Just As I Am ... I Come Broken

Captivate Us by: Watermark

June 2013 - What a blur!

I just realized that it has been a month since I have posted on the blog! So, it is time for an update!

June was a very busy month as the camping season at the Iowa Regular Baptist Camp got underway in full force. The first full week of June is Special Camp, a camp for those with mental/physical handicaps. I have the privilege to be the director of this camp each year and am responsible for the program, activities and finding counselors. I would love to say that I do all of this my self but I have gathered a great leadership staff that helps me carry out these responsibilities! This year we had 81 campers, plus an incredible staff! We had a great week and it was as always very rewarding!

The very next week was Jr. Boys Camp! At Jr. boys I served as a counselor, and this year I have 9 boys in my cabin. 2 from my church and 7 from another. What a great group of guys! Jr. boys is a long tiring week of camp with a group of guys that never seem to wear-out or lose any energy; but this old guy hung with them fairly well!

After two full weeks at camp I was more than ready for a break! But, now it was Lynn's turn! Jr. Girls camp 2013 was on her agenda and a week of office work / yard work and catch up was on mine! It never ceases to amaze me how fast stuff piles up when you are gone for a bit.

Just so you don't get comfortable ... as soon as Jr. girls was over Lynn and I left for the GARBC National Conference in Dearborn, Mi. We departed Clear Lake on Sunday afternoon and drive to Michigan City, In. and spent the night. The next morning we drove the rest of the way into Dearborn. The conference was fantastic! Always good to see friend from all over the nation as well as meeting and making new friends! The conference itself was very good again this year, the preaching sessions & workshops were very good and I was challenged and learned a great deal.

June turned out to be a very busy month indeed! But what a blessing to be used of God in the lives of special campers, Jr. boys and Jr. girls. Then get the privilege to attend a refreshing conference.

July is upon us and here is our agenda for this month:  4th of July church picnic and fireworks over the lake, Jr, High camp where Lynn & I will serve as counselors, Family Camp #3 where I will be the evening speaker, Sr. High Camp where Lynn will be  counseling!

Hang on...We're off!

I Remain,
Pastor Steve    

Red-tails, Mallards & Walt Disney‏

            Fearless Predators -- Nurturing Partners

         The Most Amazing Red-tails I’ve Ever Met

Like all of you, I enjoy watching birds and have a variety of bird feeders scattered around the yard.  Observing the birds as they come and go provides endless hours of entertainment.  This year’s spring migration has been our best ever -- an incredible listing of 56 bird species seen from the kitchen window so far.

In addition to the more exotic neotropical migrants, we also receive daily visits from several of the more common bird species.  One of the more unusual entries in this category -- at least for my backyard -- is a nesting hen mallard.   Ever since the snow melted this spring, a good portion of my backyard has been underwater.  Consequently, the area I normally mow is now a pond.  This development did not escape the attention of a pair of mallards who soon claimed the “temporary wetland” as their own.  Before long, the hen became visibly heavy with eggs and soon began disappearing into heavier cover.  Within a couple of weeks, the drake was on his own again.  From then on, we only see the hen during a brief period each afternoon when she emerges from wherever her nest is hidden to get a drink and to scavenge whatever seeds may have been spilled from the feeders.  I have fully expected raccoons to discover and devour her nest but, so far, all has proceeded on schedule --- that is until yesterday afternoon.

Shortly after arriving home, I peered out the kitchen window and was pleased to see the feeders humming with activity.  But when I returned less than five minutes later, the scene had changed dramatically.  So much so, in fact, that I could scarcely believe my eyes.  As usual, the hen mallard had appeared in the yard; but on this occasion she wasn’t looking for spilled grain.  Instead, the duck was lying flat on the ground -- less than 15 yards from the house -- with a red-tailed hawk standing on her back.  Who would believe it?  Racing for the camera, I began to document the incident.  After obtaining several ‘voucher photos’ through the kitchen’s double-paned glass, I dropped below the window opening and attempted to quietly slide open the frame for a sharper picture.  Just as I was about to make my move, the mallard suddenly flexed her left wing.  Could the hen still be alive?

Surveying its surroundings for possible danger, the red-tail remained still as a statue -- one foot completely wrapped around the hen’s neck, the other on the ground.  Maybe the hawk had caught the duck mere seconds before I discovered the scent and had not yet dispatched its prey.  The question was answered when the hawk caught the movement of my hand at the window and immediately took wing.  Just as quickly, the mallard was back on her feet -- ruffled, but apparently otherwise unharmed.  Ignoring the nearby pond and spilled bird seed, the terrified hen lost no time in returning to thick cover.  As she disappeared, I couldn’t help but wonder if the duck would ever realize how very fortunate she was.  Once a red-tailed hawk has its foot securely wrapped around a bird’s neck, the chances of that bird surviving are virtually nil.  My arriving home and looking out the window had cost the hawk its meal, but had also spared the mallard’s life.  Whether my accidental intrusion was good or bad is purely a matter of perspective. 

For me, this spectacular true-life, backyard birding adventure was highly unusual to say the least.  The event was also extremely puzzling.  There is no denying that red-tailed hawks are formidable predators.  And although winter hardened red-tails routinely subdue larger prey such as cottontail rabbits and fox squirrels; their fierce aggression usually wanes as smaller prey species such as mice, ground squirrels and garter snakes become abundant in summer.  Why this particular red-tail chose to take on a full grown mallard -- in a backyard -- on the 29^th of May, will likely remain a mystery.

What is not mystery, however, is the hawk’s identity.  I know the bird very well.  He’s an adult male and we’re practically on a first name basis.  The hawk and I have, in fact, been neighbors for the past eleven years.

The red-tail and his mate currently have a nest on the edge of a mile-long cattle pasture on the south side of Clear Lake.  The nest is located about a mile from my house; at least as the crow -- or in this case the buteo -- flies.  I first became acquainted with the pair in 2002.  That’s when they moved in and built a nest in a small oak woodlot where I sometimes hunted for deer.  [Red-tailed hawks exhibit a wide range of plumage variations and both members of this pair had unique markings that made future identification a breeze.]  Life was good for the red-tail pair --- catching mice and thirteen-liners, eating snakes, raising babies, riding the thermals.  Following a few successful seasons, the good times ended abruptly one winter when a pair of great horned owls appropriated the nest for themselves.  It’s a fairly common occurrence, and the hawks responded by moving a half mile east and building a new nest.  Although the new location offered fewer trees and less protection from the weather, the pair enjoyed several good seasons and usually produced at least two young each summer.  But the good times ended once again when a violent summer storm swept across the pasture in 2010, completely destroying the second nest.  I didn’t see the hawks again until weeks later when I spotted the female limping along near the south edge of the pasture.  Dragging her left wing, the bird appeared to be in rough shape.  Whether the injury had been caused by a collision during a hunt or by the previous storm was anybody’s guess.  It was mid-August and what was certain was that the bird had been rendered flightless, and flightless raptors simply don’t survive in the wild -- or do they?

Returning to the pasture some time later, I spotted the hawk again.  This time, she was at the edge of the pavement feeding on a road killed raccoon.  To see this formerly magnificent and successful raptor reduced to feeding on carrion was a sad event and starkly depicted how desperate the situation had become. 

Later that day, I saw the female again.  This time she had company.  The male was with her, and I began to wonder if it was possible that he would attempt to care for his mate in the same way he would attend to a grounded fledgling.  As it turned out, that’s exactly what the male did.  He fed and protected his grounded mate until weeks later, her injured wing began to slowly show signs of improvement.  In time, the female was able to hop to a low perch, to the top of a wooden fence post, and finally to a low branch.  Slowly but surely, the red-tail was recovering.  Weeks later, I spotted the female along with her faithful companion, perched on the wooden cross bar of a power pole.  Although the female was still favoring her left wing, I began to believe that she really might live to survive the injury.

The hawk grew stronger by the day, and by early October she was back riding the thermals and hunting for herself.  In February of 2011, the pair began constructing their third nest.  This time, the birds chose a sturdier tree located about 20 yards from where the last structure blew down.  During the summer of 2011, the pair raised two beautiful young.  Last year was also a success and, although I don’t yet know many babies are in the nest this year, the pair is currently raising their 2013 crop of young.  What I do know, is that these red-tails have had an incredible life together so far.  They also represent the one and only example that I know of where one hawk has successfully rehabilitated another.  As far as I’m concerned, this raptor pair definitely belongs in the Red-tailed Hawk Edition of the Guinness Book of World Records.  Walt Disney himself couldn’t have dreamed up a more amazing story or happier ending.  In the great out-of-doors, fact truly can be stranger than fiction.

                                                                                        

Lowell Washburn 

Clear Lake, Iowa  

May 30, 2013

Morel Madness‏ By: Lowell Washburn

Although definitely winding down, this year's spring mushroom season continues -- at least in the extreme northeast corner of the state. 

In reality, there are only two basic ways to cook these out-of-this-world taste treats --- indoors or outdoors.  Or to put it another way, civilized or uncivilized.  The indoor method utilizes clean natural gas and can often involve complex recipes.  The outdoor method utilizes natural fuels gathered from the same woodlands where the mushrooms were gathered.  Other than the morels themselves, this method involves but one additional ingredient -- butter.  For open fire cooking, I prefer to use a flat cast iron utensil.  While waiting for burning wood to become coals, I use the time to clean fish or halve the mushrooms.  Most people think that, before cooking, they need to cut, wash, salt, soak, and then carefully inspect each and every morel before they can even begin to think about cooking.   This is nuts.  Anyone who would treat a fresh morel that way should have their stick matches taken away and be forced to eat at fast food drive-throughs.  Culinary works of art, morel mushrooms are much too delicate for such barbaric treatment.  The only thing that washing and soaking will accomplish is that the mushrooms will become tasteless, soggy and fall apart.  Fresh morels deserve respect.  They should be consumed; not tortured.  Once captured, morels should be taken directly to the fire, cut in half, and cooked in butter.  That's it; nothing else -- no washing, no salt, no nothing.  Well, a hint of olive oil maybe; but since we're hunting and cooking in northeast Iowa's dairy country, I'll stick with the butter.  

"What about those insects," you ask?  Not to worry.  As things start to heat up most insects, especially the larger species, will quickly escape the morel's folds -- but much to their dismay, will usually not survive the swim through bubbling butter.  No matter, once exposed, the drifting insects are easy to work around.  Smaller insect life?  Also no problem; you usually can't see and never will taste them -- so just eat and enjoy. 

By the end of the annual mushroom run, any hunter worth his salt will smell like wood smoke, have consumed more bugs than a missionary, and will have blood samples running about 25 percent butter.  Although the morels will soon be gone, I'm already looking forward to September's first batch of chicken-of-the-woods.

I Remain, 
Pastor Steve