Oh, deer

Ground Squirrels: Four down, one to go.

Bunny, with fluffy white tail: Still outstanding.

Now the question remains, what am I going to do with the buck I saw early this morning when I checked the (live) trap next to the wood pile?

-Bitter

Humming Bird, rescue

We attempted a daring rescue of a baby hummingbird this morning. Happily we got one baby back into the nest, and the mom & dad came back to feed it. Unfortunately, one of the babies died before we noticed. :(

Photos tomorrow.

Oh, and the ground squirrels multiplied into a family of ground squirrels. Which are now living in the wood pile next to the garden.

In the past 24 hours they've eaten all of the leaves and flowers off of all three of my eggplants. Are continuing to eating the leaves off the tomato plants, corn, and are starting in on my parsley and basil.

So far, they don't like the pepper plants, cilantro, or strawberries.

I'm contemplating drop spots. And am planning to break out the 'ol wire cage trap.

-Bitter

Bicyclists, in the morning

I woke up this morning to the sounds of whooping and hollering. Repeatedly. As I slept through it, with the occasional wake-up, I kept wondering what was going on.

I finally dragged myself out of bed, pulled the window open and shoved my head outside. It appears there is a race of sorts going on today. The 2008 Bike MS NYC. Looks like they've raised $1.99M so far. Not too shabby if you ask me.

For the past half hour as I've breathed in the fresh and clean (not normal, looks like it rained earlier) NYC air and watched young cyclists and old, heavy and skinny, roadies and mountain bikers pedal past my fourth story window I've thought to myself, hmmmmmmmmm, maybe next year I'll join them.

Of course that means that I'll actually have to ride my bike over the course of the coming year so my rear end doesn't hate me for the next decade.

-Bitter

Leaf Angels, in central park

Two weeks ago while I was out shooting a portrait session in Central Park for another photographer, I caught this image.



Fall leaves lay thick upon the grass as far as the eye could see. They beaconed to be played in, and this gentleman blissfully answered the call.

I turned around just in time to see him plop down onto the ground and proceed to move his arms and legs back and forth with a bagel and coffee clutched in his left hand. It was just like little kids playing in the snow, sans coffee of course.

He was ecstatic, his coffee didn't spill, and I was happy to get the shot.

Fall is my favorite time of year.

-Bitter

Skiing, at age two-and-three-quarters

I've been tagged by Kitty over at NY Portraits, and instead of doing the meme, this time I'll post a picture from my childhood. :)

This is my family when I was little. Yes, that's me in the green.

Yes, I started skiing when I was just a few months shy of my third birthday.



Here's the original



I have fond memories of piling into the family car with my dad and sisters, heading up the mountain to hit the slopes, with Neil Diamond's "Coming to America" blasting from the car stereo. We lived on the benches of the Wasatch Mountains and were just 15-20 minutes away from a handful of major ski resorts. Solitude, Alta, and Snowbird. Needless to say, we went skiing often. We learned the basics on the bunny hill at Snowbird, then graduated to the more difficult runs dotted up and down Little Cottonwood Canyon.

While in elementary school we mostly haunted the slopes at Solitude. They were closest and the least expensive of the resorts up the canyon. I have many fond memories going through the tree runs off to the side of Sesame Street (one of their most popular green runs).

I once got stuck under a gigantic pine tree after spectacularly crashing while skiing through the Sesame Street tree runs. I landed with a thwack against the snowy ground then slid down toward a tree trunk. My body slanting down, head toward the trunk, with skis up toward the trail, I wasn't injured, but was stuck. Immobolized, I thought I was going to die a cold and lonely death before anyone ever found me (most likely during the spring thaw). I cried for what seemed like hours, and no one answered my pleas for help.

Here' a fine work of art that I labored over for hours, that might help you visualize my predicament.

After realizing neither my sisters nor some good Samaritan was going to save me, and that I probably wasn't going to die right away, I managed to pull myself out from the pit and skied on to find my sisters waiting at the end of the run. They weren't too concerned about my near brush with death, and so after a few brief moments of making sure I wasn't bleeding anywhere, we were off to the next run.

As I grew older, we frequented Alta (my favorite, challenging trails and no snow boarders) and Park City Mountain Resort.

Things I love about skiing: the crunch of snow beneath your boots or skis, crisp air, brisk breezes; the smell of grilled hamburgers and fries as you ski past the restaurants perched half-way up the mountain; the wind as it rushes past your face as you fly down the mountain and the rushing sound that fills your ears; the solitude and pervasive peace that claims you as you carve your way down a wide slope or narrow cat track, and how silence presses in when there are not many people on the slopes; the feeling of freedom; the fun camaraderie of friends and family as you try new tricks or trails; the accomplishment I feel when I'm practicing proper technique; or the happiness I feel when I get over my jitteryness from the first run of the season and finally feel comfortable flying down the slopes, knees bending, snow shushing, and muscle memory returning.

But before I get carried away, let me say that I'm a scaredie cat (spelling?) at heart, that I'd rather take a nice blue run over a couple of black diamonds any day. That I almost passed out (complete with tunnel vision, dizziness, and tears) while peering off a drop-off in a snow storm so bad you couldn't see 15 feet in front of you. What did I do? Why I sat down and scooted my way half-way down the hill on my rear-end (much to the chagrin of my brother who won't ever let me live that moment down). You see, I ruined the fresh powder for all those who came after me...

So there you have it, me and the slopes. Fond memories and good times, too bad childhood doesn't last forever.

Do you ski?

-Bitter

Friday Photos, the hike up to the cloisters

This set of Friday Photos is brought to you from The Hike, straight up the hill, to The Cloisters through Fort Tryon Park.

The Beginning.



The First Set of Stairs.



The Stairs Begin to Curve.




The Spot Where You Stop and Pretend to Admire the View, as Your Heart Jumps Around in Your Chest.



Oh Good, One Last Set of Stairs Until it's Over.
Editor's note: If you double click on the photo then open the original size, at the top of the stairs to the left near the lamp post, you'll see a perfect stone for sitting. Not that one needs a place to sit for a while, I'm just mentioning another spot to admire the view.



Unfortunately, When You Get to the Top of the Stairs, You See This.



Fortunately, It is the Last Set. Once More, Here's the View from Above.



And Why Would Anyone in Their Right Mind Climb these Stairs? Why to See The Cloisters.



And then Suddenly it Turned to Night, so I Snapped a Shot of That Too.



Question: Is there a way to see The Cloisters without climbing the stairs?
Answer: Yes, but it is the wimpy way. Take the A train to 181st Street, take the elevator up to the top of the hill, detour around the panhandler asking for $$, then walk through the park 15 minutes to The Cloisters.

Question: Isn't there something that can get me closer?
Anser: Yes, a cab..................Well, actually, there is a bus, but you're on your own figuring out which one.

............Okay, okay, I'll play nice. Use THIS, to help find your way. There. Are you happy now?

-Bitter