Wednesday, December 17, 2014

2014: best Frankenstein moment




 

2014: The Best & Worst This is the time of the year when writers coast. They dream up their totally subjective best and worse lists for the year that's rapidly coming to a close. Why? So they can focus on the important things...the holidays. So with that in mind:

My best moment as a monster cobbled together from various parts of stolen cadavers came in July when it was revealed that my inner Frankenstein was not only afraid of fire, but he was also fearful of snakes.

The Nature Day Camp kids at Ijams came to my rescue. Monster Monster Camp is designed to teach kids that everything in nature that might seem like a monster, truly isn't. As FDR said, "The only thing to fear is fear itself."

We went on a snake hunt and discovered that snakes are far more curious than fearful. Just odd little creatures, not monsters. Certainly they were nothing to make you run from the village screaming for the Bürgermeister. 

My inner Frankenstein thanks you for not burning down his windmill. He also thanks Mary Shelley who created him.

For more on this turn of events click: Misunderstood!

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

2014: best new food find




2014: The Best & Worst This is the time of the year when writers coast. They dream up their totally subjective best and worse lists for the year that's rapidly coming to a close. Why? So they can focus on the important things...the holidays. So with that in mind:


Yes, there was Fast Eddie and Hud and Brick and Cool Hand Luke and Butch Cassidy and Henry Gondorff and a score of others, but perhaps Paul Newman's greatest creation was Newman's Own Creamy Caesar.

Hail, Caesar!

I discovered it this summer and cannot look at a plate of lettuce, spinach or kale garnished with croutons without it.

Who knew that milk, egg yoke, anchovy [isn't that fish?], extra virgin olive oil, Parmesan cheese, Worcestershire sauce [fish sauce?], lemon juice, molasses and distilled vinegar could taste so good? Who knew? But at 170 calories per tablespoon, I can only eat it gingerly once a fortnight.
Egg, Milk, Anchovy


And this loaded dressing comes with a bit of history that Butch Cassidy himself wrote: “In summer stock, 1953, I played Caesar. One matinee, as I felt the phony rubber knife in my ribs, I uttered the memorable line, "Et tu, Brutus?" and slumped to the floor. The assassins shuffled backward as they surveyed the bloody scene. The house was as quiet as the night before Christmas. Suddenly, without warning or explanation, the stage manager's phone in the wings rang. All the way to the back row, it could be heard, "Rrrrring!". Togas stopped rippling. Blood stopped dripping. Eyes were riveted in their sockets. "Rrrrring!" The audience grew restive. "Rrrrring!" And then an actor in a stage whisper heard in Mexico City said, "My God! What if it is for Caesar?" Bedlam. The curtain slammed shut! I knew then that I would create another Caesar. I had no idea it would go on lettuce.”
In summer stock, 1953, I played Caesar. One matinee, as I felt the phony rubber knife in my ribs, I uttered the memorable line, "Et tu, Brutus?" and slumped to the floor. The assassins shuffled backward as they surveyed the bloody scene. The house was as quiet as the night before Christmas. Suddenly, without warning or explanation, the stage manager's phone in the wings rang. All the way to the back row, it could be heard, "Rrrrring!". Togas stopped rippling. Blood stopped dripping. Eyes were riveted in their sockets. "Rrrrring!" The audience grew restive. "Rrrrring!" And then an actor in a stage whisper heard in Mexico City said, "My God! What if it is for Caesar?" , Bedlam. The curtain slammed shut! I knew then that I would create another Caesar. I had no idea it would go on lettuce. - P Caesar Newman - See more at: http://www.newmansown.com/products/newmans-own-creamy-caesar-dressing/#sthash.xZdsJU5F.dpuf
In summer stock, 1953, I played Caesar. One matinee, as I felt the phony rubber knife in my ribs, I uttered the memorable line, "Et tu, Brutus?" and slumped to the floor. The assassins shuffled backward as they surveyed the bloody scene. The house was as quiet as the night before Christmas. Suddenly, without warning or explanation, the stage manager's phone in the wings rang. All the way to the back row, it could be heard, "Rrrrring!". Togas stopped rippling. Blood stopped dripping. Eyes were riveted in their sockets. "Rrrrring!" The audience grew restive. "Rrrrring!" And then an actor in a stage whisper heard in Mexico City said, "My God! What if it is for Caesar?" , Bedlam. The curtain slammed shut! I knew then that I would create another Caesar. I had no idea it would go on lettuce. - P Caesar Newman - See more at: http://www.newmansown.com/products/newmans-own-creamy-caesar-dressing/#sthash.xZdsJU5F.dpuf
In summer stock, 1953, I played Caesar. One matinee, as I felt the phony rubber knife in my ribs, I uttered the memorable line, "Et tu, Brutus?" and slumped to the floor. The assassins shuffled backward as they surveyed the bloody scene. The house was as quiet as the night before Christmas. Suddenly, without warning or explanation, the stage manager's phone in the wings rang. All the way to the back row, it could be heard, "Rrrrring!". Togas stopped rippling. Blood stopped dripping. Eyes were riveted in their sockets. "Rrrrring!" The audience grew restive. "Rrrrring!" And then an actor in a stage whisper heard in Mexico City said, "My God! What if it is for Caesar?" , Bedlam. The curtain slammed shut! I knew then that I would create another Caesar. I had no idea it would go on lettuce. - P Caesar Newman - See more at: http://www.newmansown.com/products/newmans-own-creamy-caesar-dressing/#sthash.xZdsJU5F.dpuf
In summer stock, 1953, I played Caesar. One matinee, as I felt the phony rubber knife in my ribs, I uttered the memorable line, "Et tu, Brutus?" and slumped to the floor. The assassins shuffled backward as they surveyed the bloody scene. The house was as quiet as the night before Christmas. Suddenly, without warning or explanation, the stage manager's phone in the wings rang. All the way to the back row, it could be heard, "Rrrrring!". Togas stopped rippling. Blood stopped dripping. Eyes were riveted in their sockets. "Rrrrring!" The audience grew restive. "Rrrrring!" And then an actor in a stage whisper heard in Mexico City said, "My God! What if it is for Caesar?" , Bedlam. The curtain slammed shut! I knew then that I would create another Caesar. I had no idea it would go on lettuce. - P Caesar Newman - See more at: http://www.newmansown.com/products/newmans-own-creamy-caesar-dressing/#sthash.xZdsJU5F.dpuf

Monday, December 15, 2014

2014: favorite new old CD




 

2014: The Best & Worst This is the time of the year when writers coast. They dream up their totally subjective best and worse lists for the year that's rapidly coming to a close. Why? So they can focus on the important things...the holidays. So with that in mind:

When you live in the woods, things come to you slowly. My favorite new old CD discovered in 2014 is Putumayo Presents: Jazz Around the World released in 2009. 

Back story: Searching YouTube one night early last summer for new music, I found a song in French I knew only as the English 1959 hit Beyond the Sea by Bobby Darin. Turns out the French original Le Mer was written by Charles Trenet and published in 1939. 

I enjoyed that one track by Chantal Chamberland so much, I bought the CD to keep in the car. Love it all.

Here's the original that caught my attention. Enjoy.




Sunday, December 14, 2014

2014: most congenial meal



2014: The Best & Worst This is the time of the year when writers coast. They dream up their totally subjective best and worse lists for the year that's rapidly coming to a close. Why? So they can focus on the important things...the holidays. So with that in mind:

In August, the Tennessee Naturalist @ Ijams class of 2014 completed two three-hour classes in one day.

In the afternoon, Peg Beute taught the fungi portion of the curriculum, then I took over for the nocturnal naturalist lesson. That one we held at Seven Islands State Birding Park on the French Broad River because of its owl population and broad view of the night sky away from the city.

On the way there, we took a break for supper at the Cracker Barrel at Strawberry Plains. 

It was my most congenial meal of the year. Thank you, Lynne and Bob Davis!

For more info click: TN Naturalist.  

Saturday, December 13, 2014

2014: saddest moment




Birding WalkAbout on Ten Mile Creek Greenway. 
Rikki in the middle with co-leader Janet McKnight.

2014: The Best & Worst This is the time of the year when writers coast. They dream up their totally subjective best and worse lists for the year that's rapidly coming to a close. Why? So they can focus on the important things...the holidays. So with that in mind:


Here we get serious. This falls under the worse moments of 2014. If longevity on this Earth was determined by goodness, than Rikki Hall should have lived 175 years. But it doesn't work that way. Sometimes really good guys die young. It's not fair. Never is. Never will be. In March, we lost Rikki.


Hellbender Press, May/June 2006
I once wrote a regular column called the "Backporch Naturalist" for the Hellbender Press. Rikki was my editor and friend. 

As my editor, he'd say things like, "Why don't you write about roadkill?" or "How about a pro cowbird column?" or "How about a sympathetic column about starlings?" 

I just loved it when he issued such challenges. It gave me something to think about. Rikki was amiable and quick friendly, but his mind was always churning. Writing for him, I'd always try to include a bit of humor, just to make him laugh. He loved to laugh.

Rikki also led many bug and bird walks for us at Ijams. Here's a tribute I wrote the week after he passed: Ijams tribute.

Rikki, miss your smile and your boundless curiosity.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Not fair. 
   

Friday, December 12, 2014

2014: best moment(s) of the day



(Click image to enlarge.)

2014: The Best & Worst This is the time of the year when writers coast. They dream up their totally subjective best and worse lists for the year that's rapidly coming to a close. Why? So they can focus on the important things...the holidays. So with that in mind:


Yes. Sunsets are cliché. And photographing them even clichér. They are so common—every 24 hours plus or minus—why notice? But the reverse is true. You really should notice. Slow down long enough to take a good long notice of how each and every day closes itself out. Its final act before the curtain drops and the nocturne begins. 

"Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better," wrote Frost.

You can have a stinky rotten, difficult, bomb of a day, and yet sometimes, that very same day chooses to go out with a flourish; a show big and brash, more spectacular than any pyrotechnics display.

Gee willikers! (Archaic term still only used by me and five other people.)

Sometimes, if I am lucky, and the timing is just right, I drive across the South Knoxville bridge to close out my work day and be treated to the best show in and over downtown. I have to pull over. And it's all there, free for the beholding.
 

Here are a few more from 2014.
   






And today.

12 December 2014

Thursday, December 11, 2014

2014: favorite TV moment




 
2014: The Best & Worst This is the time of the year when writers coast. They dream up their totally subjective best and worse lists for the year that's rapidly coming to a close. Why? So they can focus on the important things...the holidays. So with that in mind:


 Do you ever feel out of place?

I don't have cable, so references to Breaking Bad, Orange is the New Black, Walking Dead and that one with My So Called Life's little Claire Danes as a CIA agent (She's all grown up now) go over my noggin. 

Que Sera, Sera.

I don't really watch a lot of television. I'm a guy so I watch sports, but other than that I'm pretty dull. In October, I happened to turn the TV on during a weeknight—it must have been kismet—because I stumbled into something delightfully odd: a PBS Nature episode titled Animal Misfits

It rang a bell. Again I ask, "Do you ever feel out of place?"

So who needs cable if you get PBS with an antenna?

Here's a clip: Animal Misfits.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

2014: most unnecessary



This is the time of the year when writers coast. They dream up their totally subjective best and worse lists for the year that's rapidly coming to a close. Why? So they can focus on the important things...the holidays. So with that in mind:

My favorite absolutely unnecessary household furnishing from 2014 is a new blue lava lamp

Invented in 1963 by British accountant Edward Craven-Walker, lava lamps contain blobs of colored wax inside a shapely glass vessel filled with clear liquid. A light bulb in the bottom heats the wax making it rise and fall creating all kinds of wondrously trippy shapes. So simple. Millions have sold in the past 50 years. The appearance of the wax is suggestive of pāhoehoe (thick flowing) lava, hence the name. And who doesn’t want a volcano in a bottle?

Mine is so completely unnecessary because I already have two but I am wanting to create my own archipelago.


So retro. So soothing. So absolutely unnecessary. I just love it.

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

rubies in winter





Belize. Costa Rica. El Salvador. Guatemala. Nicaragua. Honduras. Southern Mexico east to the Yucatán Peninsula.

Warm and tropical. Lots of flowers. This week's temperatures in Belize are forecasted to be highs in the mid-80s, lows mid-70s. Balmy. Pretty much the same in Honduras and throughout the rest of Central America. 

Paradise in December.  

That is where most all of the ruby-throated hummingbirds are now. Sipping nectar in the tropics. Belizean mai tais, or perhaps a local banana wine. Belize alone has more than 4,000 species of flowering plants. 

We look at our empty sugar-water feeders, our wilted salvia, our pineapple sages yellowed by recent freezes, and dream of next April when our little spitfires return. Well, actually, they are not "our" hummers. They are tropical birds that just fly north to find competition-free space to raise their families. 

But before they get here, they will have to fly non-stop the 500 miles across the Gulf of Mexico. Should we take a bus and go get them?

I smell a road-trip!



Amazing hummingbird in Tennessee photo by Wayne Mallinger



Monday, December 8, 2014

imagine






Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will live as one.


It’s hard for me to get my mind around this:
John Lennon was murdered 34 years ago today.

Imagine no possessions.
 Remembering the peace and love,
but let's forget the greed and materialism 
of the 1980s that followed the death of 
the Walrus, goo goo g'joob.

Saturday, December 6, 2014

reversal of fortune






As I was driving down a narrow road through the woods near a stream, I noticed a belted kingfisher perched in the sun close to the shore. I had my camera in the car and thought “what a great photo.”

When I was as close as I could get and beginning to lift my camera, the kingfisher bolted, flying lickety-split upstream, rattling all the way. Quickly, the plot thickened. It seems I wasn’t the only thing watching the bird because a Cooper’s hawk took off and was swiftly in hot pursuit.

The Accipitor was slightly above the fleeing kingfisher, gaining on it with every wing beat, closing in for the kill. Sensing it was in trouble, the nimble kingfisher did the only thing it could do. It tucked in its wings and dove straight into the stream. SPLASH!

In a split second, the wet bird sprang from the water and headed quickly downstream, the opposite direction it had been going. Coopers hawks are agile; but not that agile. They can't do an about face. Perhaps dismayed by the sudden turn of events, the Cooper’s hawk flew on to hunt elsewhere.

The kingfisher lived on to fish another day. And it all happened between the lub-dup, lub-dup, two beats of my heart.

Life and death. In the blink of an eye.


Thursday, December 4, 2014

ancestral roots

 •

Great Grandfather Jim Bales home place

A heartfelt thank you to my friend and co-worker Rex McDaniel who never goes anywhere without his camera.

Rex sent me autumnal photos of my ancestral homeland, Roaring Fork, on the north flank of Mt. LeConte in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. There are several home sites preserved and maintained along the Cherokee Orchard Motor Nature Trail, two have special significance to me.

Jim Bales was my grandfather Homer's father. Granddad spent his boyhood at this location.

Ephraim was Jim's brother or my great-great grand uncle. Granddad was born in Uncle Ephraim's cabin on January 5, 1899.Their lives were hard; many died too soon. The cemetery is filled with young ones that didn't survive childhood. Two were my grandmother's.

Both sites are maintained by the national park as representative mountaineer structures.

My own father Russell was born on this date, December 4, 1928 just over the ridge in the Baskins Creek watershed. A location that is now also inside the national park but the cabin no longer remains.   

Bales Cemetery
Ephraim Bales home place


Monday, December 1, 2014

wayside thoughts




Emerson: “The epochs of our life are not in the visible facts of our choice of a calling, our marriage, our acquisition of a office, and the like, but in a silent thought by the wayside; in a thought which revises our entire manner of life, and says,—‘Thus hast thou done, but it were better thus.’”

Nature is not a constant. You are not a constant. We are perpetually evolving. Ralph Waldo knew this.

Emerson: “This revisal or correction is a constant force, which, as a tendency, reaches through our lifetime.”

Our lives can turn on a dime, triggered by a "silent thought by a way-side." Listen to those thoughts; they are your true guideposts. Live in the moment. You are not the same person you were ten years ago. Let that person go.

If you suddenly realize in a wayside moment you are destined to be a banjo player or a research chemist, you go with it. 


- Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 1882) American essayist, philosopher and poet, best remembered for leading the transcendentalist movement of the early 19th century. Quotes from the essay "Spiritual Laws."


Saturday, November 29, 2014

the language of trees











Wonder why one row of white pines along a local greenway all have pine cones, while another row a short distance away does not have any?

I've noticed this before. The groups of white pines that produce cones any given year must plan so in advance, but how? Do they whisper sweet nothings to each other in the night?

It's like the oaks: when they have a super-duper crop of acorns, which they do not do every cycle, how do they all know in advance to do it? This past fall was a bountiful mast year here in the valley, but how do they do it in sync?

How do trees communicate?

Thursday, November 20, 2014

coyote and I




Two days ago, a coyote (Canis latrans) trotted across Candora Avenue off Old Maryville Pike in front of my car, in broad daylight, mid-afternoon, within the city limits, three miles from downtown. Wow! Did I just write that? Twenty years of writing about nature and this is a first.

I stopped and just watched. What else could I do? But marvel at its beauty, its supple form. 

Warner Brothers' Wile E. Coyote
Wile E.? No. Wiley, well maybe, but I prefer skittish, shy, wary. And why shouldn't they be? We've been killing them for 200 years, yet still they thrive. So much so they've crossed the Mississippi River and moved into the East, exploiting a niche once occupied by wolves. 

"Oh, please stop," I muttered as it passed before me, wanting to savor the encounter. And it did, just before it disappeared into the bushes, it paused to look back. 

We were eye-to-eye, it and I. Oh, the wonder.

I wasn't alarmed, but feel fortunate to live in a city where coyotes feel free to trot across quiet streets in broad daylight. 

Thursday, November 13, 2014

zombie bugs?






Run don't walk to the nearest newsstand. Or if this is still laying on your desk unopened, get out the scissors, but don't run with them.

This month's cover story in National Geographic is the creepiest, oddest, weirdest, strangest, most macabre, yet most fascinating—and you can arrange those descriptors in any order you like—I have ever read. It's a "Tales from the Crypt" kind of thing; and I have been reading the yellow-bordered Nat Geo for decades.

Real Zombies: The Strange Science of the Living Dead by Carl Zimmer is bizarre with a capital B.

I'm a naturalist, a fan/observer of all things in the natural world; how they interrelate, their connections. But somehow this goes beyond that. Parasite wasps that lay their eggs inside a host's body so that when hatched the young can eat their way out, but it goes one step further, the wasps infiltrate the host's brain to alter its behavior to do their bidding because they need to move their life cycle along. A to B to C, with B being an unwilling patsy. Otherwise the parasite does not successfully produce another generation of parasites. 

The host therefore becomes the living dead, a mindless zombie doing things to benefit the parasite and not itself.

Case history documented by Ben Hanelt: "The house cricket loses its will—and its life—to the horsehair worm. Larvae of the parasite infiltrate the cricket when it scavenges dead insects, then grow inside it. The cricket is terrestrial but the adult stage of the worm's life cycle is aquatic. [But somehow must get their larvae back on dry land to infest another cricket.] So when the mature worm is ready to emerge, it alters the brain of its host, driving the cricket to abandon the safety of land and take a suicidal leap into the nearest body of water. As the cricket drowns, an adult worm emerges, sometimes a foot long." 

Remember the scene in the 1979 Ridley Scott film Alien when the young alien creature bursts from the chest of its host, John Hurt? So this sort of thing can happen to humans but only if they are in deep space.

Creepy, creepy, creepy and yet, somehow fascinating at the same time.

But there's more: The Sting of Doom.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

over sassed



Sasssssss-a-frasssssss.

Say the word in a whisper. It flows like a gentle breeze off the tongue.

It's a great moniker and a curious plant, one with a unique claim to fame.

The early English colonists in North America along the Atlantic coastline were eager to find gold and silver as the Spanish had done in South America. They found neither. They did find lots and lots of trees. Looking for something of value, the Elizabethans learned that the Native Americans drank sassafras tea as something of a “cure all.” (In the age before wonder drugs, everyone was desperate to find one.)

Hoping to make a little money, Sir Walter Raleigh took sassafras back to England from Virginia. The miracle elixir made from its roots became all the rage, spawning the “Great Sassafras Hunts.” Ships were dispatched from England in the early 1600s to collect the medicinal roots and bark that were brewed into the tonic. Billed as a proverbial Fountain of Youth, the golden brown tea smelled like root beer and supposedly kept its drinkers ageless and full of health. Sassafras teahouses became as fashionable in England as Starbucks are in Manhattan today.

The craze ended when drinkers realized they were indeed still aging, and perhaps not the picture of health they had hoped to be. As TV journalist Linda Ellerbee was prone to say, “And so it goes.”

On a neighborhood walk, I encountered a sassafras tree beginning to molt into its fall color. I left its roots intact and took only a photo, which in itself, will never age.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

salute



I would be remiss this Veterans Day not to salute the serviceman nearest and dearest to my own heart: my late father Russell Bales, part of what journalist Tom Brokaw calls "The Greatest Generation." And who would argue with him?

Near the end of World War II, Dad served in the U.S. Navy in the Pacific on the USS Yuma, an ocean-going tug.

The Yuma went to sea to tow damaged ships back to port that could not return under their own power. As my friend Guy Smoak points out, still a dangerous mission since Japanese submarines patrolled the Pacific as witnessed by the USS Indianapolis.

Dad was 16-years-old when this photo was taken; too young for service, too young for battle, too young to be so far from home. But wars are ignited by old men yet fought by the young. 

And for that, we salute all vets on this holiday that commemorates their courage and sacrifice.



Friday, November 7, 2014

Seventh visit to Panther Nation




Powell High School AP Environmental Science class spring 2014


Monday, I once again visited with the AP Environmental Science class taught by Coach Will Roberts at Powell High School, a.k.a. Panther Nation. It's become an annual tradition.

We talked about conservation, environmental studies, book writing and my ancestral link
to the Great Smokies. Each student had been assigned to read a portion of my two books: Natural Histories and Ghost Birds.

Chapters we discussed included freshwater mussels, pawpaws and freshwater jellyfish. Also of interest were hawks, Ijams and the new hiking and biking trails in the Knoxville Urban Wilderness: South Loop adjacent to the nature center. Click here for: map.

One question came late, really after the bell. It concerned Sasquatch. I quickly had to answer that I viewed Big Foot as a metaphor for all that's still mysterious and unknown in nature. Is there anything hiding out there? 

For a more amplified answer, I would have had to look no farther than Powell's own mascot, the panther (Puma concolor). Adult males are up to 7.9 feet long nose-to-tail, up to 35 inches tall at the shoulders and weigh up to 220 pounds.

My Smoky Mountain grandfather called them "painters." But do they still exist in Southeastern forests? Some wildlife officials say no. We killed them all. But I have spoken to many people who have seen the big cats crossing roads in the park; and even one man who followed one on the shoreline of Norris Lake.

So, the panther is the Big Foot, or Big Paw of the Appalachians.  

Best of luck to all of you! Thanks, Coach Roberts.


Panther (Puma concolor) Wiki media


Click these links for a look back at past visits:






Monday, November 3, 2014

Artist in the background





We all need lofty goals. They give our lives purpose.
 

In 1819, John James Audubon set a doozy of a goal for himself: to find and draw all of the bird species that lived in America...
 

At the time, no one knew how many avian species lived in this country. Audubon set out to find out but he didn’t stop with merely drawing them. He wanted to illustrate all the birds “life size.” That’s no problem with a diminutive hummingbird but whooping cranes are whoppers, roughly five feet tall...

Early in his travels Audubon asked his young protégé Joseph Mason to go along as his traveling companion. Precocious, “big for his age” and brimming with talent, for two years Mason was at Audubon’s side sketching plants and flowers that would ultimately become backgrounds to Audubon's birds...


For the rest of my article about Joseph Mason look the November/December issue of The Tennessee Conservationist


Special thanks to editor, Louise Zepp.
 

Friday, October 31, 2014

Halloweenie thanks




In the guise of arboreal pirate Red Squirrely, protector of ye hickories n' oaks n' beeches, I'd like to thank WBIR Channel 10's Live@5@4 for broadcasting one-hour of live TV today from Ijams to celebrate Halloweenie. Aaaargh!

Co-hosts Beth "Catwoman" Haynes and Russell "Captain America" Biven were on hand to greet kids in costume (and pirate squirrels) as well as were the creative staff of Ijams. 

Thank you also to reporter J.J. "Where's Waldo?" Jones, producer Lee Ann Bowman and all the other behind the scenes TV folks. And to weatherman Todd Howell for holding off he rain just a bit. 

For more photos go to: Ijams/Live@5@4 Halloween.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

B & B at Cove Lake





We had such a good time in late September at Look Rock watching for hawks, the Ijams Birding & Breakfast Club is meeting again, Saturday, December 13. This time we're going to Cove Lake to search for wintering ducks, coots and grebes. Oh my! Ijams provides the brunch and spotting scopes. You bring your cameras and binoculars. 

Fee: Ijams members, $15, non-members $20. Visit Ijams website for details or call (865) 577-4717, ext. 110 to sign up. 

Group photo by Jimmy Tucker.