I totally goofed up today and did not post my guest blog for James M. Jackson! He got it to me in plenty of time and neglected to post this! I can't not do it, though. You'll LOVE it. Here's a bit about Jim:
JAMES M JACKSON is the author of Bad Policy for Barking Rain Press. Known as James Montgomery Jackson on his tax return and to his mother whenever she was really mad at him, he splits his time between the woods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and Georgia’s low country. Jim has published a book on contract bridge, One Trick at a Time: How to start winning at bridge, as well as numerous short stories and essays.
Please visit http://jamesmjackson.com/
My partner, Jan, and I love road trips. For me, there is
nothing like seeing a biome first-hand to start to understand its history, its
people, and yes, its birds. Neither one of us had been to the Rio Grande
valley.
This January we rectified that gap in our experiences.
One of our other members was a new birder. Several had been
in the area several times and had joined the trip in hopes of seeing two or
three specific birds they had previously missed. My rusty skills left me in the
middle of the pack between these two extremes. And frankly, these days I would
just as soon spend an hour watching a robin working over a pile of leaves for a
morsel as see a brand new bird. But truth be told, I would not drive hours to
see a robin, but I would for a new-for-me bird!
One of the things I do when I’m not out looking at birds is write. It’s
one of the reasons I enjoy seeing different parts of the country. I won’t place
a character in a locale if I don’t have some experience there.
If the birding is slow, I start to think about how a story
might fit a particular local. For example, the Rio Grande is not very wide and
the Border Patrol folks travel the river in high-speed boats you can hear ten
minutes before they arrive. So smugglers…
Others stick out like this green kingfisher. They wear
bright colors as if to say, “Look at me! Look at me!” When we do look closely,
we notice the mud on its bill from capturing a tasty morsel from the mud.
Sometimes the sound techs will get a bird in the right
habitat, but wrong season, and I’ll hear a warbler signing its mating song in
the middle of winter.
For example, Seamus’s girlfriend (a bodyguard) has been away
on business for a long time and Seamus is wondering what their status is but
hasn’t figured out how to resolve the situation. He takes a run in a nearby
park and the comparison between his life and what is natural slaps him in the
face.
On my run, I
purposefully slowed my pace and added a loop to include Burnett Woods, where
the trees sang with spring bird migration in full swing. Coupling was in the
air and in the woods. I was having difficulty putting one foot in front of the
other. If you don’t like the way things are going, I chided myself, do
something different.
Seamus also uses his grounding in bird nature to make
comparisons. He and his son are eating. He has no appetite because someone has
just been killed. Not so his son, Paddy.
Paddy, who still had the metabolism of a hummingbird,
eyed my plate and at my nod swapped his empty one for mine.
“When were you last in your basement?” [the cop asked]
“My basement? I have no clue. Maybe to
get food for my bird feeders? Tuesday? Wednesday?” I wracked my mind trying to
piece together the last week, but my sleep-deprived brain didn’t work. “Look.
I’m tired. I’m hungry. I want to help because whatever you’re investigating, I
didn’t do it. Is Abigail okay? What happened?”
Lewis snapped his fingers at the sergeant
who brought over a 4x6 print, which he laid face down on the table between
Lewis and me.
“Go ahead,” Lewis said. “Take a look.”
I searched their faces for a clue, but they sported
flat cop eyes—daring me to turn over the photo. Instinctively, I picked it up
by its edges. Not that I didn’t trust them…actually, I didn’t trust them. For
whatever reason, I mentally counted to three before flipping the print over. I
gagged. A nude man, his face blown away by a shotgun blast, elbows, knees, and
ankles shattered, burn marks on his chest, sat in my basement on one of my
porch chairs. Orange adjustable straps, just like the ones I owned, held his
body to the chair.
All those scenes from Bad
Policy took place in the Cincinnati area where we lived for many years. Now
that we’ve visited the Rio Grande Valley, I might be able to add a future scene
from that area—as long as the point of view is from a character who hasn’t
spent much time there. If the character actually lived in the area, I’d have to
go back and study it more---hmm, that’s not such a bad idea…
~ Jim
Great pictures and fun post.
ReplyDeleteInteresting post--and a reminder that everything we do and know is valuable when we write.
ReplyDeleteGreat observations, Jim. I'm a birder, too, although I don't get out as often as I used to.
ReplyDeleteNow I have even one more reason to read your book!
I love the pictures! I think Jim took all of them, too.
ReplyDeleteThanks for having me, Kaye.
ReplyDeleteYes, the pictures are mine. I don't have time to become a better photographer. I have friends who see the world through their cameras, for me the photograph is the afterthought.
~ Jim
Your pictures are at least as good as some of them in my bird books! I feel I have to have several so I can look the pictures up in each one when I'm trying to ID a new bird. (I'm a VERY amateur birder.)
ReplyDeleteI'm not a birder, but I enjoy watching birds and I feed them all year long. I've always enjoyed going on hikes with birders, who identify those little birds you refer to as jobbers,I think. When I was backpacking, I was always behind the others in my group because I was trying to see one of those small elusive birds. One of my sisters, who I camp with every year, is very good at identifying birds. She doesn't keep lists, but seems to remember every bird she's ever identified and where it was.
ReplyDeleteAfter reading the excerpts from your book, Jim, I'm more than ever excited about reading it.
Gloria,
ReplyDeleteWe often refer to them as LBJs - little brown jobbers. Sometimes also referred to as dickey birds.
A "technical" term for a subset of flitting birds are CFWs - confusing fall warblers. In the spring when the sap is running all the birds are into color. In the fall when all they are hoping to do is get to the next spring, color only attracts hawks and so everyone (especially the first year birds) are wearing camo.
~ Jim
Many of them are UFOs to me! We discovered that we have a pair of genuine Eastern bluebirds nesting in our back yard! I'm thrilled. This is only the second time I've ever seen one.
ReplyDeleteI am jealous, Kaye. They are one of my all-time favorite birds. I put up a bluebird house this year. We have pairs in the neighborhood, but so far none have chosen to use my nesting box.
ReplyDeleteEastern Bluebirds can nest more than once a year, so as a landlord you have responsibilities to clean out the nest after the hatchlings fly.
WE want baby pictures when the time is right!
~ Jim
~ Jim
Really? Maybe I've figured out what that little board is for, then. I think we can swing it aside to get access to the nest. It's nailed to the tree near the tiny hole they use to go in and out.
ReplyDeleteI never would have known that--so glad you told me!
I love watching birds myself. They are beautiful and fascinating. Great pictures!
ReplyDelete