The wind goeth where it listeth, saith the King James Bible, but we don't use listeth these days so let's just paraphrase and say the wind goes where it wants, and if it wants to keep blowing some leafy undergrowth toward the sensor of a motion-detecting trail camera during a particularly windy April, then you're going to have to scroll through 9900 images of blowing foliage to locate a few pictures of woodland creatures.
But what great creatures they are! Raccoons and possums and deer and squirrels, of course, and plenty of pictures of the neighbor's cat, but this time we captured on camera a lone coyote--blurry and barely there in the dark--and lots of daylight pictures of wild turkeys.
I'm not kidding about the 9000 blowing-bush pictures, though. Granted, it's been a while since we checked the trailcam, but I had no idea that it could store more than 9000 photos at a time. During the winter when the trees and bushes were bare, the trailcam captured far fewer photos; this time, I deleted photos in batches of 500 at a time. If it had been a burning bush instead of a blowing bush then I might have treated it with a little more respect, but I think it's time to move the camera or trim some foliage.
Still, sorting through all those photos was a suitably mindless task for a lazy Mothers Day. Earlier, I read a book my adorable daughter had sent--Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer--while my husband and son put together an impressive Mothers Day dinner, with grilled bratwurst and zucchini and stuffed jalapenos and salads and pastries. Later we walked up the hill to see what's growing and try to track down an indigo bunting (heard but not seen), and along the way my husband grabbed the memory card out of the trailcam.
And now all those blowing-bush photos have been deleted and I'm ready to call it a day. Goodnight squirrels. Goodnight wind. Goodnight turkeys that made us all grin. Good night possums. Good night deer. Let's get these 9000 pictures out of here.
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