Cyrano: Pushing His Luck

Throughout June, we observed our House Wren Cyrano continue to woo his Roxanne. Every morning they would both be seen, singing from nearby branches and other favorite perches (our cobalt-blue gazing ball being one), happy to have found each other. Pretty soon, the stuffing of the old-man nestbox began; twigs, pine needles, and Carly's fur (the only benefit to the massive shedding of her winter coat) were schlepped inside until we thought not one more pine needle could fit. Then things quieted down as eggs were laid and tended. Oh, Cyrano still sang, but his song was noticeably quieter. We could still hear it--right at daybreak outside our open bedroom window, causing Bruce to have this love/hate relationship with him. The bird simply cannot stop singing.

Bruce's fancy new camera at work

We truly were thrilled, though, to watch this unlikely couple make a go at having a family. I was all set for this blog post to be centered on Cyrano, Roxanne, and (fingers crossed) new babies successfully fledging from the nest and entering the world. A nice little package of a story, wrapped up with a big happy bow. There is more to it, though--so just keep reading.

And indeed, the family was successful. At least three wrens hatched, and Roxanne and Cyrano hustled their little upright tails off bringing insects to nourish babies Edmond (for Edmond Rostand, playwright for Cyrano de Bergerac), Geraldine (for Geraldine McCaughrean, who re-wrote the play as a novel); and Martin (for Steve Martin, who wrote the screenplay for the movie Roxanne, winning a Writers Guild of America award). Note: Neither Bruce nor I are one for naming our yard critters, but what the heck. This is an exception.

Forage and feed, forage and feed, and on it went. Pretty soon, the heads of Edmond, Geraldine, and Martin started to appear as they grew. We could see the nest was packed with nest-stuff, and often when Cyrano or Roxanne would bring food in, they would take things out; cleaning house, so to speak. The usual item carted out being poop from the babies. Such is life, and you had to admire the cleanliness of these birds.

The light-colored rim of their beaks goes slightly downward,
making the young 'uns look grumpy. Quit complaining, I say!

The old man nestbox is starting to show a little wear and tear!

We didn't know exactly when the birds would fledge out of the nest. One evening while sitting on the back deck enjoying our yard birds and the sunset, we noticed that the box was quiet. Too quiet. Cyrano and Roxanne seemed to have disappeared. The eerie silence went on for about 20 minutes. Bruce and I looked at each other with pained expressions of heartbreak, sadness, and a tad bit of joy. The family may have moved on, but we played a tiny role in adding a few more wrens to this world. We couldn't believe how sad we were, though, and realized at that very moment how important Cyrano and Roxanne had become in our daily lives. It was just too quiet without them, and worst of all, we didn't get a chance to say good-bye!!!

Then....movement, wren-song, and what sounded like apologetic wren-chatter as Cyrano and Roxanne returned to the box and the family woke up with open mouths. Whew. All accounted for, safe and sound. Continue on.

It had to happen, though. Two days after the above photos were taken, the young birds popped out of the nest while we were on our morning walk, and old man nestbox fell quiet.

Two summers ago when our nesting juncos fledged (see earlier post), mom, dad, and kids left the yard right away, never to return. We hoped this wouldn't be the case with Cyrano and his brood. And it wasn't, at least not right away.

 

This section of our yard, especially the honeysuckle bush on the pole fence, became Wren Central. The young wrens used this bush as their fort, hidden away as they learned the ropes from mom and dad. Sections of the bush would sometimes tremble while the young bounced around within. Chattering noises abounded, making us wonder what sort of conversations were going on. And, we soon started seeing young wrens perched here and there, sort of huddled in a "please don't see me, Mr. Hawk" position.

For the most part, that's how it went. We think Edmond, Geraldine, and Martin, with Roxanne nearby, are exploring the great new world that is our yard and the adjacent forest of our neigbors, as we can sometimes hear wrens within earshot.

BUT wait, he's baaaaacckkk....Cyrano is at it again. Every morning, right as the dawn breaks (which is early; the clock's first digit is always a "4"), there goes Cyrano. Singing. Loudly. Constantly. Bruce gets up, harumphs and shakes his fist (albeit gently), shuts the window, and tries to get back to sleep. Which doesn't work, because now Carly is up and starts licking, nibbling, and growling to be let out.

The song of the wren fills our mornings yet again. There's Cyrano, bouncing all over the place singing loudly from every perch possible, advertising a second time what a great layout he found for just the right female. Did Roxanne tell him she's just not that into him? Will he succeed against even greater odds in finding a new mate, this late in the nesting season? Dude, don't push it; chill and go out on top!!!

I don't know what happened to Roxanne. She's probably hovering around her brood as they make their way into the forest. Cyrano, though, has transformed into a Don Juan. Now I have to research THAT guy!

Taken just this morning. Here he goes again.

The Results Are In...

"You know what you made? You made Jagermeister!"

Said my brother-in-law Brian, kidding but sort of serious, after he read my Fig Cordial blog entry. Brian was going to visit us for the long Memorial Day weekend. While he is not a big drinker at all, he is probably my #1 go-to source for information on liquor. Or liqueurs. Or, in my case, cordials. He knows his stuff. So before he arrived, I remembered I had jars of figs and things marinating in vodka in our closet. I asked him to read my blog entry, think about what could be mixed with my fig cordial, bring some mixers with him, and we'd have a taste-testing good time. It just so happens that Jagermeister is one of his favorite sipping drinks. Score!

I knew my fig cordial needed some help. I tasted it weeks ago and my first thought was that I made cough syrup--or something that could be used to possibly make me feel better when I'm sick. Now, that's a pretty low bar for this stuff to jump over. I wasn't impressed, and thought I had basically wasted a gallon of cheap vodka, which is kind of a shame in its own way, and goes to show what I thought of this concoction. But it WAS very pretty--a deep ruby-amber color, and I had hope that we'd find something that would work.

After Brian e-mailed me back with his comparison to Jagermeister, he sent me a couple links to websites listing HUNDREDS of cocktails to make using Jagermeister, as well as the Jagermeister webpage, found here. With those links in hand, plus the Wikipedia page, I find out that he's pretty dang close. I didn't crack the nut that is the secret combination of 56 herbs and spices that makes the true Jagermeister, but it rings true--especially the commonality that I made a product that some people will hate, and others will love--just like Jagermeister.

The real Jagermeister was rolled out to the world, for better or worse, in 1935 by Wilhelm and Curt Mast of Germany. The name, meaning "Master Hunter," was a reflection of Curt's passion for hunting. While Jagermeister's recipe is largely still a secret, several taste-connoisseurs have determined that some of the ingredients include cinnamon, anise, and ginger (all three of which went into my fig cordial), plus things like citrus peel, juniper berries, and ginseng. Another website mentioned cardamom (check!) and possibly vanilla (check!). And, it is truly either loved or despised. I wanted to find ways to make my fig cordial loved.

I read through some of the cocktail recipes. Some were your basic "mix with a bunch of liquors" to come up with something that completely masks all the individual flavors plus ____ (sweet juice goes here; take your pick) that overpowers even THAT.

Some of the comments people added at the end of various websites included vows that Jagermeister cured them of stomach ailments; that they take a shot of the "old Jager" every night to help with indigestion; that when sick, nothing makes them improve better than a cup of black tea, a hit of Jager, and a sugar cube. And maybe there is a nugget of reason there, given ginger (aids nausea, good for digestion) and other supposed ingredients that are antioxidants or anti-inflammatories (cinnamon) it contains.

Suggested mixers included things I wouldn't really be surprised to hear: pineapple, cranberry, and orange juices, vodka (which is already a part of my cordial), Squirt soda, and even cola.

Others were surprising--peppermint schnapps? Kahlua, coffee, cream, and a hit of Jager? Other sweet liqueurs like blackberry schnapps? Jack Daniels, Coke, and Jager? Kool-Aid? What about making a JagerBomb--Jagermeister with Red Bull? Whoa. Even grape soda, mentioned several times. Yes, the grape soda you had when you were a kid--that fizzy, dark purple (I don't even want to know how much dye goes into it) sickly-sweet pop that makes my stomach churn just thinking about it.

So the day Brian showed up, I pawed through my cabinets. I found an old can of pineapple juice, some plain sparkling water that I thought could cut its powerful taste, and we had bought a real pineapple for the weekend, not thinking it'd be a lab rat for soaking in fig cordial. Brian (I knew I picked the right person for this!) showed up with papaya and pineapple schnapps; cherry cola; ginger ale; Squirt; and....one can of the dreaded grape soda. Honestly, I didn't think they still sold this garbage (I never peruse the soda aisle).

Testing one thing and another separately with fig cordial and then mixing one, two, or three things together, we had fun trying things out. At one point, my neighbor and friend Pat came by. She had a totally different set of taste buds than we did, and what was almost bearable to us was unbearable to her. All good--that's what experimenting is for.

Now, the results!

The first mix that I could live with was a blend of papaya and pineapple schnapps, a hit of Jack Daniels, a splash of sparkling water, and fig cordial. I can see your face....please, I know. Stop. It wasn't bad.

Another decent mix was orange juice and fig cordial, straight up. Possibly coming in just by a nose ahead of that was OJ, champagne, and a hit of fig cordial. We decided to have that play on a mimosa the next morning. The thing about OJ and fig cordial--put it in an opaque glass. The thick orange juice combined with the glossy ruby-brown cordial created the unappetizing color known as "mud." You really don't want to see it as it's going down.

Another success? Pineapple chunks marinating in fig cordial.

But what was our favorite? You guessed it---GRAPE SODA!!!! Yuck!!! But yum!!!! It's unbelievable how the two flavors played upon each other to come up with a not-sweet-soda, not-too-herby/spicy drink.

Worst? Fig cordial and ginger ale. We both thought that may be worthy, but...nah. Terrible.

I actually think that I'll like it with hot tea and a sugar cube. I may have to wait until I'm down with a cold to attempt that. Or maybe I'll try it tonight. Who knows. I do know that I'm going to have to swallow a lot of pride if I end up having to buy a six-pack of grape soda. Maybe I know a kid I can pay to walk into Safeway and buy grape soda for me. Regardless, I have enough of the stuff to last. Once the figs and other ingredients were removed, I ended up with about two quarts. Want some?

Smile, my pretty!

Nestbox. Bird. Challenge. Victory.

   Several years ago, my husband was browsing the web for something to pop out on the screen as a good birthday present for his wife (me). He found this quaint wooden nest box that had a carved caricature of an old man with a large nose, holding a pair of binoculars. The entry holes for the birds are the man's nostrils. It is very cute, and we hang it on a tree near our back deck every spring.

   The box is made for wrens, the entry holes being in the configuration that wrens like (facing horizontally out so they can go up and in). It's been checked out over the years by nuthatches, but there's never been any use of it by any bird--because our yard isn't really good wren habitat. The only time our yard was visited by a house wren (the most common wren species up here), it was a fly-by out front. Hello, no thanks, nothing good here, goodbye.
 

This is what the box looked like in 2005. 2006. 2007.
2008. 2009. 2010. 2011. 2012. And 2013.

Here is John James Audubon's illustration of a House Wren, note the nest configuration, in an old hat:

    Imagine our surprise when, just a couple weeks ago, a male house wren inspected our little man, and decided it was the perfect pad for a mate. We know it was a male, because in House Wren World, males find a nest spot (or a few spots), build the start of a nest (or a few nests), attract a mate, and then SHE gets to choose which nest they'll use. So there was this proud dude, flying inside with sticks and soft stuff, and then perching himself on a nearby branch, busting with pride and singing his wee little heart out. Like this:

    Singing singing singing. This would go on for hours, I am not kidding you. He'd move to a different branch, and start over. Hours. It was heartbreaking, like watching Cyrano de Bergerac trying desperately to woo his Roxanne. Wait. Cyrano. Cyr-wren-o.....perfect!!!

    After a couple days of this lone, ever more desperate song piercing our souls, I mentioned to Bruce that, you know, Cyrano may not get his Roxanne, considering Roxanne may never come within a half-mile of this property. We could only hope and watch.

    Bruce had a lot of chances to watch, too, because he had many, many yard projects going on. When Bruce works in the yard, he pulls out this boombox, tunes into the local oldies radio station, and plays it loud enough to hear it from all over the yard. A week or so ago, I came home from work to find Bruce in the yard, constructing whatever. The boombox was pulled out like normal, but it wasn't on. I talked to him a bit about our day, and inquired "why aren't you listening to the radio?"

    With this sheepish voice, he said quietly, "The wren wouldn't be heard by any females...I didn't have the heart to drown him out." (all together now "aaaawwwwwwwwwwwww...").

    And that is why I married him.

    But back to the story. Cyrano continued to sing, we continued to wait. Day after day.

    Today, I went on my morning walk with Carly, and Bruce hung back in the yard to fix, build, or water something. Upon our return, Bruce motioned me over to him. With a twinkle in his eye and barely a smile, he asked "What would be the best news you could possibly hear right now?" I thought a bit, and then it hit me.

   Roxanne.

   We grinned at each other and cheered. Score one for perseverance. You go, Cyrano.

   Over breakfast on the back deck, I saw both Cyrano and Roxanne. One was singing, one was fluffing up the nest--both reminding me that sometimes, it's the little things in life that count, big time.

Our Cyrano

His Roxanne

Gettin' Figgy With It

A rainy day. A bag of figs. What's that spell?
F-I-G
C-O-R-D-I-A-L

Ever go to Costco and buy a big bag of something---anything---that you think you'll like and plow through quickly? And then don't? Bet that never happens and you have no idea what I'm talking about. Yeah, right. Well, I admit, it happened to me. Awhile ago I bought a bag of figs. A big bag. A Costco-sized bag. And, shortly thereafter, I ate maybe three. And they sat on a shelf.

32 oz bag of figs, with an egg for comparison.
Dat's alot of fig

Sometimes things happen, colliding in a perfect cluster, that were just meant to be. Those figs were destined for something greater than an occasional snack. Here's my colliding cluster of events:

1. Tuesday: I gave my second-to-last jar of homemade cherry cordial to a work pal. In doing so, had a conversation about how rare these pie cherry bushes I "borrow" the cherries from actually bear fruit (like maybe every 7 years) and how I need to find other cordial recipes to make instead of depending on our ridiculously windy, cold springs to not freeze during blossom time. Which only happens, like I said, about every 7 years.

2. Friday: I had a gift certificate to our local olive oil/balsamic vinegar shop to spend. The shop owner chatted with me about how great certain flavored balsamic vinegars are as a splash in vodka (my cherry cordial base is vodka). Fig-flavored balsamic vinegar was pointed out, which niggled my brain into thinking about figs and vodka at the same time.

3. Friday: I walked by my bag of figs, lonely on the shelf.

4. Saturday morning (today): I was browsing the web and looked up fig recipes. Most looked too complicated, like I had to cook with them, or what have you. I then stumbled across Fig-Infused Vodka and some associated martini or other drink recipes. Interesting!

5. Saturday morning (today): It started raining, and was predicted to rain all day.

6. Brain: "hmmm...."

I actually prefer cordial rather than a flavored vodka. Mostly because you can make it and it's ready to go. No need to mix it with something else, or shake it with ice, or blah-blah-blah. Pour, sip, and enjoy. Cordial has been sweetened just a bit, where the infused vodka really hasn't. So, like Winnie-the-Pooh, I put my finger to my forehead and thought and thought. I reviewed fig-and-vodka infusion recipes, and came up with my own Fig-Vodka Cordial.

And here we go.

Buy a bunch of vodka. I don't buy the cheapest, but I certainly don't buy the most expensive. Smirnoff was on sale. You'll see I also experimented with brandy. Whoa.

Get, then, if you don't have it in your pantry:

Cardamom (pods were used in all the online recipes, but I couldn't find any in town, so I used seeds, but not powdered)
Whole Vanilla Beans, one bean pod per jar. I was making 6 quart-or-so jars, so I needed that many
Whole Allspice (little balls of scented goodness)
Star Anise (none of the recipes suggested this spice, but I like it, so there)
Chunks of ginger; none of the recipes suggested this either, and I used the round disks of the jelly-like ginger with sugar coating cut into quarters. I like ginger.
Cinnamon Sticks
Sugar, about 1/3 of a cup for each jar, maybe a bit more, and this is optional

Oh yeah, the figs. Mine were dried figs, some recipes used the fresh, some dried...whatever you have, use the bag of figs you bought from Costco that are just sitting there. Frankly, after adding all those other ingredients, I wonder if the figs even matter. Oh well.

Wash well several quart-sized canning jars, or the size you want, and the lids and screw-on bands. For my cordial, since I didn't have the full cardamom pods, the seeds were loose, as were the allspice balls and the star anise. I took some cheesecloth, placed about a tablespoon of each of those three spices in the middle, and tied it up in a ball with cotton yarn, trimming the excess cloth and string off the ball of spices.

Cut the candied ginger into smaller pieces. Slice each vanilla bean in half lengthwise. Trim stem off each fig, and cut fig in half lengthwise.

In each quart jar, place a vanilla bean, a cinnamon stick, a few chunks of the candied ginger, the cheesecloth ball of spices, and ??? figs. I mostly tried to fill up each jar about 1/3 full with everything, so maybe 6-8 or so figs per quart jar I'm guessing (12-16 halves).

Since most of the recipes did NOT include sugar, being meant to just flavor vodka, I tried that with a couple of my jars--no added sugar. In other jars, I added about 1/3-cup sugar. In one jar, I used brandy instead of vodka.

And there they are: fig and spice vodka, fig-and-spice cordial, and fig-and-spice brandy.

With brandy

With vodka

Most recipes online suggested leaving the jars alone for at least a week. Many recommended that you only leave the cardamom pods and cinnamon in the jars for 4 or so days, remove them, and continue to let the figs infuse into the vodka for another week or so, as the cinnamon and cardamom can overpower the gentle taste of figs. When it's ready, strain out all the stuff (pour through a coffee filter a time or two into another jar), and you're good to go.

Fig brandy on the left, and five jars of fig vodka cordial.
Ok, one of the jars is a 2-quart jar.

In a couple weeks, I'll have a taste test and let you know how it goes! In the meantime, check out the web for vodka infusions. Many know of making limoncello (lemons), or using raspberry and other berries, cherries, etc, but did you know you can infuse vodka with basil and cucumber? Rosemary? How about this for a mind-blowing adventure: Skittles (separate the colors!!) and Jolly Rancher candies!! Hmmm....

A Day in the "Forest"

When you drive north out of our White Mountains home, you decrease in elevation. The ponderosa pine trees disappear, and are replaced with pinyon pines and junipers. And then they, too, disappear, leaving a seemingly desolate landscape of grasslands, rocks, and sky. In January, it's not green like it would be in summer; it's mostly a palette of neutral grays and browns, with the ever-present huge blue sky towering above.

We've had a mild winter, to put it mildly. It's been hovering around the 50's and sunny for the past several weeks. It's a little nerve-wracking to be thoroughly enjoying your dry, sunny, warm winter, though, because every day this weather continues, we know that we are approaching a more and more dangerous fire season come spring. But what can you do? Enjoy it, we say.

So today we decided to take a half-day road trip to the Petrified Forest National Park. The Park is 1.5 hours away from our front door. We packed up a lunch and the dog, and left in the morning. We got to the park shortly after 9:00, and I think we were one of three cars there (all of them had at least one dog with them--good people, no doubt). We pretty much had the place to ourselves, which is an unusual experience in National Park World.

So what is petrified wood? Well, it all started in the Triassic period (largely before dinosaurs roamed in this area, but over time, the Park has seen their share of Jurassic dinosaurs as well), when this area was actually in a different, more tropical location on the planet. Tropical forests covered this landscape, and eventually, these forests were overtaken by silt-laden seas. The mineral content in the water infiltrated the trees, replacing their organic matter with a variety of silica-based compounds. The trees became less tree and more rock. They kept their shape, however, and turned into geologic wonders of rusty-brown, white, purple, olive-green, and black "logs," laying on the ground like fallen giants. Time, weathering, and erosion have left this area strewn with broken petrified logs, rocks, a gravel-like substrate from this petrified wood, and dinosaur bones. It's really an amazing place, and if you're ever in the Holbrook, AZ area, stop by. Especially if it's going to be 50 degrees in January.

We decided to take the Long Logs trail first. The trail leads through one of the highest concentrations of petrified logs, many of them showing their full length--if not whole, then split into lengths but aligned as they fell. The trail eventually led to the "Agate House," an 8-room structure built by the natives who lived in the area around 1000 AD. They build the Agate House from natural block-sized remnants of petrified wood. Since petrified wood is stronger than tempered steel, and only 2 points less than diamonds on the hardness scale, that was about the only size they could manage.

Some photos from the Long Logs / Agate House trail:

Can you believe this color??? Stunning!

After that nice 2-mile walk, it warmed up a bit as we headed to the Crystal Forest stop, and walked around there. Named Crystal Forest due to the higher level of mica and other minerals that were found in logs in this area, these rocks, logs, and substrate glisten in the sun.

Look at the long log on the horizon!

After meandering through the Crystal Forest, we headed back to the south entrance where we began. While Bruce cooked burgers on the grill, I walked the dog through the short trail behind the visitor center. We came back to burgers and 'tater salad.

After that nice lunch and remarking on what a great day this was in just a tiny part of the surreal and sublime landscape that is northern Arizona, we headed home--back to a new appreciation of the live trees that surround us.