More of My Wylde Life -- and My Wildlife
Announcement: From now on, rock-metal guitarist Zakk Wylde will appear in every column I ever write. My mention of him last week got some of his fans so Wyldely excited that they e-mailed me.
I'm extremely pleased about this, even though the notes had a mildly disapproving tone. The writers seem to think that I'm anti-Wylde, or that I was trying to put him down. I certainly didn't intend to do that, but I'll let you be the judge: re-read last week's column (which I know you've already clipped, laminated and hermetically sealed in your officially licensed "Keepsake Binder of Don Stuart Columns") and let me know what you think.
Anyway, from now on, I'm part of pro-Zakk nation. Thanks to him, young, hip readers are getting hooked on my columns, which should lead to thousands more purchases of the officially licensed "Keepsake Binder of Don Stuart Columns," soon to be available in a new design -- the referee's-shirt-meets-archery-target design of Zakk Wylde's guitar!
Now on to this week's subject, one that's sure to totally jazz my new legions of hip, cutting-edge fans: the bluebirds in my backyard! Wait, don't leave! You might miss more wakky Zakk bits!
This spring I'm "landlord" to a pair of bluebirds. This happened completely by accident, and in spite of the fact that, according to all the bluebird research I’ve read, my backyard is hopelessly wrong for attracting bluebirds.
First of all, if you're wondering whether I know a bluebird from a blue whale, let me confess that I've been sort of a bird geek for a long time: I'm a big fan of Sheryl Crow and Robin Williams; my favorite Zakk Wylde song is "Like a Bird"; and I'm the type who's instantly and gloriously transfixed by, say, a great blue heron in flight. This sometimes causes my family to instantly and gloriously lose their lunches. (ME: "Kids! Look at that awesome bird!" THEM: "Dad, dad, DAD! WATCH THE ROAD!!!")
Anyway, let's just say I know my Sialia sialis. (I refer to the scientific name for the Eastern Bluebird, by the way, and NOT to those libido-lifting pills you always see advertised on ESPN. Although I've heard a side effect of those pills is that everything looks blue. Hmmm. "Sialis." "Cialis." Coincidence?)
Bluebirds have had a tough time thriving in modern America over the last several decades, mostly because of competition for housing. Their preferred nesting sites are frequently taken over by greedy opportunists, primarily starlings, sparrows, and Donald Trump's fired apprentices.
The bluebirds in my yard nested in a birdhouse we bought strictly for its rustic looks, never expecting any genuine birds to use them. It's a duplex; there's a birdhouse on each arm of a forked tree branch. Our bluebirds chose the higher house, knowing that the loftier view will command more money at resale.
It's surprising the birds found this house acceptable, considering it sits slightly cockeyed against the fence that barely restrains the barkaholic dogs next door, in a yard that's home to perhaps their worst natural enemy: a flock of wiffle-ball playing grade-school boys.
Beyond that, the birdhouse violates every rule for the appropriate depth/height/width/etc. of a bluebird box. And believe me, there are very precise rules for the appropriate depth/height/width/etc. of a bluebird box. You can find them on the Website of the North American Bluebird Society (NABS).
This Website also provided me an easy way to "personalize" this column. See, NABS has a Speakers Bureau, comprised of bluebird lovers from around the U.S. who are willing to give talks and programs and instructions regarding the appropriate depth-cetera of a bluebird box. And one of these people is Kathleen Krum, a teacher at Lincoln Elementary in Cedar Lake, Ind., which is barely spitting distance from where I grew up!
The Internet reveals that Ms. Krum is an award-winning teacher who often includes the construction of bluebird boxes in her lesson plan. So I dedicate this column to her, and thousands of selfless, caring others - like me! - who have enriched bluebird lives through the erection of Sialis boxes.
To them, I express this wish: "May the Bluebird of Happiness nest in your navel."
I know this sounds like an old Johnny Carson gag, but I could swear I read on the Internet that it's an actual and authentic ancient Buddhist blessing. Either that or lyrics from Zakk Wylde's "Like a Bird."
TakefiveT5@yahoo.com
I'm extremely pleased about this, even though the notes had a mildly disapproving tone. The writers seem to think that I'm anti-Wylde, or that I was trying to put him down. I certainly didn't intend to do that, but I'll let you be the judge: re-read last week's column (which I know you've already clipped, laminated and hermetically sealed in your officially licensed "Keepsake Binder of Don Stuart Columns") and let me know what you think.
Anyway, from now on, I'm part of pro-Zakk nation. Thanks to him, young, hip readers are getting hooked on my columns, which should lead to thousands more purchases of the officially licensed "Keepsake Binder of Don Stuart Columns," soon to be available in a new design -- the referee's-shirt-meets-archery-target design of Zakk Wylde's guitar!
Now on to this week's subject, one that's sure to totally jazz my new legions of hip, cutting-edge fans: the bluebirds in my backyard! Wait, don't leave! You might miss more wakky Zakk bits!
This spring I'm "landlord" to a pair of bluebirds. This happened completely by accident, and in spite of the fact that, according to all the bluebird research I’ve read, my backyard is hopelessly wrong for attracting bluebirds.
First of all, if you're wondering whether I know a bluebird from a blue whale, let me confess that I've been sort of a bird geek for a long time: I'm a big fan of Sheryl Crow and Robin Williams; my favorite Zakk Wylde song is "Like a Bird"; and I'm the type who's instantly and gloriously transfixed by, say, a great blue heron in flight. This sometimes causes my family to instantly and gloriously lose their lunches. (ME: "Kids! Look at that awesome bird!" THEM: "Dad, dad, DAD! WATCH THE ROAD!!!")
Anyway, let's just say I know my Sialia sialis. (I refer to the scientific name for the Eastern Bluebird, by the way, and NOT to those libido-lifting pills you always see advertised on ESPN. Although I've heard a side effect of those pills is that everything looks blue. Hmmm. "Sialis." "Cialis." Coincidence?)
Bluebirds have had a tough time thriving in modern America over the last several decades, mostly because of competition for housing. Their preferred nesting sites are frequently taken over by greedy opportunists, primarily starlings, sparrows, and Donald Trump's fired apprentices.
The bluebirds in my yard nested in a birdhouse we bought strictly for its rustic looks, never expecting any genuine birds to use them. It's a duplex; there's a birdhouse on each arm of a forked tree branch. Our bluebirds chose the higher house, knowing that the loftier view will command more money at resale.
It's surprising the birds found this house acceptable, considering it sits slightly cockeyed against the fence that barely restrains the barkaholic dogs next door, in a yard that's home to perhaps their worst natural enemy: a flock of wiffle-ball playing grade-school boys.
Beyond that, the birdhouse violates every rule for the appropriate depth/height/width/etc. of a bluebird box. And believe me, there are very precise rules for the appropriate depth/height/width/etc. of a bluebird box. You can find them on the Website of the North American Bluebird Society (NABS).
This Website also provided me an easy way to "personalize" this column. See, NABS has a Speakers Bureau, comprised of bluebird lovers from around the U.S. who are willing to give talks and programs and instructions regarding the appropriate depth-cetera of a bluebird box. And one of these people is Kathleen Krum, a teacher at Lincoln Elementary in Cedar Lake, Ind., which is barely spitting distance from where I grew up!
The Internet reveals that Ms. Krum is an award-winning teacher who often includes the construction of bluebird boxes in her lesson plan. So I dedicate this column to her, and thousands of selfless, caring others - like me! - who have enriched bluebird lives through the erection of Sialis boxes.
To them, I express this wish: "May the Bluebird of Happiness nest in your navel."
I know this sounds like an old Johnny Carson gag, but I could swear I read on the Internet that it's an actual and authentic ancient Buddhist blessing. Either that or lyrics from Zakk Wylde's "Like a Bird."
# # #
TakefiveT5@yahoo.com
posted by Don Stuart at 1:03 PM
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