Sedate gate-crashers

We were out for a socially-distanced walk when keen-eyed younger daughter spotted the five deer a few houses ahead. I squinted, and managed to catch the movement. Urban deer certainly blend in well with the surroundings, particularly in early spring. I shot rather blindly across the street, and I can only make out about three deers in this resulting photo.

They made their way up the avenue and between the houses, searching for and finding fresh spring snacks. (Poor house-bound gardeners.)

Then one of the youngsters spotted something.

She sprung over the fence, light as air.

The others followed.

Except an older member of the quintet, who walked the length of the fence with graceful dignity, and entered by the gate. (I can only see four deer in this photo. They really blend in well.)

What can't be unseen

"Land of the eagle" - Audun Rikardsen - Norway

This is a photograph.

It was obtained through the effort, endurance, and patience of three years.

The photographer set up a branch on a ledge, attached a camera to it, built himself a hide nearby, and made the branch more attractive to eagles by hanging meat on it. After three years (three years), an eagle got accustomed to the set-up, and visited regularly.

This photo was the winner in the "Behaviour: Birds" category of the Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2019. It was one of my personal favourites. I had several other favourites, like this one,

"Summer Cornfield" - Joël Brunet - France

which was "Highly Commended" in the "Plants and Fungi" category.

Every year, the Royal British Columbia Museum is one of the few hosts of the display resulting from the competition. (I think there are only three venues in Canada.) Demeter has been going for years, and younger daughter and I have attended for the past three exhibitions. Younger daughter insists on carefully reading the description on each photo, including the camera settings. I've found the best way to accommodate this is by going about five times, which is enough time for younger daughter to carefully examine each of the hundred photos.

It's a little nerve-wracking, because her strategy is to stand sideways by the corner of each photo, and read the captions aloud, going back and repeating if she is deciphering a new word, or distracted by someone approaching to view the image, as they tend to do in an exhibition.

A pair of elderly ladies came up behind her, and asked her to move. I quickly pointed out that there was an excellent vantage point from where I was standing, leaning in to quietly say: "She reads out loud to process..."

They hastily backed off, and actually apologized to younger daughter, while I cringed inwardly.

Last year, the exhibit ended before younger daughter had had a chance to "process" all the images, so this year, I carefully noted the ending date of March 29th.

Of course the museum shut down on March 17th, but luckily, we had got in our five visits, with all the photos thoroughly viewed.

The Wildlife Photographer of the Year is a collection of jaw-dropping photos, illustrating the fragility of our eco-system, and how an image is a result of days, months, or years of patient waiting - or simply being in the right place with an adequate camera. Way too few women amongst the photographers, and a couple of photos I can't un-see.

So I won't show them to you. You can google "Wildlife Photographer 2019", and guess.

A muster of pea-hens

While trundling things down the hill on Linden Avenue, I sometimes see strange sights, like the day I looked ahead and saw the sidewalk taken up with large fowl.

By the time I came abreast of the brood, they were toddling through a neighbouring garden, under the wary - and, no doubt, frustrated - eye of the household cat.

Too-damn-tame-life

So the Resident Fan Boy turned up on the doorstep today (yes, I was expecting him), and younger daughter is so relieved, she's been practically purring all afternoon.

This evening, I took advantage of his presence to wander around the outsides of the house-sit and spray the plants. Rain on St Swithin's Day notwithstanding, we seem to be settling in for the usual Victorian dry August.

I startled a rabbit that fled across the street into a more manicured garden. At about this time last year, I was engaged in the same activity when I spotted a rather majestic buck posing like a lawn ornament in the same garden where this year's bunny had high-tailed it. I stood and gazed at him from behind the tangle of BC native plants that make up this house-sit's garden (much to the annoyance of the well-manicured neighbours, I suspect), when an elderly lady, complete with full-length velour dressing gown, suddenly appeared in her doorway.

"Shoo!" she cried shrilly, clapping her hands imperiously. Majestic buck didn't budge.

"Shoo! Shoo!" she shouted again. Nothing. She vanished into the house and reappeared with a large pan and lid which she clanged vigorously.

"Shoo!"

The buck stood and gazed at her. She retreated, slamming her door. I stood for a few seconds more, decided the show was over, and didn't slam my door. Heaven only knows how long he stood there. He must have gotten hungry for her well-tended plants at some point.

A year later, I wrapped up the hose somewhat untidily. (I save the careful winding for the date of our departure which is two weeks in this case.) I happened to turn as I reached the top step, just in time to spot a large raccoon lolloping back from the same yard across the way. He headed straight into the garden I'd just finished spraying, and spotted me eying him. He seemed resolutely unconcerned, as most raccoons I've encountered are. I knew better than to follow him, and went back into the house. I did not slam the door.

(I took the above photo in another garden in another Victoria house-sit in 2009. He was just as unbudgeable.)