The voting went quickly. But the procedure was different than usual; they gave us pages to fill out by connecting arrows, using their pens, not ours. And those pages were fed into a machine that swallowed them and left the worker with the folder only. She said it had counted our votes already. I'm not so sure I trust these contraptions.
On to the pottery sale!
Except that we got side-tracked. On the far side of a plowed field, we saw a small flock of white birds. We turned off and parked on the farm road.
Too far away for good photos; why don't they come this way?
Oh. They've got a windfall: plowed-up carrots. Do swans eat carrots? It seems that they do.
They honked constantly. It sounded like a 5-year-old's birthday party, with all the kids at once blowing those silly plastic horns.
On to the pottery sale!
With a slow-down to check out an eagle's nest by the highway. No eagle there now. (There was when we were heading home.) Slow-down to look at a blue heron in the ditch, another for a flock of starlings that rose in a sudden cloud when we passed. Slowdown for Laurie to get these ducks in an artificial pond. (Two years ago, it was a bare puddle; then there were weeds, now grasses. Ducks are a new development.)
The car is moving. Not the ducks.
There were no birds at the pottery sale. Not even pottery birds.
It was late, and the weather was beautiful, so we stopped at Tim Horton's for soup, bought a couple of bags of bird seed at Bosley's for my feathery family at home, and went on to the beach at Beach Grove. The tide was in, the birds were out. Way out.
A pair of loons swam close to the shore at one point, teasing us by diving in unison, halving the chances we got at photographing them. (Laurie got a beautiful shot of two circles on the blue wavelets, circles where two loons* had been when he pressed the shutter.)
Caught them, just after they surfaced. Didn't wait to focus.
Later, in the distance, we heard them laughing.
On the chimney of one of the houses, a seagull posed. At least, until he saw a camera pointed in his direction. Then:
Looks like he's standing on wingtips.
Back into Beach Grove for coffee and tea. On the way, this Downy teased us, hopping from the backside of one branch to the far side of the next.
Caught him, anyhow. Once, and blurred.
Time to head home. For us and these crows; they were part of a long stream (river, even) of crows going west, as usual at this time of the night. I've watched them many a time, tried to count occasionally; there must be several hundreds, maybe even thousands, wherever it is that they go home to in the evenings.
So much for not birding.
*I was wrong. They were mergansers, Seabrooke says. I should have looked more closely, rather than relying on the clue of the laughing loons.