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[Gene GeRue <genegerue AT ruralize.com>]

During the four years I was away, the Heartwood grasses grew to impressive 
heights, in some places as high as my head. Neighbor-friend, Jeff Hubbard, 
came down with his bushhog and whacked the stuff down a couple weeks before 
I arrived but there was some rain and when I got here the grass in the 
front was about two feet tall. My brother, who came along to help, was as 
usual armed with binoculars and bird identification books and we were both 
disappointed to find virtually no evidence of birds here save the calls and 
occasional sighting of the pileated woodpecker.

I mused on the condition and observed that, at least in the case of 
bluebirds, small birds hunt in short grass, and perhaps they simply 
couldn't find enough groceries to survive in this unkempt place. So I 
mounted the mower steed and galloped through the hayfield, whacking it down 
to about four inches, the tallest setting on the mower, that high until I 
had found the stones raised by the armadillo army in my absence.

I was correct. Having now mown three times in three weeks, the front yard 
is again alive. This morning there are pairs of bluejay, bluebird, cardinal 
and goldfinch. Even the pileated seems to be coming in closer to check out 
the action. That's more like it.

Sitting at the computer last night a movement on the porch caught my eye 
and I turned just in time to see a Carolina wren hop into the terrapin 
shell hanging against the top beam under the porch roof. I watched for a 
bit and the hanging tail didn't move. I suffered the pain of wondering if I 
had poisoned it with the wasp and hornet spray used the day before. Then 
the tail twitched and I relaxed. This morning it is gone, out looking for 
breakfast.