All in Good Time

What can I say? It's summer in Alaska, and I've been busy both photographing birds, animals, and wildflowers, as well as engaging in my usual practice of picking up litter for 40 miles along the Seward highway. 

Over the next few days, I'll post a few photos along with some explanations. Short and quick because I have to get out on the road. The vegetation is way ahead of me.

First off, the Tern Lake trumpeter swans hatched six cygnets and then took them into seclusion on the far side of the lake.   This is their usual behavior.

The American Dippers, formerly called water ouzels, which is a much cooler name, had three eggs hatch.

So many mouths to feed!

Sometimes the parents weren't fast enough with the grub, so the fledgling foraged on its own.

The Common Loons appear to have one chick.   It 's riding on an adult's back.   They were way too far away for my lens.

This photo needs an explanation.   One parent is behind the loon carrying the chick, and feeding it.   All you can see is the adult's head.

The two photos below show one red-necked grebe parent leaving the nest and the other ready to take its turn incubating what appear to be four eggs.   This is the second nest the red-necked grebes made this season.   

The first nest they made did not yield any chicks.   The reason could be many--something like a gull, eagle, or otter got the eggs.   The eggs may not have been fertile.  Anything.

They promptly built another nest some distance away and, by my reckoning, are close to the 23-day incubation period.   I hope to watch baby grebes soon.

What these greater and lesser scaup are up to is anyone's guess.   Hoping to see their chicks as I consider them the cutest baby ducks of all.

Hanging out with the scaup was a pair of ring-neck ducks.

Note the white markings on their bills.

As for litter, I am currently working in Turnagain Pass, having walked--little by little-- the 30 miles from home.   My current count of bags filled with litter is around 200.

And off I go.

National American Bald Eagle Day

 In honor of  National American Bald Eagle Day, here are some photos of our national bird.   All these photos, except for a couple,  were taken within two miles of my home.

Four sub-adult eagles on a single branch.

Juvenile eagle on a tussock

This one looks like a fledgling

Too far away and highly cropped, but I still like the look.

Bronzed eagle with frost.

Note the eagle's breath.

Eagle in winter,

These eagles were bathing in a marsh near Portage.

Facing off over a slmon scrap.

Fighting for the salmon.

Eagle in flight.   Note the eye between the wing feathers.

Eagle at sunset.  Photo taken from a kayak.

Full Throttle Day

Today was totally crazy!!! It's like my throttle was stuck wide open and I was in danger of being over sped.

I stayed up too late reading and slept WAY too late. I felt awful--noises in my ears, headache, shaky. Then just before I forced myself to go pick up litter, a surprising nosebleed!

I cleaned up litter along 0.4 miles, the most distance I've been able to go post-op. I could have done more but the "scattered rain showers" chose my location to scatter upon.

Came back and spied on the waterfowl at Tern Lake for a while.

At home, I did some minor maintenance on the lawn tractor, and "shaved" two lawns to get the dead grass, leaves, etc. picked up. This involved several trips to the place where I dump lawn clippings and emptying the two baskets, which I didn't think I'd be able to lift, but did.

Finished raking up the bark from firewood in the carport.

Then, fixed myself two eggs over medium on Jewish rye toast. First time post-op I've been able to swallow either.

And I'd still be out there if the batteries on the string trimmer and leaf blower didn't need charging. I don't know where all this energy suddenly came from!

Visiting the Water Ouzel Nursery

 Little gray/brown birds that live along creeks and walk underwater were once called Water Ouszels, but are now called American Dippers.

You can find these birds, legs sheathed in ice, even in the coldest of winters, plunging into the water to search of edibles.

They are my favorite Alaskan bird, by far, even beyond my adoration for warblers and kinglets.

I recently decided to visit a nearby creek when I know the dippers have a nest.    

Sure enough, the adults were busy bringing beaks full of food for their three hatchlings.

Nondescript and hard to find unless they are moving, the dippers bring insects and a tiny fish to the nest.

Dippers don't care if humans are there.   This one was foraging within a foot of my feet as I sat on the creek bank about eight feet from its nest.

Then, up to the nest it went and three huge mouths opened to receive the bounty.

\

Notice all the moss in the nest.   That was put there this year.

I leave you with this sight.   

Here we are, not even the middle of May and the hatchlings are already growing feathers.

Alder-Bashing for Litter

“Did you plan that rest?” asked Mary Mcdonald when she saw me sitting down in a thicket of alder branches.

“Not exactly,” I responded.   Apparently, she hadn’t seen the other three times the alders tripped me and put me to the ground.

Alders are wicked.  Huge branches grow outward and upward in a circle from a central root and they intertwine with their close neighboring alders. They are devilishly designed to foil the most agile human trying to climb through them in search of yet another beer can or diaper.   

Just a small part of the mess.

When Mary volunteered to help me clean up litter along the Seward Highway several years ago, I immediately declared myself aged out of alder bashing and assigned her the pullouts where alders grew.   She’s 20 years younger.

We give these pullouts a thorough cleaning every spring, all the way to the bottom of their slopes.   After the alders leaf out, we don’t go into them because we wouldn’t be able to see any bears attracted to the garbage.

Yesterday, after Mary cleaned up litter in the Mile 40 area of the Seward Highway, she joined me at Mile 50.5 pullout to clean up a gigantic litter mess.   It’s the first time we worked together, as we usually take different areas.

Mary took the alders growing on the downslope.   That slope goes down 50 to 60 feet.   I cleaned up the paved parking area and the horizontal areas beyond the guard rail.  

Then, I ventured down the slope, and, because one beer can leads to another beer can, I soon found myself in the damned alders where I took the unplanned rests on the ground.  These are not falls, but a slow sinking to the ground when footing failed and branches don’t hold me as I’d hoped.

The verticle trees are cottonwoods, and the crazy tangled branches are alders.

More than six woman-hours were put into the effort and when done, we had filled nine litter bags.   The main part of the litter was a number of burst-open garbage bags that once contained numerous diapers, wipes, and tampons.  Some of the empty bags were hanging from the alder trees.   And the diapers were heavy after being exposed to wet weather.

I have no idea why this pile of road sand is here.   It had litter mixed in it, and the center is still frozen.

Mary found four pizza boxes and I found another.   There was the usual assortment of beverage cans and bottles, assorted wrappers and papers.   I even found a cat bed.  

All cleaned up.

Mary had the biggest find:   a brand-new computer still in its original, unopened packing, along with a surge protector, a printer (I think), and other tech items.   She hauled them uphill out of the maddening alders.  Later, she called the state troopers and reported finding them.  We probably will never know the story behind them.

 

 

 

My Staycation in Anchorage, Part 10, Barnacles and Vitals Thieves

Barnacles and Vitals Thieves

 

And yet another nurse arrives beside my hospital bed and says, “May I take your vitals?”

I reply, “If you girls keep “taking” my vitals, soon I won’t have any left.”   That one took a moment, but she got it.

All my smart-mouth joking serves a purpose.  Not only does it keep me on the bright side, but it also lets me know that everything is okay cognitively.  I continue to monitor myself assiduously for any signs of anesthesia-related cognitive decline.   That was my worst fear about surgery.

Later on, two nurses arrive for checks, and this time they want to see my five laparoscopic incisions.  I pull up my gown and they count the four near my waistline.

When she hesitates after counting four, I say, “The last one is up here near the barnacles.”   I am referring to the brown seborrheic keratosis that dot my torso and back.  They are caused by many factors like age, genetics, and exposure to sun, and are common in the elderly.

 

This time, all three of us started giggling and it took a while before the ladies could continue their exam.   They left smiling.  Score! I said to myself.   

 

Diane arrives with a bouquet of flowers.   They are a replacement for a previous bouquet sent by Diane’s daughter and two sons and were to contain specific flowers with specific meanings.   The daughter was not happy with the first lovely bouquet as it did not contain lavender, which symbolizes purity, silence, devotion, serenity, grace, and calmness. 

First flowers

Neither did the second bouquet—purple stocks.   Nonetheless, it’s the thought that counts and the flowers are lovely. 

Second flowers

Once again, I am wheeled down to the Ultra Sound lab where a tech locates and pinpoints the spot for another tech to drain the pleural effusion around my left lung.   This time, the half-liter of fluid is not milky and is a brighter red.   My “limousine driver” wheels me back up to the third floor and I get back in bed.  

Altogether, they have drained 1.8 liters of fluid from around my lungs.  Picture almost two Nalgene bottles of fluid, or close to four lbs.!

 If all goes well, I can expect to be discharged tomorrow.

Tomorrow arrives.   Another X-ray reveals only a residual amount of fluid around the right lung.  Not enough to worry about as long as I am breathing well.   

As I pack up to leave the hospital, I ask Diane what she thinks about giving the second bouquet to my roommate.   She approves.  We call the woman’s husband and give him the flowers.    He gives them to his wife and she is happy.

He says, “They put my single rose to shame.”

Ah, my.   So often my good intentions have unintended consequences.

Back at the hotel, we are in a new room as we had to change rooms when our original reservation expired.    

I climb into a sofa bed with an array of pillows that prop me semi-upright, per instructions.  

Then, I start to make plans to go home.  It’s now Saturday.  We canceled Diane’s original Friday flight home and rescheduled it for Monday night.  I get in touch with my friend Julie, who lives in an apartment on my property.  She is returning Sunday from vacation and I will get a ride with her.   Diane will have use of the pickup until Monday.  

Neighbors volunteer to go to Anchorage to get my truck and bring it to Moose Pass for me.   All is set and by Sunday late afternoon, a week after first going to Anchorage, I am home.

Then begins the at-home recovery process.  It will be marked by successes and setbacks, but no more hospital visits.

My Staycation in Anchorage, Part 9, "Hello? Grub Hub."

“Hello?   Grub Hub?”

 

Mounted on the wall near the foot of my hospital bed was a medium-sized dry-erase board.  On it was written the date, name of the nurse on duty, the diet I’m allowed (“full liquid”), and at the bottom is the number of the hospital extension where I could order food.  

I was only mildly concerned about my cup of missing meds that a nurse had given me an hour before, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be deprived of them for long and I would need something to help with swallowing them.

I dialed the phone number and someone answered.

“Hello,”   I said.   “Is this Providence Grub Hub?”   (Grub Hub is a business that picks up and delivers take-out food.)

A long silence and then a voice full of laughter said, “Why, it sure is.   Would you like to place an order?”

“Yes, I’ll start with a thick rib eye steak, cooked rare…….  No, scratch that.   I’m on a full liquid diet.   I would like chicken broth and some cranberry juice.”

“You got it.   Forty-five minutes.”  I never again ordered food, but two containers of Ensure arrived three times daily.   The dietician, explained the nurse.

When a nurse came in, I mentioned the missing meds.   “We are bound by rules and can only leave them out for so long,” she explained.   “I’ll get you some new ones. “  

That left me pondering what they did with the meds they confiscated.   Do they dispose of them?   What a waste.

I told her I was sorry I’d not taken them but I was trying to get some sleep while it was quiet, indicated my roommate with a slight nod of my head in that direction.   She replied that she understood and was sorry.  

“No, problem,” I whispered.   “She’s pretty frightened and disoriented.”

Later that afternoon, Diane said she was going to get me some broth.   “Get it from the ER,” I said.  “It’s much better than the broth from the cafeteria.”   That morning broth that I'd ordered was barely lukewarm, and the granules weren’t even dissolved.

Obviously, I didn’t have my wits about me because she returned with a large container of won-ton soup, minus the won-tons, from a Chinese restaurant.  She had me up and walking around the ward and past a pleasant seating area in an atrium.

When I was ready for the Chinese broth, I suggested we go to that seating area.   I got my broth and she had her Chinese take-out and we sat in the atrium area for a nice meal.

On the way back to my room and bed, we passed the nurses’ station and I told them we’d been out to dinner.   I am not sure they understood as the nurse had a momentary look of concern on her face.

Getting out of bed was becoming easier and easier. Though still being careful to not tear any internal stitches,  I seldom needed help.  Once in a while, I’d get myself into a position that required too many abdominal muscles to sit up.   That’s when I asked for help.

Hey, if you can't have a bit of fun in a hospital, well....   Fun is where you find it.