Smell the roses, hear the birds, see the life, and revel in the beauty of nature.

And try to remember what we’re loosing.

Gullfather made his presence clear a few years back by bringing a hundred of his crew to our backyard. I’d been feeding Muscovy ducks. Florida speckled and mallards. Boat-tailed blackbirds, crow, blue jay, scrub jay, raven, cardinal, finch, and grackle. Gullfather decided enough was enough. For them. It was the gull’s turn.

Gullfather arrived early, alone. Perched on top of the tallest line pole over looking the field behind our yard, our backyard, and the full length of the tidal canal, Tinney Creek. He told me of my lack of respect for the family. My week or so of feeding would be an apology.

Gullfather, to the right, on the line pole. Watching his family fly in once terms were negotiated.

Me paying the pizzo to Gullfather and his Gullbinos. And two Muscovy ducks tolerate the chaos.

Jack Crow brings in his murder when he sees the action.

Tourists are encouraged not to feed the gull on the beach or anywhere else. They’re messy. Loud…