I work every Sunday and many Saturdays. For that reason, I usually take Fridays off and go to my place up north after work on Thursday evenings. One of the first things I do when I arrive up there is to refill the birdfeeders. I want to draw an avian crowd on Friday morning, so I can watch all the many hungry birds from the deck. Nothing makes me happier than a flock of goldfinches swarming around the feeder with other songbirds waiting in branches nearby. As usual, the feeder out back was pretty much empty when I got there this past Thursday evening...except for this poor fellow. Some hapless feathered creature found its way inside the birdfeeder and got itself trapped in there. Poor thing was fluttering and throwing itself against the clear plastic walls in a state of pure panic, which only got worse when I approached to help it out.
Upon closer inspection, I found that it was a male goldfinch in mid-molt: its bright yellow summer garb was already fading into a drab winter garb of muted grays and browns--retaining the deep black markings on its wings and tail. Evenings up north have been chilly, and the year-round birds have already begun to grow softer, thicker feathers against the cold. I lifted the roof of the feeder--a roof that had been heavily damaged by two separate bear attacks--but the goldfinch wasn't about to fly straight upward into the face of the pale, frightening humanoid creature (me) who stood beaming at it like an idiot. When I raised the clear plastic side, it flew away immediately with three loud squawks in rapid sequence. "Wut, wut, wut!!!" I like to think it was thanking me for setting it free.
I can't get enough of the abandoned farmsteads in the far northeastern corner of Venango County. I've posted shots of this place before, but I don't think I'll be fully happy till I do an oil painting of it.
Which could take a while because I don't know anything about oil painting. It looks like it was a happy home at one time. Someone still mows the big yard and works the farm, but curtains hang in tatters from the farmhouse windows.
I'm guessing someone uses this old farmstead as a hunting camp now--but that's only a guess. It's less derelict than the larger farm down the road (above), but it's still got a distinct air of loneliness about it. The barn sits near the house, but the fields--I think--have been sold off to nearby neighbors. There's a small, newish, well-maintained cabin in the back field, invisible from here. In three years, I've never seen any signs of life around this farmhouse. Never a vehicle parked outside nor a light inside. There's not even a driveway. And yet, it seems to have a solid metal roof. I wonder what stories these old farmsteads are trying to tell. Were they here during the oil boom of the 1860s and 70s? Were they overrun with derricks and fortune-seekers from around the globe? Did their peace return only after the oil ran dry?
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