|As far as I can discover, this is an unamed creek that eventually flows into Bermudian Creek|
Their call is one of my favorites, right up there with the admittedly more melodic song of the wood thrush. The pewee is the earliest and latest song I hear each day. Its first call of the day typically starts around 4:30 a.m., when even the barest hint of dawn is still a good 45 minutes away. I’ve heard the call after 9:30 p.m., long after the last hint of paleness in the sky is gone. But like the wood thrush, the pewee’s call almost echoes through the woods. Somehow that tiny little bird fills the entire forest with its long drawn out peeee-a-weeeee.
Another kind of bird has also arrived at my cabin, too—a two-year old Rhode Island red rooster. A fox took another of my hens, almost literally right from under my nose during broad daylight. The girls were outside running around the cabin while I was moving their pen. I went inside for a pair of scissors, and suddenly one was taken. It happened so quickly the fox must have been watching while I was outside. So now I’ve acquired a “protector” for the girls. If he does his job as roosters are supposed to do, I’m hoping that will be the last hen I lose to Ms. Fox. So far, the girls are not amused. And I’m not sure I’m ready for the 4:45 a.m. wake-up call he so thoughtfully provided this morning.