

I headed back to the car and took a quick scan in the viewfinder of the photos. I was drawn to the ones of the prairie grasses and seed heads. I zoomed in on the seed head that was a little darker. And found… it was a bluebird! My focus was a little more on the branches, but I like the soft look of this gentle and beautiful bird.

Eastern Bluebird Copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

The lesson: When I allowed myself to just go with my feelings and allowed things to happen without planning for an outcome, it was good! I didn’t try and control and allowed. I learned something about looking a little more and trusting my gut. Control is an illusion, anyway.

I’m just grateful for the awareness.

Pelican Birthday

White American Pelican copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

I woke up this morning another year older, grateful to be here and full of hope for this day. This morning, I’m giving myself permission to have fun and be curious. To not let anything stop me from what I want to do today. True to form, my next thought is, is there anything else I need to do first? I avoid asking this “what do I want?” question ad-nauseum. What I want might be bad (selfish!) so maybe I don’t go. OK. So what? Does it matter? At least I recognize it. Where will I be if I give in to that again? Right. Nowhere at all. A good reminder that I am full of the should’s and the have to’s that keep me from my true self. Stop.

In my heart, I want to GO SEE. I want to take photos that tell stories. I want to see what shows up.

I felt the pull early today, to get to the woods nearer to sunrise. Still, a doubt I have that begs the question, am I running to something or running away from answering "what do I want?" The truth? Both.

Yet, something compelled me to hurry to the woods, to the water, where I feel free and light – my companion George the Airedale feels it, too. We walked swiftly and silently, the sun rising through fog and the promise of a beautiful day.

Being present in the woods is easy for me. Listening for Canada Geese…would they be on the lookout for interlopers in their space? Not today. I cut over on a deer path, ducking branches, the ground devoid of dry crackling leaves that would warn wildlife of our presence thanks to last night’s rain. We reached a hilltop that kept us hidden where I can glimpse what might be in the widened-out marsh and lake. Recent visits were devoid of activity… one can hope… I scan. Wait - I see whiteness on the water… Trumpeters? Pelicans maybe? The timing is right for migrations.

I open my pack and pull out my camera. Too often, I’ve failed to have it in my hand – timing matters. Kind of a metaphor for life – be ready for anything, but don't overthink it. If I miss the moment, I miss life that is right in front of me. A damn shame that I fall into this more than I care to admit. The weight of the camera helps ground me. We slip quietly down the hill, back a bit from the marsh. Hear a rustle and call of a pair of Wood Ducks just to our right in the trees. We wait. Perhaps they are finding the perfect hollow in a tree to build their nest? As we are the interlopers, the last thing I want is to disturb those who call this place home. Eventually the ducks settled down and flew off over the water, and I imagine them illuminated in the rising sun as they fly off.

We continue. George is curious like me. I keep him close, his collar a simple chain with no tags to jingle, the leash in my hand. He stays just behind me, walking on silent fur paws. We reach the shore, and I creep forward low to the ground to sit on a log at the edge of the marsh among the grasses, my hood up, camera at ready. Check. George quiet and sitting. Check. Waterfowl very near are watchful but slowly paddle a short distance away. I know we're OK to stay as they don’t fly. We did well to arrive silently. I point my camera at the whiteness on a spit of land that runs into the bay. Pelicans. A perfect birthday gift. I smile and wait.

I begin taking photos, adjusting the aperture and exposure, applying what I have learned about this new camera. The zoom lens almost feels like cheating – I’m confident there will be detail in my photos now. White birds have been a challenge, but I’ve learned to underexpose the image to keep the bright whiteness of the birds in check. Got it. There is so much going on this morning – Shovelers, Green-winged Teals, Blue-winged Teals, a male Mallard. A newbie - Pied-bill Grebe – a small bobber in the water, diving and popping back up. I watch for the circles in the water, as it appears to be simply playing, coming up near to where it dove, and the sun just right to put him in the spotlight.

Pied-billed Grebe copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

Two Wood Ducks swing in and land just below me, the water disturbed by their splash. They are in deep shadow. I’m thankful they do not see us. George is patient and quiet.

The Pelicans are waking up, stretching their wings, and slipping into the water in 2’s and 3’s, so graceful.

I recalled the first time I saw Pelicans a few years ago. My eyes played tricks with my brain filling in details - the illusion of snow in the channel blended into the snow at the shoreline, still melting in early spring. But then the snow began to MOVE. I didn’t realize until they swam upstream nearer to me, that what I was seeing was a huge number of birds. My brain had filled in details that didn't exist - the illusion of snow, and like snow, Pelicans are so silent. They do not speak in ways we can hear.

American White Pelicans copyright 2025 JeanMaher.com

As they swim today, they begin to gather. They often work together to herd small fish toward the shore where they are easier to catch, using their wings and dipping their long beaks into the water. The effect is like seeing a pumping oil rig, up and down, up and down. In a line together, it is magical to see.

I snap photos as they approach the near shore, the sun at a perfect angle. Others fly to join them from their resting place. Sometimes they lift their heads up to drain the water from the large pouch on their lower beak. Some pull up seaweed to eat. I take many photos, grateful for their calming presence and thank them silently. George and I back away carefully so as to not disturb their breakfast gathering. I will look at the photos later.

My birthday – this day is a gift! While I think I’m observant, I am often surprised when I study the photos captured. What did I miss? What did the camera capture? In this case, it was a Pelican that was tossing a fish up as the water drained out of his bill. I totally did not see THAT. I recalled this Pelican was actively raising his head back several times; likely to drain out the water so the fish could be swallowed.

My Lessons

I’m reminded that the best moments are those where I have no expectations of an outcome. I struggle with that – from words that stuck with me over many years, making ruts in my brain: “you only get one chance to do a good job.” Perfectionist pressure that leads to no good. How often have I hesitated to do something that I wanted for fear of failure? But now I’m hopefully proving to myself that any experience allows me to learn. What I might view as a failure now, may, in hindsight, be meant for me to learn something, like learning how to underexpose a photo and raise the shutter speed for a white bird so I don't blow out the details.

The pictures I capture now are getting closer to representing the beauty I’ve observed. Through failure, I’ve learned I need to be still - sit on that log and just relax into the experience of taking photos of the nonhumans I see. Through failure and letting go of my preconceived plan, the more relaxed I am. The more comfortable I am in my surroundings, the animals just KNOW to relax, too. I am learning to trust that what I am to see and learn will reveal itself to me, even after the sun sets on this beautiful day.