Unplugged

It seems as though everyone walks around with their eyes locked on their little screens, their ears plugged with buds. Walking their dogs. Pushing their children in strollers. What are they missing?

Biking through Almaden Valley neighborhoods, I picked up the distinctive chirping of an electronic timer as a man headed back into his house. Moments later, a mockingbird mimicked the intervals of the timer's beeps precisely, close to the same pitch.

Pausing to enjoy my snack at the Bernal-Gulnac-Joice Ranch, I noticed how the porch roof shaded the front rooms and the trees shaded the house. Tried-and-true approach to offset the summer's midday heat.

I watched a small bird make repeated trips to the upper reaches of the towering front tree—ducking into a hole to feed offspring in a nest.

I had not thought to photograph the results of our labors last week, but the grasses and blackberry vines were just where we piled them—shrunken now that they've dried out and collapsed.

The girls prefer their coop in the heat of the day, but will often pop out if they notice a visitor. (Probably hoping that one of the volunteers has arrived with juicy fruit and vegetable scraps.) Their names and temperaments are featured on a placard; this one is called “Cinder.” She's a handsome bird with her “cape” of fancy feathers, and supposedly mellow. [I beg to differ.] I'd say she rules the roost, having watched her bully another hen incessantly.

Take in the sights and sounds of the world around you. Unplug.