A Mouthful...

Dear Diary,

The Purple Finches are becoming more and more present at the feeder. This male simply sat and ate...and ate...and ate!  He didn't grab a seed and fly away like the Chickadees do.  Why waste the energy when you can belly up to the hole and snack away!  He looks a bit quizzical in this shot, as if he has bitten off more than he can chew but he polished the sunflower seed off easily.

We had a small ice storm yesterday so I spent the day working on the family chronicle, printing off pages.  This morning the sun is shining.  Such a welcome sight after days of gray.  I will drive into Portland to attend a lecture on Pilgrim burial practices in the 17th century.  It is hosted by Spirits Alive, the group who oversees the care of the Eastern Cemetery where some of my ancestors are buried.

So, as the landscape prepares to be reborn and we prepare for the celebration of Easter, I will see how my 17th century ancestors dealt with the ever present possibility of death.  It is part of my journey of understanding of those who came before me and whose world use to seem so alien to me.  Over the past three years I have come to feel right at home in the past and I can easily step in and out of it.

In different hours, a man represents each of several of his ancestors, as if there were seven or eight of us rolled up in each man’s skin,—seven or eight ancestors at least, and they constitute the variety of notes for that new piece of music which his life is.  - Ralph Waldo Emerson