Blanchard Springs

My wife was attending a three-day dulcimer workshop in Mountain View, and I went along to sightsee in the area while she was busy. On Friday, I drove to Blanchard Springs (then owned and operated by the U.S. Forest Service but since transitioning to an Arkansas State Park). This wasn’t my first visit, but it had been a long time. I wandered around by the spring and picnic area, then headed over to the caverns and reserved my place on a cave tour. I had enough time to bird a nearby trail through the woods.

The caverns are large and impressive, about as open for long views as any I’ve seen and with lots of amazing formations.

The park wasn’t around when Club 52 was organized, so there’s no passport from here — not yet anyway. The state is making some changes that are scheduled to be completed in 2028. I’ll have to visit again.

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Bluegrass Music in Mountain View

My wife signed up for a dulcimer festival in Mountain View, and I tagged along. The city is known for bluegrass music, and it’s not hard to find. On Saturday, I sat in on a jam session at Ozark Folk Center.

And that evening, I attended a Dulcimer Festival concert at the Ozark Highlands Theater.

On Sunday evening, I wandered around town and found a concert on the courthouse lawn.

There was a group jamming in Pickin’ Park.

And yet another on the front porch of our bed and breakfast.

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Bird #598 – Couch’s Kingbird

tyrannus couchii

Clark County, Arkansas – Alcoa Bottoms – Hasley Road

Tuesday, April 25, 2023 – 7:55 am

This bird was discovered near Arkadelphia last week but not entered on eBird until yesterday. I was birding in Little Rock when the email came through yesterday. It would have taken me less than an hour to dash down and see it in the beautiful afternoon weather. But like a moron, I mistook Arkadelphia for Texarkana, which is considerably further away, and I mistook Couch’s Kingbird for Cassin’s Kingbird, which I’ve seen several times in Arizona and Colorado. So I didn’t go. It wasn’t until I got home and my brain kicked in that I realized Couch’s would be a lifer — and one that was fairly easy to get to.

I got up at 5:30 on Tuesday and headed south in the dark. It was an overcast day with rain in the forecast. I arrived at the reported location around 7:45. If this had been Illinois or Colorado, there would have been a clump of birders there already, either looking at the kingbird or looking for it. But this is Arkansas, and there was nobody around.

The reports said the bird was seen north of the bridge on Hasley Road, but the coordinates that were given were south of the bridge. (I later realized there were two bridges and the bird was located between them.) I started walking the wrong way, but soon decided to trust the coordinates and turned around. I spotted the bird almost immediately. It was about 80 yards away, perched on a roadside wire next to a dense thicket of small trees. (You can see the bird as a dot in the upper left of the photo, although when I first saw it, it was down further, close to the pole.)

It was so gloomy that the bird was just a silhouette against the sky. I could see that it had the basic shape of a kingbird and that its belly was yellow, but that’s all. Before I could get any closer, it flew off over the trees. I walked slowly down the road in that direction. After perhaps five minutes, I heard four or five sharp “cheeps” from the thicket. A few seconds later, the kingbird flew out of the thicket at about head height and landed on the wire (where it is in the photo above). It had a large insect in its bill. It proceeded to beat the insect repeatedly against the wire, until, I imagine, it was dead. The bird then spent about a minute positioning the insect for swallowing, including throwing it up in the air and catching it a couple times.

After the meal was over, the kingbird stayed in the same spot for another couple minutes. It was looking about alertly as though searching for more insects. I took a few steps closer, and it flew off and landed in a snag at the top of a tree on the other side of the road.

I later realized I’d had my camera on the wrong setting, which is why (coupled with the gray conditions) the pictures are so bad. By the time I figured this out, it was raining too hard to get better shots.

The bird flew off to the south, and I walked back and forth along the road to see what else there was to see. A road grader came along, and the driver stopped and asked me “Have you seen it today?” I established that he was talking about the kingbird and told him I had. I answered some questions about it and told him where it’s normal range is. He said “The world is changing,” and proceeded to explain that the bird was here because of global warming. I didn’t bother arguing with him.

It began raining, so I returned to my car and drove further down the road. When I drove back through the same stretch, the kingbird was back on the wire, south of the pole this time. It was raining hard and I couldn’t see anything but a shape. As I passed, it flew off over the thicket, and I headed for home.

The Couch’s Kingbird is native to Mexico. It summers in south Texas, but is rare this far north. So far as I can tell from eBird, this is only the second one ever found in the state. It looks almost identical to the Tropical Kingbird (which I saw near Pine Bluff — also a rarity — in December, 2020, and down in Arizona in 2022), but the calls of the two birds are very different. I heard the Couch’s call four or five times in the thicket before it emerged with the insect, so I don’t have to rely on the testimony of others for confirmation.

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Highlights from Recent Reading

There is a time in every man’s education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself, for better or for worse, as his portion; that through the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given him to till.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, from A Third Treasury of the Familiar, ed. Ralph L. Woods

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One of the things we have to be thankful for is that we don’t get as much government as we pay for.

C.H. Kettering, from A Third Treasury of the Familiar, ed. Ralph L. Woods

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[In his farewell address, George Washington said,] “The name of American, which belongs to you in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism more than any appellation derived from local discriminations. With slight shades of difference, you have the same religion, manners, habits, and political principals.” In other words, if this country of different states was going to stay together, people needed to focus on what they had in common, not their differences. “There will always be,” he said, “reason to distrust the patriotism of those who in any quarter may endeavor to weaken [the Union’s] bands.

What worried Washington more than anything else was what might happen if a president’s chief priority was to divide rather than unite the American people: “It serves always to distract the public councils and enfeeble the public administration. It agitates the community with ill-founded jealousies and false alarms, kindles the animosity of one part against another, foments occasional riot and insurrection. It opens the door to foreign influence and corruption, which finds a facilitated access to the government itself through the channels of party passions. Thus the policy and will of one country are subjected to the policy and will of another.”

from Travels with George: In Search of Washington and His Legacy, by Nathaniel Philbrick

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Once in Paris I consented to pose for a young man who called himself an abstractionist or a sur-realiste, or possibly it was an abolitionist. … For five afternoons I sat for him. One might have surmised that he was executing a photographic miniature in which every hair is depicted, so exacting was he, demanding that I stay still as marble and studying me with a piercing scrutiny while he refused to let me see the canvas until it was completed. When he finally bade me look, I was considerably taken aback to confront a picture of a purple chick coop resplendent under a yellow crescent moon. I apparently gasped, for the young man asked me if I could fail to understand it. To my feeble reply that I didn’t realize I looked quite like that he explained, with contempt, that it was a portrait of my soul. Which led me to conjecture what a curious-looking place Heaven was going to be.

from Excuse It, Please! by Cornelia Otis Skinner

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The modes or presentation that work best for TV — stuff like “action,” with shoot-outs and car wrecks, or the rapid-fire “collage” of commercials, news, and music videos, or the “hysteria” of prime-time soap and sitcom with broad gestures, high voices, too much laughter — are unsubtle in their whispers that, somewhere, life is quicker, denser, more interesting, more … well, lively than contemporary life as Joe Briefcase knows it. This might seem benign until we consider that what good old average Joe Briefcase does more than almost anything else in contemporary life is watch television, an activity which anyone with an average brain can see does not make for a very dense and lively life. Since television must seek to attract viewers by offering a dreamy promise of escape from daily life, and since stats confirm that so grossly much of ordinary U.S. life is watching TV, TV’s whispered promises must somehow undercut television-watching in theory (“Joe, Joe, there’s a world where life is lively, where nobody spends six hours a day unwinding before a piece of furniture”) while reinforcing television-watching in practice (“Joe, Joe, your best and only access to this world is TV”).

from the essay E Unibus Pluram in the book A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, by David Foster Wallace.

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One might supposed that with cultural influence so thick in the [newspaper] local room all copy would have been free from error, every edition a masterpiece of clear, classic English and typographic excellence. But, alas, it wasn’t. That was why the style sheet decreed that no reporter, rewrite man or copyreader should ever refer to a ship as a “she.” Whatever a ship might be elsewhere she was “it” in Mr. Eastman’s paper. And the reason, yellow and crumbling, was pasted on the bulletin board where all might see … a paragraph out of a society column that in hasty make-up had become mixed with a piece of shipping news:

“Mrs. Henry Garland of the Chicago Beach Hotel writes that she has had a pleasant summer visiting friends in the East. She went first to Bar Harbor, thence to Kennebunkport, Maine. — “After encountering heavy weather off the Virginia capes she put into Hampton Roads to have her bottom scraped.”

from Such Interesting People, by Robert J. Casey

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[Instructions from a newspaper editor to his staff about a minor story] “Not much on this,” he ordered. “Give me half a paragraph.”

from Such Interesting People, by Robert J. Casey

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Once the pundits decided that no story in the Examiner should begin with A, An, or The. And shortly after the promulgation of the rule Mr. Avery was called upon to write a piece about the finding of the body of an unidentified woman in the river. That did not bother Mr. Avery.

“Hello everybody,” he wrote. “Take a look at this! The body of an unidentified woman … etc.” That got into type, and the rule was changed the next day.

from Such Interesting People, by Robert J. Casey

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We always had an information clerk, principally to keep cranks from wandering into the local room. But we never had one that functioned. One of them stopped me every morning for two weeks asking me my business. I would always ask to see myself. He’d go to get me and I’d follow him into the room. It puzzled me not only that he should have failed to recognize me after repeated experiences but that he should have failed to recognize the pattern of the gag.

from Such Interesting People, by Robert J. Casey

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My mother would say, “You know, if you make one wall of a room a mirror people think you have an entire other room.” …

My parakeet would fall for this. I would let him out of his cage. He would fly around and he would go “BANG” right into the mirror. …

Even if he thinks the mirror is another room, why doesn’t he at least try and avoid hitting the OTHER parakeet?

from Is This Anything?, by Jerry Seinfeld

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We go to the beach, go in the water, put your wallet in the sneaker.

Who’s going to know? What criminal mind could penetrate this Fortress of Security?

“I put it down by the toe. They  never look there. They check the heels, they move on.”

from Is This Anything?, by Jerry Seinfeld

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Some products are really very candid about their nutritional quality. Certainly those Oscar Mayer cold cuts labeled simply “Luncheon Meat” fall into this category.

Here you have a product where it seems even the manufacturer is not quite sure what it is.

All they’re telling you is “It’s some kind of meat and you should eat it … around noon.”

from Is This Anything?, by Jerry Seinfeld

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It’s hard to imagine being the head of a household when my life at this point consists mostly of wandering around my apartment, kicking underwear up in the air and trying to catch it.

from Is This Anything?, by Jerry Seinfeld

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I saw a study that said, the number one fear of the average person is public speaking. Number two is death.

Death is number two! How in the world is that?

That means to most people, if you have to go to a funeral, you would rather be in the casket than doing the eulogy.

from Is This Anything?, by Jerry Seinfeld

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There is a certain critical line of sports enthusiasm where it can get a little uncomfortable … Where people start to act like they are in the game. They say things like, “We won! We won!”

“No, they won. You watched. Just calm down. I saw the whole game. You did not play. It’s one of the main reasons they won.”

from Is This Anything?, by Jerry Seinfeld

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Players go to different teams. Teams move from city to city. The uniform is the only constant. … We just want our clothes to beat the clothes from the other city.

We’re rooting for laundry.

That’s really all sports is. If a player leaves your team, then comes back and plays against your team? The hostility. “Booo … Different shirt.” Exact same human being. “I hate this guy. He’s in a different shirt.”

from Is This Anything?, by Jerry Seinfeld

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Went to the track to see some horse racing. …

Do the horses even know that its a race? … I mean, I’m sure the horses have some idea of what’s going on. They probably know that, “This guy on my back is in a huge hurry.” …

But the horse must get to the end and go, (out of breath) “We were just here! What was the point of that? This is where we were. That was the longest possible route you could take to get where you wanted to be. Why didn’t we just stay here?

We would have been first …”

from Is This Anything?, by Jerry Seinfeld

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The tattoo trend seems like the last gasp of a dying culture, doesn’t it?

So bored now, we’re just doodling on ourselves.

from Is This Anything?, by Jerry Seinfeld

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A lot of wives complain that their husbands do not listen …

I’ve never heard my wife say this … she may have …

I don’t know.

from Is This Anything?, by Jerry Seinfeld

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Wye Mountain Daffodil Festival

During our first spring after moving to Conway, the back way home from the church we attended took us through the community of Wye. The Wye Mountain Community Church hosts an annual daffodil festival in a seven-acre field next to the church building. Back in the 1920’s, a church family planted flowers here to sell in Little Rock. Not long after that, the festival began. The church sells bulbs as a fundraiser.

Stopping mid-day on a Sunday was not a smart move. The narrow road over the mountain was lined with cars for at least half a mile. We found a spot sandwiched between the road and a ditch and walked, dodging traffic, to the church. There were a handful of food trucks and other vendors, and a big field full of daffodils. And people. We walked out into the field and looked around for a couple minutes, then made the long walk back to the car.

I think our impression of the whole thing can best be displayed by the fact that we live a half hour from the place and haven’t been back. I’m not a big fan of daffodils anyway.

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