High Tide

H & L picked us up at 11:45 on Saturday; high tide was going to hit Arrowhead Marsh at noon, and we were on the prowl for clapper rails.

More accurately, L, who is a real, accomplished birdwatcher was leading the hunt and knew this would be a good time to see them. I was excited at the prospect of getting a good look at a lurky bird I’d barely seen before. H, a birder by association, was pretty enthusiastic. The Yankee Fan was just along for the ride; I think he would have preferred to finish the newspaper and the Arizmendi olive bread, but as they say, time and tide…
By the time we’d parked and gotten the binocular situation sorted out there was a intense knot of birders out on the little boardwalk that extends into the marsh. These were serious characters with serious equipment who whispered at us, “wanna look down my scope?” The Yankee Fan took advantage of the offer and seemed just as entertained by its vaguely pervy innuendo as by the clapper rails themselves. The birds sat there yawning occasionally, flipping their stubby tails, and generally looking as though they wished the water level would hurry up and recede already so they could get back to lurking in the reeds. After 10 minutes or so I’d seen all the rail I needed to and took off down the path after the Yankee Fan. We stared at one another through out binoculars. He did some dog-watching (Chocolate lab!) and airplane watching (too high up to identify) and I looked at the ducks (Lady bufflehead! Gentleman bufflehead!) and a posse of meadowlarks. We both eyed a sassy black phoebe who eyed us right back and showed off his balancing ability on various slender weeds.
Then it was back to the car. H & L had to get togther costumes for a pirate-ninja party later that night and the Yankee Fan and I were ready for the rest of the olive bread.

Good Soup

The coot’s flying the coop to Colorado Springs for an Exciting Business Trip this weekend, but I hear it’s going to be chilly-McChillersons in the Bay Area during the next several days. So I thought I’d share this tasty/hella easy/hella healthful soup recipe. I can’t claim to have invented it from scratch; it’s a modification of something I clipped out of the Chronicle last year.

CARROT-POTATO-FENNEL SOUP

INGREDIENTS:
3-4 carrots peeled and chopped in 1/2 inch chunks
1/2 lb. Yukon Gold (or whatever kind) potatoes peeled and chopped in 1/2 inch chunks
1 small fennel bulb (fist size) cored/trimmed and chopped in 1/2 inch chunks
1 small yellow onion chopped in small bits
2 tbsp. olive oil or butter
5 cups vegetable stock
1/2 cup white wine (if you have some lying around)
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
Salt ‘n’ Pepper to taste

DO IT:
Heat/melt your oil/butter in a heavy-bottomed pot (the same pot you’ll be making the soup in). Saute the onions for about 8 minutes at medium heat until they are soft. Dump in all the other ingredients except the salt and pepper. Bring to a boil and simmer for 20 minutes. Let things cool off a little. Puree the contents of the pot in batches in your blender or food processor. Or if you have one of those sexy hand-held wand-style blender things just use that. Add salt and pepper to taste.

EAT IT!
yum.

Landlubbers

Evidently it was good grazing weather on Saturday.

The Yankee Fan, who knows all the secrets of the Tri-City Area, took me on a two-part adventure (with an intermission at what he claims is the Bay Area’s finest bagel shop; it’s in Fremont, believe it or not). Round one was a vigorous hike up through the hills of Union City. It was just the right degree of nippy out, there was a blanket of fresh green grass on the ground, and in addition to the panda-faced cows we encountered all kinds of handsome birds–meadowlarks and kestrels and phoebes and tough-looking turkey vultures and redtails riding the thermals. There wasn’t really anybody else on the trail, and at the top, we sat alone for a long time on a licheny rock, enjoying the view and the chirping.

Round two was a stroll around Lake Elizabeth in Fremont. It seemed like the whole city was out and about–strollers and bikes and skateboards galore. There were hundreds of coots in residence, and unlike their Lake Merritt brethren, these guys were predominantly foraging on land. I’m not sure what they were picking out of the grass, but it was pretty funny to watch them ambling around like little cattle. We saw more fun birds in action in and around the lake–several solemn white pelicans, a pack of northern shovellers and a couple of insanely cute kinglets bopping around in the bare trees. By the end of it all I’m sure the Yankee Fan was sick of my bird chatter (“Look! Look at those little dudes! Those are ruddy ducks! Aren’t the cute?!!? Ruddy duck! Ruddy duck!”) , but he was, as always, a good sport. Ruddy duck! Ruddy duck! Coot! Coot! Coot! It was a nice day.

Productive Procrastination

I just made 113 wontons!  Who wants to come over for soup?

Take it to the limit

Is this the kind of thing I should be excited about at age almost-28? On Saturday, after a bloatifyingly delicious lunch at Vik’s, it was off to Cesar Chavez Park to burn off some bhatura cholle.

My kite (a garish but sturdy little fabric number I found in the trash can at my old apartment) had been languishing in the Yankee Fan’s trunk since summertime, and it was a perfect day for flying–crisp and clear with a steady breeze. The old boy got off the ground pretty easily, and I was feeling ambitious. We decide to see if we could get all the way to the end of the string, and I don’t mean the little piddly spool that comes in the kite package. I mean the 500 foot roll with the handles (minus a few feet I’d used for art projects). It was ridiculously thrilling. The spindle kept spinning and the kite kept getting smaller. I got pretty nervous towards the end, especially when I realized the end of the string wasn’t connected to anything. But I held on tight, and we made it. The Yankee Fan took some pictures on his schmancy new cell phone, but I’m not sure if they captured the majesty of the situation. So we just let it float for a while above the patrolling seagulls and then it was time to start reeling the line in.