Snipe's Revenge

Today is Victoria Day, known around here as Monday of “The May Long Weekend”—the weekend when we’re supposed to go camping or plant the garden or finish the spring yard clean-up. I’m doing none of that, and it’s not because the weather isn’t cooperating, but because I have a doozy of a cold. You know, the “not all that sick, but might as well be because I’m so miserable” kind of cold.

On top of that, a snipe looking for a girlfriend kept me up all night. When I was a teenager, we took city slickers on snipe hunts and then laughed at them for believing this mythical bird existed. Turns out the joke’s on us, because there really are snipes (see video) and at least one has decided to make his home in the marsh behind my house so he can get back at me for not believing in him.

The hu-hu-hu-hu-hu at the begining of the sound file here is a winnowing snipe. Yes, it is that loud, and maybe louder. That’s not a vocalization, but a sound made by vibrating tail feathers—a sound heard, supposedly, at dusk or dawn. Unfortunately for me, at this time of the year, dusk and dawn make up almost the whole night.

A snipe hunt is sounding like a good idea right now. Lucky for the noisy bird, a nap sounds even better.

Sunday's Hymn

Spirit of God, Descend upon My Heart

Spirit of God, descend upon my heart;
Wean it from earth; through all its pulses move;
Stoop to my weakness, mighty as Thou art;
And make me love Thee as I ought to love.

I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
No sudden rending of the veil of clay,
No angel visitant, no opening skies;
But take the dimness of my soul away.

Teach me to feel that Thou art always nigh;
Teach me the struggles of the soul to bear.
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh,
Teach me the patience of unanswered prayer.

Hast Thou not bid me love Thee, God and King?
All, all Thine own, soul, heart and strength and mind.
I see Thy cross; there teach my heart to cling:
O let me seek Thee, and O let me find!

Teach me to love Thee as Thine angels love,
One holy passion filling all my frame;
The kindling of the heaven descended Dove,
My heart an altar, and Thy love the flame.

—George Croly

Other hymns, worship songs, sermons etc. posted today:

• The Power of the Holy Ghost at The Happy Wonderer
• Lord’s Day 21, 2010 at The Thirsty Theologian
• ‘Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus at Whatever Is Good
• Under the Care of My God at Field Stone Cottage
• There Is No Night There at Hiraeth
• Above the Starry Spheres at Conjubilant with Song
• Object of My First Desire at Whatever Things
• Heart Aflame - May 23, 2010 at The Upward Call

Have you posted a hymn (or sermon, sermon notes, prayer, etc.) today and I missed it? Let me know by leaving a link in the comments or by contacting me using the contact form linked above, and I’ll add your post to the list.

My Place 3

Line drying, May 19, 2010

Of all domestic tasks, hanging the laundry is the one that brings me the most satisfaction. First there’s the lugging of the basket of heavy, wet laundry up the steps and out the door. I like using my muscles and that uses every one of them. And then, there they are, hanging clean and bright, like coloured flags in the wind, all in order, sheets with sheets, big towels, then smaller ones, and finally the wash cloths. No perfumed fabric softener can compare with the smell of laundry freshly dried in the pristine Yukon air.

My home is on an old Canadian Air Force base, and each house once had a grey painted wooden stoop to reach the clotheslines-on-pulleys that ran from the front of the house to a big iron T-post at the edge of the street. There are a few of us who still use our front-door-to-street clotheslines, but more and more they are disappearing, strung in the backyard instead, or maybe disappearing altogether as the electric clothes dryer permanently takes its place, and children grow up never smelling fresh air dried clothing.