A review of last year’s records began as a search for early fall migration arrival dates. It soon devolved into a tragic tale of ancient Babylon, unfulfilled love and blood-soaked —...
It is 0645. Sunrise. Not a hint of a breeze. The grass path is wet from last night’s rain. Or morning dew. Both. In the distance, Limpkins call from opposite ends...
Summer is enveloping us. Walking out the front door is like entering a huge sauna. The humidity turns clothing into a heap of sopping wet rags. Camera and binocular lenses fog...