My Back Yard

Squirrels have not made it beyond the Seven-Mile bridge, according to the woman in the Haitian art gallery in Key West.

Sigh, that means the closest I’ll get to squirrels on this vacation is the assortment I bought from the Key West Nut House.

SATURDAY

Airport to Homestead is heavily trafficked and developed. Apartment buildings, pawnships that double as gunshops, used car lots contained by flag-like banners, convenience stores, billboards advertising Spanish-language radio statons and discounts from the Geico gecko. One misplaced egret picks at the grassy median strip, oblivious to the bumper-to-bumper car traffic.

The road changes abrupted after Homestead. Just one lane each way. Low trees on each side of the road, often blocking my view of the water beyond. Slim egrets with their sinuous lines feed in the water. The sun sets low to the right, splashing pink and gold.

Iggy turns off on a dirt road just before the Jewfish Creek drawbridge. We need a drink after driving 2 hours and 20 minutes. We’ve exhausted the frozen water bottles schlepped from Boston in our carry-on luggage.

Now we’re on a broader piece of land. There’s a town here. And Pennekamp Coral Reef. Is this Key Largo? The ambulance heading back toward the mainland has Key Largo emblazoned on its side.

I’ve seen at least three adult video stores on our drive here. Love toys are among their offerings. Does that mean a teddy bear holding a red satin heart?

Click here for access to a free online database of markets for freelance writers.

The folks who offer this database also writer a newsletter for freelancers. It has plenty of ads, but also gives capsule descriptions of some markets and at least one article that isn’t too overtly promotional.

The bison head stared down at me as I sat primly in my folding chair, waiting for the lecture to start. Two antlered deer heads stared at right angles to the bison. Perhaps they were wondering what I was doing as one of only two or three women in a room of 60 men, six pitchers of beer, several open bottles of wine and a seemingly unlimited supply of Finagle a Bagel paper cups.

Part of me wanted to run screaming from the room. Instead I turned to the gentleman sitting one row ahead of me and asked, “Are you a regular here?”

I ended up having nice conversations with several people. I felt proud of myself for sticking it out despite feeling out of place as a woman and as a novice in the very technical subject matter under discussion. The funny thing is, I probably put some of the guys at ease by starting conversations with them.

I am rediscovering poetry under the influence of Jen Rudsit. Click here to download a PDF of her poems in Tertulia magazine

I made it to the gym for two consecutive days. How about that! I have to get in shape for bicycling in the Florida Keys next week.

Iggy thinks I run to extremes. Either exercising every day or not at all.

What’s your exercise preference?

I’m not eating wheat or gluten these days, upon the advice of my voodoo nutritionist.

So what to do with the rye toast that came with my omelette at Johnny’s Luncheonette?

Why, order it dry, of course. Then bring it home to crumble on the patio for our sparrows. I don’t think butter would be good for their arteries. They seemed to enjoy dry toast just fine.

The squirrels were the first to discover the toast, but they sniffed at it, then left. It’s not up to their high standards.

I did more than 3,000 yesterday!

I used a different elliptical machine. Instead of miles, it measures distance in some unspecified unit. It’s probably not miles nor meters. Feet? Steps? Inches?

If any of you use a Precor elliptical machine, perhaps you can tell me their unit of choice.

Read a nice essay today: “Sweet rewards from spring ritual.”

I’ll have to look for more essays by this Patricia Hebert, the author. Her blurb says she’s writing a novel. I’ll bet that’ll be good, too.

Iggy has been away from home for three long weeks, so our “squirrel seed” ran out this past Tuesday.

The seed bags were still buried under snow, so I resorted to re-stocking the squngee with dried corn cobs as quickly as the squirrels could strip the cobs. Sometimes that took two cobs a day, which I took from the three-foot corn bag in our mud room.

(What? Not everyone keeps an industrial-sized supply of corn cobs near their back door?)

I noticed something curious. The squirrels seemed to remove the niblets only to drop them on the ground. Once enough accumulated to attract sparrows, they came to feed on the niblets.

I took a closer look. It seems that the squirrels extract the essential goodness out of the corn, leaving the hull. The sparrows aren’t as picky about nutritional efficiency, so they suck up the squirrels’ leftovers.

Thus, two beasts are fed by one niblet.