The mysteries of life

For some reason, obscure to me but perhaps clear to the birding PTBs, the Great Backyard Bird Count does not want to accept my "ring-billed gulls" and enter them into our local statistics.  Just checked back, and we only show herring gulls.  Which are less common in our fair village.

By "gulls" in this context, I mean the grocery-store dumpster gulls, the garbage dump gulls, the strut-around-the-McDonald's-parking-lot gulls that sidle up to your car and ask, "You gonna eat that?"  Ring-bills.

Sunny, but pending Doom

We have a winter storm projected, with anything from mixed precip to 12" of snow.  As usual, the track heads through the Gulf of Maine and may or may not bring in enough warm air to cause rain and yuck.

We'll see where the Weather Service has moved our fair village this time -- are we Coastal, Inland, Mountains, or North?

Wiktory!

(I guess that's the current "in" exclamation, or maybe last week's . . .)

The Great Backyard Bird Count has logged my ring-billed gulls.  I feel vindicated.  They were questioning my probity, my masculinity, my birder karma.

Or something.