We were eating dinner when we heard it– “That was a bird hitting the window,” he said after a moment’s pause in response to my questioning look, and knowing the speed at which Cooper’s hawks fly that there was no chance, still, I got up and walked into the family room just in case.

And there he was, standing on my amaryllis pots just outside the window.

He doesn’t usually mind me, but reasonably enough he doesn’t like human movement towards him when he’s hunting (oh oops didn’t see him as fast as he saw me) and he took off for his favorite spot on the fence.

Japanese-style fans that accordioned together into a narrow sliver of possibility were one of the toys of my childhood, all those colors and designs hiding in there waiting to be opened and discovered. It’s like that every time Coopernicus flares his tail in flight: drab gray becomes vividly striped in white, straight becomes curved.

But even though he definitely had other things on his mind, he stopped a moment to look eye to eye with me. Even if from a little further away.

Remembering the twice now that he’s followed me to a downed bird, I turned to see if there was one below the corner window, but he already knew there wasn’t and that it had gotten away and with that he was off.

(That title is a pun for the locals. And the peaches, they are growing by the day–click on the photo for a closer look if you want.)

A very loud aircraft was suddenly somewhere very near this afternoon and the birds, who usually ignore such things, took flight.

The big, aggressive fox squirrels have tiny ears set way back. And so the big forward ears on the small gray squirrel under the feeder conveyed to me that she was as much the shy retiring type as such things ever are.

And when that loud penetrating rumble started up she turned right around and faced the clear source of that angry sound: me.

She held her paws together tightly in front as if clutching a handbag. Frozen in place.

The birds flitted back and started heedlessly flinging little pings of safflower seeds and hulls down around the little squirrel; they bounced around her on this side and that, just missing (boing!) again and again.

Finally one made a direct hit on her tail.

There was no response, no startle or sudden distraction of tail-cleaning, just a continued steadfast staring at me.

And then I stood up to go do something a moment and she leaped high with a twisting sideways bounce in a way they only do when a predator is right on them–but then in the rest of the run to the tree there was this slowing-down of oh, right…it’s Feederfiller. I remember her… All stomp no chomp.

And I went back to my sweater project, clutching my purls myself.

Two miles from home, so its territory was close enough that it could have been one of our fledglings of several years ago recognizing me: I was stopped at a light and an adult Cooper’s hawk zoomed out of the trees lining the street and straight towards me. Wow. About six feet over the center of my car while I sat there not blinking, really grateful for that red light–and wondering if the other drivers had even seen or had had any idea what they were seeing. I wondered if it was the baby I’d seen hopping around my amaryllis pots back in the day, close to the window with me on the other side like his papa likes to do.

I was across the street from the high school, and I wished I could tell all those teens that when I was in high school the bigger birds had all vanished from the skies. And look!

I saw five more raptors just on the way up 280, and on the way back a first-year redtailed hawk was standing in the grass just off the side of the freeway, presumably having just taken down lunch. It was near the reservoir where bald eagles recently built a nest for the first time in a hundred years. But no, not a juvie eagle. Someday…

Where it was, it looked like it had stopped to smell the daffodils someone had decorated the little hill with. Random acts of gardenership.

And against all the odds after having bought the original skein in December, I was able to match my dyelot with the help of Kathryn at Cottage Yarns in South San Francisco. Yay!

The shawl must go on.

The plum tree mid-bloom. Such a flimsy looking little thing and yet it will soon offer so much fruit. I got a note from a friend that she was saving plastic produce clamshells for me: ready to thwart the raccoons and squirrels again?

Oh yes please thank you!

And to help keep the smaller critters at bay… Yesterday Coopernicus perched on the fence, watched me for several minutes, then spread his wings wide and swooped right on over right next to the window.

Got any snacks under that picnic table?

Afraid not. They all fled awhile ago, hon.

Today I saw him on the wooden box–how did he get there without my seeing him coming!? Oh wait. That’s a hawk’s specialty.  Then he fluttered on over to the back of the chair there, looked at me and said something tongue in beak: I can only guess it was along the lines of look, lady, some of my best hunting is in that alcove and if you don’t fill the little feeder there as well as the big one I’m going to have a harder time keeping my lady fed in style.  Can you help me out here?

Sure, right on it.

And on a side note: my father the art dealer has a really cool column up that I thought I’d mention. Cecil B. DeMille, when remaking his Ten Commandments movie in color, commissioned a painter to envision fourteen scenes for him to work from, and all these years later Dad immediately recognized and confirmed for the owners who that painter was, the scenes having been left unsigned. The same who painted George Washington in the famous “Prayer at Valley Forge.”

Here, I’ll let Dad tell it.

I got off to a later start than I’d intended. Because I was walking down the hallway towards the front door when I looked up.

It’s been at least two years since I last got to see a pair of Cooper’s: the female picked herself up forty-five minutes after hitting the neighbor’s window, by his account, but she was never seen by any of us again.

Today, looking up through the skylight, to my very great surprise, there they were, two gorgeous raptors at the tipsy-top of the silk oak next door towering over that yard and ours, swaying in the flimsy uppermost branches, one flicking its tail for stability from time to time, the sun shining directly on their orange chests. King and Queen of the Mountain.

They were courting. Wow! I called to Richard to come see, too, and he came immediately, but before he could get there the two hawks dove thataway in perfect synchrony.

At Stitches: the brother-in-law of the Antonio I know introduced himself at the Malabrigo booth. He was thrilled with his new scarf and insisted I take some of a new test yarn they had.

He had no way to know that his apricot matched the color of the chests on those beautiful hawks just earlier. So perfect.

Allison at Imagiknit was wonderful as always. If you ever want to know what Malabrigo’s up to next, her store is their American flagship.

Susan at Abstract Fibers and I connected again today; I adore her and oh my, such beautiful dyework. She sent me off with some Valentine.

Kris and Mel and Ben and I chatted some more.

I went back to the Cephalopod booth, where I had almost…almost…and then stepped across into Karida’s space yesterday and away from her temptation, but I told the woman, “That skein haunted me all night. I had to come back and get it.”

She was amused and surprised and gratified. “It haunted you?”

“It haunted me,” this time picking it up with no intention of letting it go back on that wall. The Rainbow Gum Forest photo I’m seeing on her page doesn’t begin to do it justice (it’s the skein at the bottom of my picture), but I can only hope I will.

I bought some baby alpaca from Lisa Souza. I always do. I always will. With silk this time. I wanted so many of her yarns that it stumped me and I just bought the one in Joseph’s Coat.

Teresa Ruch had some tencel in the most intense, shiny shades of deep rose that was probably *the* most elegant skein I saw at all of Stitches. But laceweight tencel is not my thing. I had thought it was silk, and I put it back, quietly disappointed.

We talked a little, and I told her of a bamboo blend I had made into a shawl where the bamboo had been slippery–and it had quite easily snagged way out to                                                    here. And then some. (Like, a foot.) I can fix such things, but yow it was a bear and it had made me highly reluctant to try bamboo again. Granted, the openness of the lace had probably contributed to that, but…

She took that as a challenge: she showed me how hers was spun and why it thus wouldn’t be likely at all to do that. When I told her that I knew bamboo could be from the inner or outer part of the plant, that that affected softness greatly–and it’s never labeled as such and you have no way to know, she joined in with me on the last part of the sentence and affirmed as I ended with, unless you feel it in person.

Yes.

And with that she decided she wanted me to be convinced enough that she pressed some of her 4 oz/227 yard hand-dyed turquoise in my hands, a lighter color than many of hers are, a bit of purple added in, a beautiful yarn, and asked me to try it out.

I so wasn’t expecting that. I certainly will.

Stitchsisterz had round balls of 100 g/400 yards of cashmere for $25 that was perfect as the carry-along strand to a likewise-fine baby alpaca/silk I’d wanted something to go with–and as I paid for it, the second woman in the booth scooped a copy of my book out of my basket and without even asking the price looked at the one printed on the cover and handed me $25 right back and would I sign it? Um, twist my arm? Thank you!

Jimmy Beans Wool was across from Lisa, and I wasn’t even going to dare look–but that one colorway of Madeline Tosh yarn required I go over there to see closer up. They told me that MadTosh had custom-created Technicolor Dreamcoat for them.

Twenty years ago I knitted a Kaffe Fassett coat in 68 colors that my husband called his Technicolor Dreamcoat. Or sometimes his Joseph’s Coat. Are we sensing a theme here?

I just got the one–really trying to be good this year, honest–and it was showing at the top of my bag as I sat in that chair as I wheeled around and I had random people asking me repeatedly, WHERE did you get that?! (Which also happened when the Valentine’s was at the top, and when the… It’s all good, all of it.)

I later said to Kris, “You can go to your local yarn shop and maybe find a yarn that almost, almost is exactly what you want. Then you come here once a year and you can find”–and we said it in unison in both word and arm-sweeping gesture, “EVERYTHING!”

Then as Richard and I were taking the scooter apart at the curb cut, some random woman in the deepening dusk saw by the last of the light and from the convention center the Wanda’s Flowers shawl I was wearing and exclaimed over it. Really exclaimed over it. Like, this was the thing she had been looking for all day type of exclaiming over it. Richard said, “Yeah, it’s one of her designs,” as he hoisted the scooter up and in, as I said, “Yeah, it’s Lisa Souza’s yarn” (thinking in the moment that that’s what was so pretty. I was wearing it in her Foxglove color, baby alpaca.)

The woman looked just speechless that we were leaving, and that shawl was going away, and she would never find it again, and and and, and I said, “It’s my last day, I’m not coming back,” (as I told Mel and Kris earlier, I’m too Mormon to shop on Sunday–they laughed) and I whipped out a copy of the book, read her nametag, confirmed the who to, signed it, and handed it over to her as she stood there stunned and speechless and happy and trying not to lose which page that shawl was on. I was pretty sure she’d be able to find it again.

And we rode off into the very last of the sunset.

Photo for Ellen,who wanted to know what that last skein of Stitches ’13 yarn looked like. Neighborhood Fiber Co’s Penthouse Silk.

On the bird front: it’s nest building time. For the first time in a year I saw a/the misplaced-habitat (before ten years ago they were never seen this far north) Zone-tailed hawk again in its usual skyscape.

A crow was harassing it.

But never coming close. At all. It was alone and its heart was just not in it–that 51″ span could turn around in a wingbeat and return the favor and it knew it. What it did do was get the hawk to come down close to where I could get a good look, glad for a red light and that I wasn’t the one driving.

Today we ran a whole lot of errands. Tomorrow I get to put up my feet, listen to the blessed rain coming down again, and knit.

Ran an errand this morning, came home, walked in and thought, oh, the birdfeeder’s empty I’d better go fill–

–nope.

It had been raining, and it took me a second to realize why Coopernicus’s colors looked so dark–he was wet and he’d had the sense to come in under the awning and out of the rain. He was perched on the dolly just outside the window (and it really should be put away, except that I like that he sometimes goes to it.)

Kickin’ the breeze. Telling the world he was there, or perhaps his mate, wherever she might have been listening from. He cocked an eye at me and oh hi and went back to preening, getting that one spot around his right shoulder again and again.

I managed to get my coat off and my Iphone out of my purse and set the purse down without disturbing him. He did stare that camera down for a moment, but then, he used to fly away at the sight of it and now, oh hey: carry on.

He fluffed out his chest.  He preened some more. He was relaxed.

Meantime, intermittent pairs of squirrels played I dare you/he did it/I can do it too and sauntered out to the patio, always just one actually coming while the other stood lookout–but one gray could only stand it halfway, staring at the hawk all the way: I’m not going to try it, you try it! and he gave it up as a bad idea. The ones who did make it under the feeder didn’t stay long at all–but they didn’t flick their tails to signal danger either, even if those last few leaps to safety always came in a rush.

And so, the squirrels having given the all clear as far as it was concerned, a mourning dove fluttered onto the patio from the roof.

The hawk was suddenly bolt-ready, all feathers tucked tight, leaning forward. Lunch! Home delivery! *Cool!*

The dove pecked quietly away, looking at me.

The hawk gauged distance and flight paths: fifteen feet, no tree cover close, totally nailing this in one, two…

And they were off! The dove got a better head start than I expected and was beating it past the awning while Coopernicus was easily closing the space between. Then the roofline cut off my view and that was that, but it was clear that that was one meal he was going to get.

All the drama, never the gore. Again.

Ninety, 100, 40, 80, 100: these are the chances listed on Wunderground of its raining tonight, tomorrow, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Already did some this evening. So badly, badly needed.

Motion caught my eye this afternoon while all of that was still just a hope and looking up through the skylight, I saw my hawk soaring high in the thickening clouds above the redwood, dancing a rain dance on the updrafts, gathering it all together to send it on down, send it all down.

And I went outside and inhaled the essence of those beautiful peach flowers before the rain could wash all the petals away. I brought two back in with me and pressed them in two bird books.

I was in the middle of answering an email about Coopernicus when there he was, swooping in, same time of day.

That branch is a favorite king-of-the-mountain spot for feathered and furred because it offers a commanding view of the birdfeeder and the yard, but it is dead and is on our must-go list, I’m sorry to say. Too dry. Too flammable.

And then I noticed for the first time that there in front of the dense limbs and leaves it also provided room for him to open those big wings wide unimpeded to lift off at full speed if need be. Interesting. (Those branches that look big and in the way in front of him in the second picture are actually the little twigs around the birdfeeder.)

He watched over me for 28 minutes, occasionally telling the world about it, occasionally looking around at every leaf from his side–while the rest of the bird kingdom held its breath unseen.

He left and there was a sudden explosion of life. A junco tumbled out of the olive tree, pulling up to a safe finish just at the ground. Towhees jockeyed for suet, a chickadee to the feeder, then a dove arrived below at the all-clear. Briefly.

Another grand scurry and all became still again.

And I went off to pick up my husband from work so I could tell him what the doctor said about the latest on the Graves results: autoantibodies that cause hypothyroidism and autoantibodies that cause hyperthyroidism. For the lucky patients, they balance out. Me, well, no.  Several months of testing to come.

And I utterly forgot to give the doctor the hat in my purse that I’d knitted for his wife. Which answers my question as to whether it was the right project for her: no. Not there yet. But then knitting some more while having a spare for the give-away bag is not exactly a punishment.

It rained! Two nights in a row! Not a lot of rain, but, actual water falling out of the sky!

I finally blocked the waiting Lisa Souza Tahitian Blue shawl.

It was one of those moments, picking the finished piece up this morning, looking it over, swirling it onto my shoulders, having not till that moment been exactly sure how it would come out, where you think, Wow. This is one of the prettiest things I have ever knitted. This is what I had hoped for. (Thank you, Lisa!)

And.

This evening, a single dove arrived and pecked quietly away alone on the deserted porch, and I looked at it and thought oh honey–you’re a sitting duck. Don’t you know that having no random helter-skelter in the way of the chase is exactly what a hawk wants?

But Coopernicus came in the long way across the yard and the dove happened to glance back over her shoulder just in time and somehow she beat him.

Or else he wasn’t really trying, as he curved around to land on that chair again. He exchanged glances with me, lifted one great foot then the other as he turned and then he took off towards the redwood at great speed.  He was dead serious about not being late for dinner tonight.

Y’know? I could get spoiled….

My nest will be here. No, MINE. It’s been an ongoing contest this week between the ravens and I assume the unseen hawks for domination of the old redwood tree and at times the tall tree of the neighbor on our other side.

At one point yesterday even I heard a fair amount of squawking. Richard-the-younger and Kim gave me a birdbook a few years ago that has Cornell Ornithology soundtracks on the side and it notes that their recording of Cooper’s hawks was of one defending its territory. Seeing three ravens perched in the silk oak all looking across the street but no hawk, hoping I wasn’t going to cost him valuable energy defending his airspace from the electronic intruder, I opened the side door and briefly hit play. (Just the one time.)

The ravens vanished.

Again today the birdfeeders were empty for hours at a stretch, all the songbirds avoiding–something.

I got a message from Michelle saying she’d caught a bad cold and just felt really sick and feverish right now (and I inwardly protested but you haven’t been exposed to me for a week now! Poor kid.)

And I thought wistfully towards the universe, missing Don, too, It would really be good to actually get to see Coopernicus, y’know?

About two hours later, he swooped into sight and landed over there. Then he saw me and flew onto the porch and right outside the window, as close as he could get, and perching on the back of a wooden chair, he looked straight in at me for maybe a minute. You rang?

I was in awe. Our full attention was on each other. Such a beautiful bird, the early afternoon sun giving his colors their full glory. Then at last he turned to do a quick glance around him for a bite, nope, and flew back to where he’d been a moment before: the tree the scrub jays like to fly out of to harass the other birds. He jumped and flew through their best haunts, perfectly mimicking their typical patterns, then over to the top of the shed where they sometimes forage. Showing those guys who’s boss for me.

He was right under that redwood tree. Out in the open and as visible as you could ask for: MINE. All of this. Just like I said.

I don’t think I have to worry about who’s winning. He and his mate always do.

Hawks like my Cooper’s fly through dense tree cover to go after their prey, and someone took slow-motion photography of his Northern Goshawk demonstrating in a two and a half minute video how such a big bird could fly through such small places. The Air Slalom team for the win!

(Just finished a cowl despite the return of the fever. I have no idea who it’s for, just a sense that it’s important that it be ready and waiting when I do find out. I’ll wash it when I feel better.)

Last month, as I mentioned, it crossed the driveway I was about to turn into at the office. More people have seen it now: Richard’s boss, who took this picture, has happily proclaimed it his guard dog.

The ground squirrels are no longer sauntering around the parking lot.

Feathers fluffed against the chill, relaxed.

Yet again debating whether to say anything quite yet. It was December 16th that I was given the first heads-up that something was off–but possibly not much. You’d better go. (Make up your mind.)

I waited this afternoon for the time to hurry up and finally finally get here, trying to knit my way to calm, finding the last hours to be the longest.

I glanced up and to my surprise, there just outside was Coopernicus perched on the big pot my extra-dwarf cherry tree is planted in, facing me.

I finished a 400+ stitch row, a small bright growing bird’s nest in my hands in the cheering color (thank you Lisa Souza) of a bright summer sky, and looked up again.

There he remained, steady and firm, watching over me. It was very moving. He didn’t mind my taking his picture, whereas in years earlier he would have objected to a black object being raised near my head and pointing at him. I moved around the room, trying to get past the effects of the double-paned glass. His face turned to follow my gaze.

I smiled and went back to my project, determined to make visible progress.

Another row. More photos.

Another row. And at that I let him be. I emailed a friend to say how grateful I was that he’d been there easily an hour now in raptor attentiveness–and hitting send, I looked up, and at the suddenly empty space wished I’d seen him go but was glad for what was.

And with that I went off to meet the doctor who did a bone marrow biopsy on my daughter ten or twelve years ago.

He asked after her. He was thrilled at being handed that printout of her dissertation. I was thrilled at seeing the Johns Hopkins plaque on his wall–how perfect was that?

He was a dear. Did this have anything to do with the Graves’ diagnosis last week, I asked him? No. But so this is probably nothing, right?

He looked me steadily and gently with a long-practiced eye at this sort of thing and answered, We do not know that yet.

More tests were done. Another will have to be done at the hospital. And soon we will have answers.

And then, coming out of there, I ran into a favorite teacher all my kids had in high school and seeing each other in that department, there was no need to dance around reality. I was in the testing phase. She, not so much. It was a relief to her to be able to ask after each of my kids, to celebrate with me where they’ve gone on in their lives since she’s seen them, to hear me brag to the nurse who showed to take her back to her appointment that my kids got to have her as their teacher. Just the best.

She got a break from it all in those moments. And I knew the words to come for me might be much gentler than the ones familiar to her by now. But we shall see.

Object constancy: something squirrels don’t have before adulthood.

The older squirrels knew I leave them alone if they leave the awning pole next to the birdfeeder alone, and besides, there’s nothing there worth investigating.  Safflower seeds–they won’t even bury those.

The little guy thought that if he couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see him, and so he hid on the far side of the pole so that I no longer existed. With four little gray feet clutching tight around the two corners. I could have painted his toenails.

It is amazing how far those things can jump when you say boo from two feet away. There was an explosion of gray fur and tail straight up and then (oh oops, I’m sorry) straight down as I took a step back, then sprinting away from me (oh good, he’s not hurt.)

That was yesterday, and though the little gray squirrel with the distinctive off-center brown smudge spot on his nose came back today, he behaved like all the others now. Sniffing around through whatever seeds got kicked out by the chickadees, not bothering the feeder, wishing I would finally, finally put something tastier out there.

I do actually have a peanut butter jar that needs cleaning out if I wanted to encourage them. Hmm.