Cuchi Time: Turkeys at Dusk

I've been waiting for weeks -- weeks! -- for the opportunity to photograph these local wild turkeys. I first heard about them in early July, when my visiting parents saw them walking up my street one morning. A couple of weeks later, Roscoe and I ran into them two blocks from the house on a walk around the neighborhood. It was creepy yet fascinating: when I first saw them, I thought they were plastic yard statues. Even though there were twenty of them. TWENTY. I stood staring for a couple of minutes before my neighbor cracked open her front door to warn me that yes, they were real, and, yes, they moved in unison like horrible feathered dinosaurs. Since then, I've occasionally glimpsed their ghostly, weird turkey silhouettes slowly passing just beyond the front yard fence, but never had enough time to grab the camera. 

Over the weekend, I finally had the opportunity to take some photos when they flew onto our roof and invaded our yard. Flew onto our roof and invaded our yard.

A few caveats:

These photos don't do the turkeys justice. One: they look a lot smaller than they really are. The males were pretty humongous, at least twenty pounds, the hens only a little smaller. Two: they blend in with the scenery all too well (I guess that's the point). Three: there were so many of them, it was impossible to capture them all in the same photograph frame.

Would you have noticed the two turkeys in the oak tree over the studio if I hadn't pointed them out?
I don't think I would have. 

Having these wild turkeys flock in the yard was simultaneously awesome -- cuchi! -- and actually kind of scary. We kept Roscoe inside the house as a precautionary measure, and tried to wait them out. They spent a good hour making their rounds through the front yard, scratching and pecking in the lawn and garden beds. I eventually started to get worried that they'd completely rip up the garden and stood at the front door clapping and yelling at them until they moseyed on over to the fence and flew over it.

I see nine turkeys in this photo. There were at least five more on the other side of the hammock.
(I took this photo through my bedroom window because I'm a SCAREDY CAT)

I would be lying if I said that were the only thing I was worried about. They made me nervous, duh. Don't laugh! If they were a hoard of raccoons or skunks, anyone would have freaked. Just because they're poultry doesn't mean they aren't a threat, especially in large numbers. Have you heard of the horrible Martha's Vineyard Tom Turkey case?* Don't you remember The Birds? (I'm only a little bit joking here) These two avian horror stories spliced and bounced around in my brain the entire time they were creepily pecking and scratching away in my yard. I was relieved that I didn't have to actually chase them out of the yard, though now I have to worry about whether or not my neighbors are feeding them -- one more thing to be a crazy old lady about!

Tippi Hedren in Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds (1963)

***
* The This American Life episode on which I originally heard the story, "Poultry Slam 2011", is fantastic and funny. Listen to it here.

Cuchi Time: Campus Fauna

After sending a final email, turning off my laptop and packing up my things, I stepped out of my office door late Friday afternoon to see this: 

Two Bambis, ambling along.

You know, just some deer roaming around the university footpaths, nibbling on the lawn and landscaping. They generally come out to feed in the early mornings and later in the afternoons.

People are surprised when I tell them that I teach at a campus with half-domesticated deer roaming around. I tell them that they're our version of the pigeon. Only bigger. More dangerous. More on that later.

New students, particularly, are delighted to see the deer when they first come to campus. "How cute!" they say! "They're adorable!" they insist!

Doe and fawn. "Super cuchi!!!!" yell my students.

My students think I'm a super weirdo when I first share my disdain for the campus deer population. But, in time, they grow to understand.

The deer are just everywhere. And lots of them. And they aren't scared of humans, so they just wander in and out of foot paths and -- worse -- bike paths and roads. This doe below had just waltzed out into the road in front of my moving vehicle before I stopped to take her photo. Here she is, grazing along the side of the road as my car idles alongside her. Could. Not. Care. Less.

Much like pigeons, deer are a lot mangier and not quite so Bambi-adorable up close.

I know I sound like a crazy old person, but I think that the deer population on campus is a major liability -- not only do they cause bike and automobile accidents -- and the bike accidents are particularly devastating -- but they attract large predators as well. I've seen a handful of mountain lions on campus over the years (I don't have any photographs, but that probably has to do with the fact that I was too busy pooping myself each and every time), all drawn to "lower" campus in search of an easy snack. And have I even told you about how aggressive and scary young bucks can be? Especially during mating season? Scary, scary, scary.

Magical 7pm light cutting across the great meadow. 

The photos above and below, of young bucks grazing in the great meadow, were taken from super far away, using my camera's zoomiest digital zoom.

Yes, they're beautiful. I can't deny that.

Yes, magic.

I just wish that they weren't such a nuisance.

Grumble, grumble.

At least the cattle that are brought to campus to graze every summer and fall are fenced in.

Quintessential campus view. Those familiar with the UC Santa Cruz campus will
immediately recognize this view across the Monterey Bay. 

FYI: The photos of these multitudes of deer (and the final photo of the cattle ) were all taken in the span of 15 minutes late in the afternoon, Friday, July 20. Fifteen minutes!!!

I was lucky enough to leave before dusk and not run into any marauding raccoons (our version of the gutter rat?), by the way. I won't even get into the raccoons...

Cuchi Time: Tiniest Spinner

The prettiest, finest, little spider webs have been popping up all around the yard this week. They're so fine, in fact, that I often don't notice them until I'm about to disrupt them somehow -- in the case of the so-fine-its-invisible-to-the-camera web in the above photo, I didn't see it until I was about to walk right through it. Good thing it's teeny tiny maker was there to catch my eye. 

I generally think that spiders are pretty horrible, but this micro-specimen seems harmless enough. It's made itself a pretty web, is staying outside, is too small to be scary... not much more I can ask for. Do your thing, sir. 

Let's see what else is going on in the garden:

 My one Lily of the Nile is about to flower, which is exciting. 

Even better, the spindly little peach tree in the front yard -- that was pretty sickly when we first moved in two years ago -- is gracing us with a mega-load of peaches this year. This is all thanks to my dad, I'm sure. He's like a fruit tree wizard; his pruning skills are magic. Whatever he prunes is super happy through the next year. The tree is so prolific, in fact, that I'm a little worried that all this extra weight is going to snap a limb or two.

The peaches are almost ripe enough to pick from the tree. Maybe in a couple of days. I'm being especially vigilant because I know that the blue jays (my arch nemesi) and squirrels (disgruntled tree nesters) have their eyes on them too. Last year, they got to the one peach the tree produced and I was dismayed. NOT THIS SUMMER, YARD DWELLERS. 

Cuchi Time: Little Stinker

What should I spy with my little eye in the backyard this morning? 

A skunk baby. 

An adorable little skunk baby, sniffing around my backyard. Look at how super cuchi that little guy is. I couldn't get a clear shot because it was raining and I was simultaneously trying to photograph it from far away,* using my camera's digital zoom, and keep the dog Mr. Coe from seeing it and barking and spooking it.

It's a case of the cuchi tinged with the bittersweet though: where there's a skunk baby there's a skunk mama, and that's the last thing we need around here.** I'm going to have to throw a handful of mothballs under the deck and the shed at the bottom of the driveway (the last places skunks have tried nesting in). The babies are adorable, but I'd rather they be raised in somebody else's yard. 

* Skunks, apparently, are not born with stinking capabilities, but I wasn't about to take any chances. 

** It took over a month for the smell of burning rubber and household electronics to dissipate from Mr. Coe's coat after the great skunking of the winter of 2010. We tried the tomato juice, the vinegar, and even the expensive Nature's Miracle, nothing stopped Roscoe from smelling like a chemical-ly garbage can.

Cuchi Time: Bandid@s!

I went scrounging around in my bandana collection for neckwear to dress up Roscoe and BFF Leila with and almost died of cuchi overload once I wrangled them into these. Here they are in my two favorite bandanas from the good old hippie days. CUCHI EXPLOSION.

If you could follow their laser-like gaze off to the upper left-hand corner of the photograph, you would see my hand waving a Thinkers dog snack stick. PURE GOLD. I bought a bag at the Mountain Feed & Farm a couple of days ago and the dogs are obsessed. Made with whole foods, minimally processed, and made in the USA, and I think that's great. Auntie Arantxa brings the best treats, duh.