Hovering on the threshold

Rose-breasted grosbeak

My first official post-grading day with no scheduled meetings until tomorrow, but nevertheless here I am on campus. I didn't intend to be here today but rain interrupted a lovely muddy birding hike and I wanted to go somewhere to dry off and warm up, so here I sit in the English Department Reading Room not exactly working but not quite not working either, on the threshold of summer break but not able to step across until I clear up a few pesky issues, like marshaling at Commencement and dealing with a plagiarism case. Sing it with me now: "Let's get liminal, liminal, I wanna get liminal...."

Yellow warbler

One of the reasons I went out hiking this morning was so I wouldn't have to think about the plagiarism case, which arose on penultimate paper on the final day of finals week, which means I was only two papers away from finishing grading when I got that sinking feeling and spent a few desultory moments searching before finding the offending passage on SparkNotes. It was like running a marathon but falling and breaking your ankle just a few feet from the finish line, and then of course the students had already left for summer break so all the outrage has to happen via e-mail, which makes it worse. 

But the birds don't care about plagiarism. The rose-breasted grosbeaks care about bossing other birds away from the feeders, and yesterday a female cardinal cared deeply about the fledgling that had somehow fallen into the hands (or I suppose I should say the jaws) of my dog. The cardinal's alarm calls were loud enough to wake me up from a Sunday afternoon nap, whereupon I chided Hopeful for toying with the baby bird even though by that time there was nothing to be done except watch the mama cardinal mourn. 

orchard oriole?

This morning early I found hordes of towhees, chickadees, kingbirds, and yellow warblers at McDonough Wildlife Refuge across the river in West Virginia, and I spotted what I believe is an orchard oriole. A green heron flew across and landed at the far end of the pond but moved on by the time I'd slogged through the mud to get closer. A pair of Canada geese objected to some new arrivals and started hissing and chasing them across the pond, but I couldn't see what distinguished the interlopers from the others. (Maybe they'd "borrowed" their honks from SparkNotes.)


But before I could ponder whether birds are capable of plagiarism, the clouds rolled over and the rain began in earnest, sending me scurrying for cover back on campus, where I'm warm and dry and thinking about working on that plagiarism case. If I hiss at it, will it go away?

The geese in back hiss and chase the interloper

Hiss hiss hiss!