For the last several months, I have thrown myself back into my Italian studies with a vengence. Frustrated with not being able to speak well enough, I've made it my mission to focus on conversation this year. I'm going to be fluent if it kills me- and it just might!
Besides studying daily, I've added a few new things into the mix. I have a twice weekly conversation session with an Italian teacher via Skype, and I also have my twice weekly immersion sesisons with the Pink Lionesses while we row. Both have helped me make incredible progress, so I am pleased.
I also look for all sorts of little ways to add to my learning. One that I find useful is the Italian word- a- day email I receive in my inbox every day. And that brings me to one of the words I learned this week.
FANGO- the Italian word for "mud". Many days, the word of the day is one that I already knew. But Fango, this was a new one. Why hadn't I learned that one yet, I wondered? I love the sound of it. The way it rolls off my tongue. And so close to Tango, I had images of people dancing in mud. After I repeated it over and over, including the use of it in the practice sentence, I mentally tucked Fango away in the back of my mind, believing it was a word I probably wouldn't get to use on any regular basis. Little did I know!
Just two days after FANGO invaded the recesses of my store of Italian vocabulary - tucked way way back there in some far dusty corner of my brain, Venice experienced a very freak hail storm. Not just any storm, mind you, but a storm of biblical proportions. Hail literally covered the streets like it was snow. The hail was followed by horrendous thunder storms and high winds. The next morning while Mike and I were ambling back home from a stop at Gina's, our neighborhood hang-out here on Sant'Elena, we heard a mother shouting to her 4 or 5 year old daughter "No, non vai lì! Tutto FANGO!"
(No, don't go there, it's all mud!)
She was right, there was mud everywhere - a remnant of the previous night's tempest. I was able to put my new vocabulary word to use! Did the weather god's plan the week's Italian word-of-the-day just for me? I'd like to think so. And now you can roll this lovely word around on your tongue too. FANGO. (FYI- it's a masculine noun, so that's il FANGO).
Strictly coincidence, out of all the other new words I came across this week, another F word struck my fancy that I will share with you also. FORCHETTATA. It means a forkful, or a bite of something. Mi dai una forchettata. Give me a taste. It's feminine, so it uses the definite article la or indefinite article una.
Today being Friday, I thought it was an appropriate day to share my favorite F words with you this morning.
What language learning tricks do you use? Do you create flash cards, either on 3x5 cards or electronic ones? Do you write all your new vocabulary in a notebook? I'd love to hear whatever tricks/systems you use to help you remember and use new words.
Grazie! Now .. let's all go find some Fango to play in today!
Ever have a day when things just didn't go as you planned? Well, today was one of those for me. From the minute I left the apartment, nothing went right. I probably should have stayed in bed.
If you have been reading my blog for awhile, you might remember that I had knee replacement surgery a few years back. For the last few months my other knee has been giving me all the signs that it too is ready for some modern technology. I knew I couldn't put off seeing my orthopedic surgeon any longer, so the other day I visited my regular doctor to request a referral. At the same time she wrote a prescription for an x-ray, as I will need to take a current x-ray with me to the surgeon.
This morning I got up early in order to be one of the first at the office for the x-rays. I intended to have this done at Giustinian, the medical facility over in Dorsoduro. However, when I got to the vaporetto stop I had just missed the 5.2 boat going to the Zattere, the closest stop to Giustinian. If they weren't doing construction on the Sant'Elena vaporetto stop, I would have been there in time. Instead, I had to walk up the fondamenta a bit farther, which took me a few more minutes. End result =missed boat. Knowing I'd have to wait another 30 minutes for the next boat (thanks to the newly reduced winter boat schedule effective September 15), I switched gears, ran over to the other boat dock and waited for the 4.1 boat headed towards Fondamenta Nove, planning instead to get the x-ray done at Ospedale Civile.
Once at Ospedale, I had to navigate the giant maze called our hospital to find the Radiology department. Inside that building, I waited my turn at the in-take clerk, only to be told I needed to make an appointment to have the x-ray. I racked my brain, but for the life of me I did not recall ever having to make an appointment for x-rays. I thought for sure I just took the prescription in with me. I'd only had x-rays at either Giustinian or Fatebenefratelli, and the last time was 3 years ago, so perhaps they'd changed procedures since then. This is Italy, and I'm learning I need to just go with the flow. I'll never understand how anything operates in this country.
Nothing is ever easy. I then had to get myself back into the maze, wander around a bit, and luckily located the right office for appointments.They have been doing a lot of renovation at Ospedale ( a good thing) which means it will be even more confusing that it normally would be. On one hand, this was good because I needed to make an appointment for the surgeon anyway. Good, I'll kill two birds. But on the other hand... not so good. When it was my turn, the girl behind the desk making appointments laughed in my face when I asked if it was possible to get the x-ray done today. No, three months from now, she tells me. I should have expected nothing less, seeing how my morning was going.
With some magic, she managed to find an appointment for me with an orthopedic surgeon on October 7. That's promising. The appointment is somewhere on the Lido, and I have no clue where that hospital building is, but who cares. I'll deal with that fiasco on October 7. I tell her to book it. With that done, she managed to find an appointment for an x-ray on September 29, at Giustinian. Wonderful. Thank you. At least I'll be able to have the x-ray to take with me when I go to the surgeon, otherwise his visit would be for naught.
Not happy that I wasn't successful getting the x-ray as I had planned, but thankful that I at least had made some sort of progress, I exited the Ospedale building into one of Venice's most beautiful campos, San Giovanni e Paolo. The campo is empty, the caffe's are just getting awnings out, and it's sunny. I decided I've earned myself a little treat, so I stopped for tea in the campo.
There was only one other table occupied at Bar Colleoni when I sat down. Wouldn't you know it? It's a gorgeous day and I don't have my camera. The photo above is mine, from some previous day of wandering. Sitting with this marvelous statue in front of me, relaxing with a cup of tea is a pretty good way to spend my morning. I took out my notebook and started to write. I wrote the blog I intended to post today. A blog about yesterday's adventures.
I dragged my tea break out for well over an hour, just enjoying the sun and my surroundings. Instead of heading to the closest vaporetto stop, I chose to walk most of the way home. I meandered my way from Campo San Giovanni e Paolo back to San Zaccaria. Along the way I popped into New Zealand's Architectural Biennale exhibition, where I had the best time meeting and chatting with the two women running the exhibition. We've made plans to meet again in a few days.
Sunshine. Tea. New friends. Not such a bad day after all.
And that blog I worked on? Saving that for tomorrow.
Not a cloud in the sky, lots of sun- it was the perfect day for the Regata Storica. This is one of Venice's most spectacular festivals, the culmination of the rowing season AND a parade down Venice's main street, the Grand Canal. But this isn't just any parade, it's a fabulous water parade of 16th century style boats filled with rowers and passengers decked out in period costumes.
This is a festival for and by Venetians, and they certainly showed up for it this year. LOTS more boats lining the Grand Canal and people hanging out of the palazzo windows from St. Mark's to the train station and back this year than in previous years. This was different- in a good way. I too, was doing the Regata a bit differently this year. In years past, I've watched from canal side at San Vio and by the train station. Both were great viewing posts, but not the optimum. I have also had the pleasure of watching from in a gondola, in the water, tied up near the Rialto bridge and I thought that was as good as it could get. This year, I got the golden ticket. This year, I rowed in the historic parade- the Corteo. Yes, I was not only IN the water, I was in the parade itself.
For the last few weeks in August the anticipation had been building, and finally the day was upon me. I could barely believe it was true. I was going to row down the Grand Canal along with the Corteo in the Regata Storica. Sunday morning I was ready. My gym bag was packed by the door. I practically wore a hole in the floor pacing until it was time to leave for the boat yard.
Finally it was time to go. As the vaporetto Mike and I were on motored past The Bucintoro, I spotted our dragon boat waiting on the fondamenta and several Pink Lionesses already in their rowing outfits outside finalizing their preparations. In just a few more minutes, I'd be there too.
I think I flew off the vaporetto and raced to the boat house. As I entered, I was greeted with hugs and kisses from my fellow Lionesses and enthusiastic greetings. Many of them had been away on their summer holidays for the month of August and this was the first time seeing them since they had gotten back. That's when it hit me. I wasn't just rowing in the Regata Storica this year. I was rowing with my fellow lionesses. That made all the difference.
(Me, with our beautiful dragon)
Even our dragon boat was ready for a special party! Several of the lionesses had spent the previous afternoon decorating our two boats for the occassion. We not only had a full dragon boat of lionesses, we also had our smaller boat filled with guests, other women in pink, from Chioggia, Mestre and Montebelluno. The small boat was lifted into the water, fully loaded with excited women ready to row.
Next the larger dragon boat was lowered into the water, with only 4 rowers and our helmsman on board. The rest of us marched down the street to where we normally board. Today we not only had ourselves loading up, but also Nina, the grand daughter of one of the lionesses, who would be up front beating the drum cadence for us during the Regata, and lots of sacks full of food and wine.
Finally, we were off, paddling towards the Grand Canal.
Once on the Grand Canal, we took up our position behind the elegant historic boats, the ones filled with rowers and passengers in period costumes. As we headed towards Rialto, we passed by the judges stand at Ca Foscari, where we, like every other boat, raised our oars in salute. All along the route people stood and clapped in recognition of the women in pink as we rowed past. I couldn't have been more proud of my lionesses!
Having rowed the entire length of the Canal, we then turned the boat around, heading back towards the Accademia Bridge searching for the best spot to tie up along the banks to watch the afternoon's races. After slowing down at several possible locations, the ladies finally agreed on the spot they thought would be perfect, just before the San Toma vaporetto stop. We tied up alongside several other boats, and then the party really got started. The women in the front of the boat dug into the sacks of food, passing plastic cups and plates down the rows from front to the back. Bottles of prosecco were popped open. Amidst lots of Salute's and Cin Cin's (toasts) we had ring side seats to view the historic boats as they completed their return trip down the canal. Next, mortadella paninis (sandwiches), olives, and pizzettes (small pizzas) were passed down the line. When I thought we couldn't eat more the tortas (cakes) came out. Peach torta, apple torta and even a nutella torta. And cookies. In between it all, the prosecco and red wine circulated from the front of the dragon boat to the rear. Things were being passed from our boat to the boats along side us, and vice versa.
All along the Grand Canal Venetians just like us were celebrating, eating and drinking in their boats. This is how Venetians do it, and here I was, right smack in the middle of it all. I had a grin plastered on my face from ear to ear that lasted the entire day. This was beyond my wildest imagination.
Races in several categories - children, older youths, women, six man teams and finally two man teams round out the rest of the afternoon. The last race, the two man teams of gondoliers in gondolini (shaped just like a gondola, but specially constructed for competitive racing) is much anticipated all year long. Everyone in boats or on the sidelines cheers madly for their favorite team, and the competition is fierce.
I had the perfect perch from which to observe all the action! And "action" is not quite the appropriate word to describe the last race. It was a nail biter! The two rival boats were neck and neck as they passed me on their way up the Grand Canal, and they were within inches when they came back past me towards the finish line. The race ended in a photo finish. It was that close. The sheer muscle and athleticism required to perform at this level is indescribable.
Add to that, if you can just imagine, the setting: the Grand Canal, empty except for these boats, with the pink hues of the setting sun behind the palazzos as these racers headed for the final few feet at Ca Foscari. An amazing ending to an amazing day.
For me, it wasn't quite over yet. We had to row back to the boat house, in what suddenly seemed like rush hour at Grand Central Station. Every boat was back on the canal, rowing at the same time! Bedlam! It only took seconds for the local police to be directing traffic so we all got to where we were headed safely.
After putting the dragon boat away for the night, we headed up to the locker room to change clothes. Reflecting on the day, and not really wanting it to end, all I could think about was how different this experience was from the year prior. I've somehow, miraculously, gone from being on the sidelines to being right in the thick of it. I'll take that.
Yesterday, I was a little late arriving at the Bucintoro for our Wednesday afternoon rowing practice. As I was just about to the door, I could see that most of the Lionesses were already out on the street with oars in hand, getting ready to climb into the dragon boat, and they were all making a fuss, yelling to me "Karen, Karen, hurry up, hurry up!" (Note: YES, the lionesses ALL call me Karen!)
I ran upstairs, changed quickly, grabbed my paddle and life vest, and ran for the boat. I was nearly tackled by lionesses, all clamoring at me, all at the same time. They were all trying to tell me that we had a special guest rowing with us that afternoon, a fellow breast cancer survivor dragon boater from Philadelphia. The head of our group, Anna, wanted to make sure that I understood I would be the one rowing next to this woman, Lynne, and that I should translate for the rest of the group as we rowed. Oh, this should be a lot of fun, I thought. When all of them get speaking a mile a minute at the same time, I don't do so well with my Italian. I said a quick prayer to the patron saint of Italian language learners and hoped for the best!
While in the boat, Lynne explained to me that she and others from her Philadelphia group had been competing in dragon boat races in Ravenna during the previous week, and now she and her husband were wrapping up their vacation with a brief two day stay in Venice. On Tuesday afternoon, while taking a walk down the Zattere, they happened into the Bucintoro and noticed photos on the wall of the Pink Lionesses. Lynn asked someone at the clubhouse about the lionesses, and was directed to talk to Marissa, one of our lionesse who by happenstance was also there at the club at the same time. Marissa doesn't speak any English, and Lynne doesn't speak any Italian, but somehow they managed to communicate for about 30 minutes, during which time Marissa invited Lynne to show up on Wednesday to row with us.
What a happy coincidence this must have been for Lynne! Isn't it wonderful when worlds collide unexpectedly? The lionesses were ecstatic to be able to share some rowing time with a fellow cancer survivor. For Lynne, it might have been an opportunity of a lifetime. As we rowed the boat onto the Grand Canal, she was as awestruck by that moment as I am every time I get the chance to row on that canal. Something about it just takes your breath away.
While we rowed, Lynne bombarded me with questions about our group. She was particularly interested in our boat, commenting on how beautiful it was compared to the boat her group rows in back home, and also that this was the first time she had been in a boat with cushions on the seats. What a luxury! I agreed wholeheartedly! Those cushions are a godsend after you've been rowing for about an hour. Another first for her was to be seated in the boat while it was being lifted in a crane to go in and out of the water. Lynne thought we had some high tech methods over here! They normally push the boat into the river where they row.
Lynne is competing in the International Breast Cancer survivors regatta in Sarasota, Florida which will be held in October. One of our own lionesses, Tiziana, will be making her very first trip to the US to compete in that race with the Rome team. Lynne got a chance to connect with Tiziana during our row, both promising to meet up again in Florida.
At the end of each of our normal practices, the boat is lifted out of the water, and we all pitch in to wash and dry the boat in order to get all the salt water off of it before it gets stored in the boat house. Lynne was invited to join with this task. Her group never has to wash their boat off. While we were washing, the lionesses wanted to explain to Lynne what we were doing. In sort of mime fashion, they demonstrated hosing down the boat and using the sponges to soak up the water inside the boat. Lucia, one of the lionesses, asked me how to say that we were cleaning and drying the boat with sponges, in English. (Fyi, sponge, in Italian, is spugna) As I got the word "sponge" out of my mouth, Cristina, working next to me, started repeating what came out like "Spuuun-ge" "Spuuun-ge", making a very Italian sounding end to the word every time. We all had a little English pronunciation lesson right then and there, with everyone saying "Sponge" "Sponge" "Sponge", in between laughing and drying. Sort of a little like "Whistle while you work"... lioness style.
Lynne certainly had a unique Venetian experience Wednesday afternoon!
Beginning today, locals will begin attaching a sign on those "Lover's Locks" that are attached to bridges all over Venice. It's a grassroots campaign initiated by Alberto Toso Fei, a well known Venetian author, to enlighten visitors to our city that locks on Venice's bridges are illegal.
For one week, people will be posting the poster in shops, restaurants, cafes, bars, hotels, as well as attaching them directly on the locks. It's an ingenious idea. I too, will be out with my handfull of signs tomorrow and Wednesday, doing my part.
I ask you to please, pass the word for Venice. The more people who know that it is not ok to put a lock on a bridge here, the better. One small step for Venice...
Recently, while eating at one of my new favorites on Via Garibaldi, I had a lovely little conversation with one of the owners. Towards the end of our chat, I introduced myself with "My name is Karen". He says "Nice to meet you, Carol." I wasn't surprised, that's a very common response here. No one can pronounce Karen. I repeated my name to him a second time, to which he replied, " Yes, Carolina, like my girlfriend's name." At that point I gave it up as a lost cause and went back to eating my meal.
Two days later, at the same little place, the same man greeted me with "Ciao, Carol." I just grinned and gave him a "ciao" back.
I routinely get the "Ciao, Carol" all over town. I suppose I should just be happy to be acknowledged. It's not their fault they can't pronounce Karen. It's all my mother's fault for not giving me an Italian name!
My mother, Giuliana (now isn't that a beautiful Italian name?) was born and raised in Italy. She moved to the US when she was 19 after marrying my father, who was an American soldier stationed in Naples during the end of WWII. When my mother had us kids, she named us American names so we would fit in. Charlotte, Karen, Denise and Charles could have been Carlotta, Camilla, Daniela and Carlo, but no, we had to have American names!
And so I suffer with most people not being able to say my name. I'd even answer to "Hey, you", I think.
PS. Mom- I really just want to fit in now! Is it ok with you if I change my name to Camilla, or Carmella, or Carolina?
For those of you unfamiliar with the word "schlep", let me give you some examples. If it's really hot and you have a long way to walk, you are schlepping. If you have a lot of things to carry and you have to go up several flights of stairs, you have to schlep the stuff up. If it's hot, you have a lot to carry, and a long way to walk, you are really schlepping. Ok, so now you can imagine me schlepping.
My Monday involved a 40 + minute boat ride from my end of Venice (way down in the tail part of the fish) to Piazzale Roma, a 10 minute wait for the 24H bus, a 35 minute bus ride out to the hinterlands of Mestre, and then a walk to several shops. And it was hot. I avoid taking the bus to Mestre like it was the plague. For me it's like going to another planet. I have no idea where I am and there are tons of cars, buses, motorcycles. I am afraid I will get killed crossing streets, I always forget to stop and look. I've gotten so used to not doing that in Venice, and I go to the mainland so infrequently I just plain forget.
My laptop died over the weekend. Well, that's a slight exaggeration. It didn't quite die, but it would not boot up Windows Vista, the operating system on my laptop. Mike tried using a restore disk, that didn't work. Nothing worked. I was very tempted to throw the darned thing in the canal. It was 5 years old, and had been giving me problems for quite a while already- it fried power cords 3 times a year. With what I've spent on replacement power cords I could have had a new computer 3 years ago. My now dead laptop is the reason I had to make a trek to the mainland.
I went online and checked a few of the shops my friend Cat recommended. Having found a model laptop with all the features I needed and also in my price range at the Marco Polo Express, I set off Monday to buy it. First on boat, then bus, then a walk. I figured this should be a piece of cake. Wrong. I just should have known this was going to be difficult.
Inside the shop, I checked out all the laptops they had on display. The model I wanted was not there. I flagged down a store employee, who explained that the model I wanted could only be purchased online. It could be shipped to the store, or shipped to my home. I decided I wanted this particular model so much that I would do as he suggested, so I called Mike at home and asked him to go online to make the transaction.
Since I was out in the hinterlands and there were other large shops in the vicinity, I spent some time perusing a few other stores. I even purchased 2 pink tank tops! Yes, I went where Karen had never gone before-- pink clothing.
Feeling good about my adventure (another opportunity to speak only in Italian), I waited for the next 24H bus back to Venice. At least finding a bus stop wasn't too difficult. Once back in Venice, I boarded a boat for the almost 45 minute ride to Sant'Elena, then the schlep to the apartment.
Once I got in the apartment, the nightmare part 2 began. Mike had been unable to make the computer purchase online because the website wouldn't accept our US credit card. We've been using this card all over Europe for years now, and this website wouldn't accept it. I tried also, no luck. I called their customer assistance. Shockingly, they actually answered the phone without having to go through a ridiculously complex phone menu system. Again, I had a great exercise in speaking Italian with the customer support rep. She also could not make the transaction over the phone, but advised me to go to the Rimini shop, where they had one of the computers I wanted in inventory. I thanked her and hung up. I was NOT going to Rimini on the train to buy a computer. I needed a Plan B.
Plan B involved another boat, bus and schlep to Marghera (another city on the mainland not far from Mestre) on Wednesday morning, to a different store. My mission this time was to come home with a computer in my hand, no matter what. Mission accomplished- after another boat, bus and schlep.
My new laptop, an ASUS, runs Windows 8. It's foreign to me. Everything is in Italian. Not good. First task was to attempt to switch the language to English, which thankfully was done fairly easily. Mike was able to load all of my files and photos onto the new machine, and I am still reloading several programs I use. The keyboard (Italian style) is kicking my ass big time. Between figuring out how to navigate Windows 8 and locating keys on the keyboard, it's going to take some getting used to.
Nothing is easy here. I had moments when I was daydreaming I hopped in my car, drove to Best Buy and had the whole thing accomplished in 30 minutes. But, it's the price you pay for living where we do. I'm not complaining, just laughing with myself over another one of my silly adventures.
I'm past this bump in the road, my new laptop is up and running, and I'm back online. Life is good, aside from the boat ride, the bus ride and the schlep.
Hemingway has a very distinctive screech. For such a little guy, he is VERY loud. And that's a good thing, because we've been able to hear him every night since we put him back out in the trees in front of our apartment, so we know at least that he is still alive.
We've had some torrential downpours since the day Mike spotted Hemingway in the grass. It was probably a bad storm that knocked him from a tree in the first place. Because of the bad weather, we've kept a close eye out for him, just in case his little self was blown off a limb and down into the grass again. So far, he's been ok up in the trees. Clearly he is flying better. We hear his screeching from quite a ways down the park from our apartment, and then he returns closer.
Last night we didn't hear him around his normal time (around 11pm), and of course, I started to panic. Mike was ready to take his flashlight out to begin searching for Hemingway again. Being the worried parent, I had a tough time falling asleep wondering what had happened to him, hoping he was ok. Hours passed. Nothing. I finally went to bed, thinking the worst had occurred to Hemingway. I reminded myself that he's a wild bird, and nature needed to take it's course, whatever that may be.
Around 4 am, Mike and I were awakened by a loud screeching just outside our window. We looked at each other, each of us saying at the same time, "It's Hemingway, he's safe!" And then I wanted to give that owl a serious talking to for having stayed out past his bedtime!
Yesterday one of my Facebook friends made the comment "There's never a dull moment in the Henderson household!". Yesterday she was so right!
Sitting along the canal while enjoying a lovely lunch at Gam Gam restaurant in the Jewish Ghetto with friends from Baltimore who were visiting us in Venice, our friend Mike turned to me and said " Hey, you just got an owl!" Huh??? He handed me his phone to show me a photo. My husband Mike had just posted a photo on Facebook explaining he had rescued a baby bird . Sure enough, it was a baby owl. My husband then sent me a message telling me I had to go buy some beef baby food and a syringe so I could feed the owl. Before our conversation was over, I had already given our baby owl a name, Hemingway. Looks like I was in for a fun afternoon!
In the meantime, we'd heard from another friend who was kind enough to check out some local sources for what to do with the bird. She was able to identifiy it- it's a baby Assiolo owl. And it didn't need to be fed, but it did need to be put back up in a tree or low branches that evening so it's parents could find it.
My husband put the bird in our downstairs magazzino (storage room) to be in a safe place. After bidding our friends goodbye, I rushed home to check on Hemingway.
This is what I found - one very frightened little owl! But what cutie. One look at him and I knew I wanted to keep him. How could you not? Just look at that little face? He was totally petrified, so I just whispered to him that he would be ok, he was safe, and we'd do our best to get him reunited with his parents later on when it got dark.
Mike took a photo of Hemingway out where he found him, in the middle of a big open grassy area just in front of our apartment. It's in a place where lots of cats and dogs were, we were sure Hemingway would have been in one of their mouths if he was left on the ground. It was also blazing hot. Mike couldn't have left the bird there. He did the only thing he could think of, he scooped him up into a container and took him to safety.
Mike and I joked about Hemingway, our new family member, during dinner and while we waited for the sun to go down. We wondered what kind of owl he'd grow up to be, made plans for his future, all the things new parents typically do! As soon as the sun went set, Mike went down to the magazzino to get Hemingway so we could try to get him out into a tree.
Shortly after, my phone rang. Mike was on the phone telling me to run down so I could see where Hemingway was. The little bugger could fly! He wasn't in the plastic container anymore, he had flown up and landed on a metal bed frame we have stored along a wall in the magazzino. There he was , perched up above my head on this metal frame, just looking down at me. He's no bigger than my hand, but looks exactly like a big owl, in minature.
We got him scooped up into the plastic container and took him back out to the park area in front of our apartment. The trees that he had fallen from earlier that day have limbs about 30 feet off the ground, there was no way we could climb up there. Fortunately, for us, and for Hemingway, there are several young pine trees recently planted in that area. We were able to let him loose on one of the closest of these smaller pines to where Mike found him. We said our goodbyes, wished him a safe and happy life, and went inside.
A few hours later, Mike went back out with a flashlight to see if Hemingway was ok out there. Hemingway was not where we left him. He was no where in sight. Hopefully he had reunited with his parents. We already missed him, the little bugger!
We wondered about him all day today. Every time I passed through the park area, I checked out both the ground and the surrounding low trees. No sight of Hemingway.
We had another storm rolling in tonight. Of course, we worried about the owl. Just as it was starting to get dark, I heard some loud screeches coming from the trees. Mike took a flashlight and went out searching. We immediately thought Hemingway might be in trouble out there.
Guess who was making all that noise tonight? Yup, our boy Hemingway! Mike followed the sounds of the screeching, which was moving around, so clearly Hemingway was flying from tree to tree. He actually found Hemingway, perched about 20 feet up on a branch. The tiny guy is ok.
He'll probably keep us up all night with his screeching, too. I imagined that his mother, if he's been reunited with her, has been giving him what's for for being out later than 8 pm last night. That's our boy!