Pre-Ramble:  So, a friend of mine just got back from a trip to the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota.  The Boundary Waters is a revered place to Minnesotans; it is a Mecca of all things good and rustic and wild and adventurous.  FYI - If you’re going to the Boundary Waters, you are going camping.

Camping …  you know … dragging a tent, musty sleeping bags, a flashlight and all of your food to a remote location and dumping it onto a clearing in the woods. You spread it all out like you’re playing house and then sit around on a log until the ”wildlife” can divine your location. 

The people who enjoy camping are the same people who jump at fishing and canoeing and hunting and hiking … the out-doorsy folks who have a knack for gathering sticks, reading maps and tying knots. These people use the racks on the tops of their cars.

According to National Park Service statistics, 5.4 million people camped last year, 3.1 million of them in traditional tents and another 2.3 million in RVs. Campers use all kinds of neat outdoor gear … lanterns, canteens, tarps, lots of bungee cords and stuff with netting.  Sure, it all looks real back-to-nature and doable in the retail environment, but you mustn’t lose sight of the fact that being outdoors is a critical part of the camping experience.

Outdoors is a whole nother thing … (you can quote me on that) … there’s dirt, sand, gravel, pointy rocks and picky grass out there. And, there’s nowhere to go to get away from it – except in your tent, which, after ten minutes, also has dirt, sand, gravel and grass in it. And then there are bugs. Bugs love the outdoors and they are everywhere – crawling, circling, buzzing and biting. Unless you’re doused in repellant or zip yourself into your sleeping bag, the bulk of your time will be spent On Patrol, … swinging, swatting, smacking, scratching and bleeding.  Bringing in the added menace of the potential to encounter actual mice, snakes, bats, coyote and bears makes the prospect of the idyllic camping experience simply absurd. 

But, wait!!  A new type of camping has emerged that offers a significantly less rustic experience — glamping.  According to Glamping Girl, an entire website devoted to this travel trend, there’s a whole new way to enjoy the outdoors. A cross between “glamour” and “camping,” glamping brings civilized accoutrements to uncivilized environments.  Glamping is an outdoor experience, often in an exotic location, that integrates cushy, high-end creature comforts like beds, linens, china, chefs, butlers, bathroom facilities, spa staff and cocktails. I bet there’s toilet paper too.

The five-star experience – There are glamping destinations all over the world and a wide variety of living quarters from which to choose … elaborate tents, cliff-side cabins, desert retreats, floating villages, … for example …

• Mille Etoiles offers 14 yurts in the Rhone-Aples region of France overlooking the Ardeche River gorge. Tents are built on oak platforms and furnished with four-poster beds, oriental rugs and antiques… “so guests feel like they are on an Edwardian safari …”
• Montana’s Paws Up Ranch has horseback riding and fly-fishing and accommodations that boast newly built “tents” on the Blackfoot River complete with king-sized beds, art on the walls, a personal butler and private master bath. Rates start at $695 per night for two and include three meals per day.
• Located in a hidden valley 1,000 meters above sea level near two inactive volcanoes in Gunung Gede Pangrango National Park, Situgunung is the oldest tourist destination in West Java and a perfect location for glamping.  Along with intrepid (and supervised) outbound activities, glampsite amenities include pre-pitched fire-proof tents, comfortable restrooms and a five-star buffet.

The Take-Away: How about a glamp-out at the Waldorf-Astoria? … take a day-pack into Soho … do a little white-knuckle shopping on Madison Avenue … hunt for vermin on Wall Street … and have close encounters with the wildlife in Times Square.  Throw in some marshmallows, and this is the perfect summer adventure!  Sign me up!

Pre-Ramble:  At the risk of sounding like Dr. Seuss on a backyard nature hunt, I was all ready to call out the fact that yesterday, our little bird nest had gained a third egg. ! 

That’s right — every day for the past three days, Mother Chipping Sparrow has added another tiny blue egg to the brood. I am just fascinated by this nest … I must check on it fifty times a day. My husband isn’t nearly as taken with the whole thing. Basically, he just rolls his eyes and says something dismissive and passive-aggressive like, “Great.” 

So, then I got to thinking — really — do your readers care about some bird laying eggs on a front porch in suburban Minnesota?  Where’s the witty commentary on the important issues of the day?  The keen observations on innovation, creativity, and human behavior?  Where are the uplifting stories? The wise-cracks about celebrities and political figures?  Advice for the President’s dog?  … So, I figured a couple days of this birdy-cam news is all anyone really needs…

UNTIL TODAY!!  

This morning, plain as day, right there in the bottom of the nest, was A FOURTH EGG!!! 

Try as I might, Mother-B (shown above — not actual size) returned to the nest before I was able to scramble for the camera. I haven’t been able to catch her in an on-leave moment ever since.

Four eggs in four days … this Quatro-chick is really delivering!  The bird book said 3-5 eggs per brood was the range … and here we are at egg number four! Will there be a fifth tomorrow?  Will she exceed the national averages and go for egg number six?? This is almost more exciting than the American Idol finale! (Ok, maybe not.) (And my husband rolls his eyes about that too.)

The Take-Away:  Sometimes, you just need a break from all the gloom and doom …, the tabloid drama …, and take a look at the stuff going on in your own backyard.  Sure, the market might be down and gas prices might be up, but, hey – we’ve got four eggs in the nest!!

Pre-Ramble: The other day, much to my surprise, I spotted a tiny bird’s nest in one of the potted “trees” next to our front door. There was no bird in it, and no real signs of activity. I’ve been keeping an eye on the nest, hoping that the tidy, intricately woven little structure hadn’t been abandoned before it had had a chance to host a little bird family.

This nest was remarkable for several reasons:

1. just big enough to hold a golf ball, the architectural symmetry and detail of the nest was a wonder to behold;
2. as I looked closer, I realized that, mixed in with the blades of grass and twigs, the inside of the nest was lined with hundreds of strands of Daisy’s white dog hair. (Amazing, both in terms of the dexterity required to pick up a single stalk of dog hair in one’s beak, and in the incredibly putsy and undoubtedly time-consuming process of weaving all of that stuff into something livable.)
3. of all the luxurious, secluded locations available on our 2 acres of heavily wooded lot, Mother Bird picked a dried out tree topper (hastily jammed into containers last Christmas) that flanks the front doorway of our house — one of the highest trafficked areas possible, and right at Daisy’s nose level.

Well, so, this morning, after several days of the empty nest, just when I had nearly given up hope, I heard an unusual chirping coming from the front of the house. I won’t admit that I dashed over to see if the noise could be coming from the nest, and sure enough, a bird was now scrunched into the perfectly round little space… !

Immediately, I texted my girls with the good news; who, I assure you, are sitting at school right now going, “My mother is a nut-case.”

But wait — it gets better … (I know, you can barely stand it) … When I looked out the front window a few minutes later, the bird was gone, and cradled in the bottom of the nest was a single tiny blue egg… !

Yep — another text to the girls — and a photo (above right).

The Take-Away:  With spring break already a distant memory and grad parties in the air, many folks are lamenting/celebrating the fact that their youngest child will be headed off to college. I am happy to report that we’re not empty-nesters yet!

Pre-Ramble: While generally a mild-mannered person, I have been known to exercise my inner rebel by wearing wild pajamas. Without going into untoward detail, Target has an awesome brand of PJs made out of some kind of wonder-micro-fiber. Stretchy, wrinkle-proof, and more comfortable than all get out, these jammies come in a variety of bold colors and designs and are the perfect wardrobe choice for sleeping, lounging, (and blogging).

While perfect for many occasions, these jammies are not ideal for going out to get the morning newspaper. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that the end of my driveway was on some sort of parade route. Invariably, as I dash out to get the paper, I’ll be darned if somebody doesn’t come by at precisely that moment. We’re not talking about a distant drive-by — we’re talking about somebody, on foot, walking directly toward me in my pajamas. 

Busted!  It’s not like you can just turn around and bolt back into the house — you’ve already been sighted. No. Instead, like Wile E. Coyote standing on the “X” waiting for the anvil to fall, you’ve got to complete your mission, strolling casually out to the box and retrieving the paper as if there is nothing unusual about the situation. And, as if it’s not bad enough that you’re standing out on the street in wild pajamas, the oncoming person is probably close enough that you have to acknowledge them with some kind of eye-contact, or worse, an audible greeting. (I’ve found it best to say something like, “Good morning,” than what you really want to say.)

So today, while standing behind a tree while my husband fetched the paper, I heard some rustling overhead only to discover that there were two full-sized ducks sitting 40 feet up on a nearby tree branch.

Ducks! In a tree!? 

Probably any duck hunter worth his feathers knows that ducks hang out in trees. But to the average person, it just looks goofy. Ducks are bulky; they have a fuselage style body, and huge, flat, webbed feet. Ducks are not built to be up in trees, they are built to swim.  A duck in a tree is like Michael Phelps on the balance beam.

Turns out that these were wood ducks … elaborately decorated waterfowl, (shown above) which are generally found in wooded swampy areas in North America, and commonly nest in trees. Who knew?  Wood ducks will also build a nest in special “nest boxes” elevated four feet or higher near a lake or swamp. (Apparently a bunch of people knew about this; these boxes are all over the place.)

The Take-Away: This is just another reminder of why I love living in a wooded area — you just never know what kind of nature is going to happen. Today it was wood ducks in a tree; last year it was woodchucks in the backyard (and the five tiny woodchucklettes that would line up along the edge of the deck every afternoon to bask in the sun). 

The point is, having nature happen in your own backyard is both a pleasure and a privilege. We owe it to our fellow creatures to do what we can in our own sphere of influence to make the Earth a hospitable place for all of us. I’m not suggesting that you need to head over to Home Depot for wood-working supplies; just go a little green … recycle more stuff … spray less poison around in your yard … break for squirrels … Do what you can  

Post Note: If you are so inclined — to learn more about the “best practices” around wood duck nesting boxes, consult the Minnesota Wood Duck Society website. Unfortunately, we missed their annual meeting which was held on April 4th.