Nature Journal Drawings of the Rufous Hornero (Red Ovenbird)

After finding the nest in our neighbourhood, we did illustrations of the Rufous Hornero using one of our favourite art tools for nature illustrations: watercolour pencil crayons. (We also use watercolour crayons, for a slightly different effect.) There are times when using watercolour paints works well, but for ease, and a bit more control, the pencil crayons are a hit with our family.

Brown-Eyed Boy's

My Girl's

Little Man's

Mine

Rufous Hornero

There have been many new things to see since our move to South America, and that's been a big part of the adventure. Practically every day we see something that lives or grows here that we haven't seen in Canada, and, bit by bit, with the aid of our guidebooks and our friends and neighbours, they're becoming familiar.

One of the first things we noticed was the Rufous Hornero, or Red Ovenbird. We spent some time in our Nature Study looking at the birds, locating their nests, and reading about them online.

We knew we had seen many nests in our neighbourhood, but once we actually set out to draw one, we realized how hard they are to find. The Ovenbirds build their nests on top of things: fenceposts, light poles, tall trees, or anything else they can find. And so we walked around the neighbourhood, looking up, carrying our notebooks and pencils. Looking, always looking.

Finally we spotted one after walking about five blocks. It was high atop a telephone pole, with the 'door' facing away from us.  Here's a glimpse of each of our perspectives on what we saw:

Brown-Eyed Boy's

My Girl's

Little Man's

Mine

The Red Ovenbird builds a very unique nest, and our neighbour, knowing how much we enjoy Nature Study, sent us this slideshow of a pair of Ovenbirds constructing a nest.  (You might need to allow a moment after the link opens to let the photos load into the slideshow. Be paitent, it won't take long!)

In order to make the slideshow small enough to share on Google Docs I had to remove a couple of the slides, but I think I chose carefully enough not to have lost the flow of the process. I don't know who put together the original slideshow, but if anyone knows, I'd be pleased to hear from you so I can credit the owner of the photos. 

Did you notice, at the end, the way the door is kind of angled into the nest? That's a protection against predators (and weather?), offering more security inside the nest. The whole 'plastering' process looks quite involved, and the nests are very tidy when complete. I'm not sure how long it takes to build a nest.

That day out we didn't actually see an ovenbird, but we've since seen many, and I'll let you see our drawings of them soon.

Longing For Home

Home. It is more than location.

I'm thinking of home these days past, wondering where it really is. 

Home is where my family is. My Dear Man, who is so dedicated to all of us. My Girl, who is now becoming a young woman with independent thoughts and maturing outlooks. Little Man, not so little, but still unaware of so much. And Brown Eyed Boy, whose charming nose crinkles make my heart glow.

Not just them, though. 

My parents, far, far away. Wherever they are is also home. In their familiar presence, with their familiar love.

My sisters, my brother. They, also, make home for me. Memories come when I'm with them more than when I'm in a specific place.

Home is where I share history with those around me. Friends. Neighbours. Brothers and sisters in Christ. Those who know me and love me anyway. Those whose presence makes me smile. Those who will embrace me when I need it, and not just when I ask for it. With those ones, too, is home.

A nomadic upbringing, never living more than five years in one location, having seven homes in four different provinces by the time I was 18. And another eight homes in the first 12 years of my marriage. Is it any wonder that 'home' isn't a place?

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When I think of 'home', I think of this line from Steve Bell's song "Home" on his "Simple Songs" album.

"Home is anywhere He leads me."

 It's true. Anywhere with Jesus is home for me. And if I'm where He is leading me, there's no better place to be. 

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You can listen to a short sample of that song. Click the link, scroll down, and click the play arrow beside "Home".

My Best Isn't What I Want It To Be

Every time one of my children has a birthday, I imagine the birthday cake I'm going to make, and it's lovely.

Then I make it, and it isn't.

Oh, the cakes are usually okay, but they aren't lovely. Sometimes they aren't even special. They're just cakes.

This year I stepped toward My Girl's 15th, I knew my weakness. I wasn't going to make anything special, just a cake.

And slowly I got sucked into the same spiral: I started looking for a recipe (because my traditional carrot cake with cream cheese icing doesn't work quite as well here as it does in Canada). And I found one. And it was more than a recipe. It was inspiration.

Six layers of rich dark chocolate filled with luscious Swiss meringue butter cream icing, and covered, top and sides, with thick ruffles of the same icing. Beautiful.

I knew there was no way I was going to make it look like the picture, but I thought I could still make it good.

So I started baking. Borrowing pans to make all those layers. Googling icing recipes, since the Swiss meringue buttercream wasn't really an option.

And the layers were beautiful, but there was no way there were going to be six of them.  All my baking resulted in four layers, but at the time of assembly, one suffered a sad fate, and I was left with three. Still, three layers of wonderfully moist rich dark chocolate cake? Not too bad.

And then, once the icing was over the cake, it didn't look nearly as wonderful as it was meant to.  And I was, once again, disappointed.

Why do I set myself up for this? Every year I think it will be different. And every year it's the same: high hopes which, like my fourth layer of cake, suffer a sad fate.

This cake was supposed to be different. I wanted it to be different. My Girl's 15th was going to be special, even if it wasn't a traditional South American 15th. And I'd hung my hopes on the cake.

A bit of consulting with my friends started me thinking about chocolate ganache. One of my friends came over and walked me through the surprisingly simple process of making the exotic-sounding ganache, and the transformation had begun. A bit more advice, four women in my kitchen, all embellishments considered, and the transformation was complete.

No longer a sad, slightly lumpily iced cake.

This was now a treasure.

This was the cake I'd waited my whole life to make.

Sure there were imperfections. Lumps beneath the ganache don't simply disappear. Slightly slanted layers from a slightly non-level oven can't be magically made symmetrical.  

But that's okay. I don't even mind. 

I love this cake. 

I love it for what it represents:

My Girl; team-work; restoration; hope; beauty out of what was considered lost; my imperfect-best made more lovely by those in my life.

Happy Birthday!

I am a mother.  And the child who gave me that role is a young woman, blossoming and stretching to fill the place the Lord has given her.

How does a mother describe her first born child? What words would capture that one's place in a mother-heart and still be believable to those who listen?

This woman-child, this gift from Above, this precious life-filled daughter of mine turns 15 today. Fifteen. Can it be? So soon? And at the same time, only fifteen? Her influence on me has permeated all of who I am, and to realize that it has really only been fifteen years, just over a third of my life, that I've shared with her fills me with amazement.

I was challenged in choosing how to address this, her birthday, in writing. Because it is about her. But it's also about me. Our lives are intertwined in a precious way, and as she grows and matures and prepares for adulthood, our lives will continue to twine together. The twining will just look different than it did as a child.

She is My Girl, the one who brought me a new identity fifteen years ago, who continues to shape my life and my dreams, who is becoming a friend and companion. More than that, though, she is His girl, and He is the One shaping her life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

A Link for Mother's Day

For the Mother Who Fears Failure

One Thousand Gifts

God gives only gifts.
Everything is a gift.
The gift in everything is the potential for a closer relationship with Him.

599. Words to share that weren't written by me

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600. Beauty in everything

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601. Hard gratitude

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602. Eye-opening look at pride

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603. Invitations

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604. Spanish lessons

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605. Connections online

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605. Mistakes

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606. Bonds in the kitchen

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607. Emergency rooms

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608. Giant spiders

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609. Love

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610. Spray bottle

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611. Loud women's laughter

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612. Meal shared with women of faith

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613. Benediction as I come in the door

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614. Sleeping children

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615. Living wide-awake

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616. Nephew's successes

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617. Protection for loved ones

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618. New school books

This is a running list of my One Thousand Gifts. If you want to see the complete list you can click on the 1000 Gifts button in the right side-bar or click this link to open a single document with the entire list.