Red Crowned Parrots of San Diego

In the early 90’s I was up on a swing stage with a forensic leak specialist. Not too high, maybe only six stories. We were documenting some sealant failures, performing tests and recording results.
Then came a distant squawk and screech from behind us. it became louder and the sounds resonated off the building glass. “Stan, check this out,” I interrupted, pointing at a flock of about fifty birds. They were thirty yards out and their noise became eerily loud as they passed. Stan shot me a look, “are those parrots?” “Yup, no one is sure how they got here, but there are several large flocks throughout the county,” I exclaimed.
As much as I have tried to discover how these birds got here, apparently, no one is sure. They are indigenous to northwestern Mexico. There is much lore about illegal bird smugglers releasing them to avoid getting caught with evidence. That has never been proven….though there may be some truth to something like that happening. Even if it was something as uneventful as two escaping a home, I’m glad they’re here. I’m not supposed to be glad about it, but they’re here and I like ’em!
They are loud, obnoxious and very entertaining.
This year….just last week, a pair cased our garden. A couple of days ago, they came back, and feasted on our two remaining sunflowers.
In the opening clip of the video we see two species, but only the pair of red crowned returned. They came by three times and finished off the sunflowers.
I was stoked, and got lots of footage.

Tomatillo Salsa!

I’d like to thank my daughter for some tomatillo seeds. They have flourished in the garden and make a very sweet salsa.

About 25 Small and Medium Tomatillos
1 Small Onion
4 Garlic Cloves
1 Large Jalapenó Chili (or Serrano)
Or more if you like it hot!
3 Dashes Cumin
1 Tsp Salt (Adjust as needed)
Lemon Juice From 1 Average Lemon
Cilantro to desikred taste
1/2 tsp Black Pepper (adjust for taste)

The Process:

Tomatillo from Mark Wade on Vimeo.

DOTS

Water lapped against the jetty
A helicopter roared at the Naval base
Jets blasted their goodbyes behind me
A million people sat down to dinner

As dwellers scurried in their walks
Their runs, their yoga, their fishing
Suddenly all time stopped
As the moon rose from behind the curtain

And reminded us
How small we really are,
That there are things much bigger
Than the sum of all of us

A throng of phone cameras ensued
The old man with two more generations fishing
Even the walked dogs
Stopped and were silent

It was all just too much
And just the right amount

Moon In The Garden

The mask comes off
Compliant to hide
Without shame
Or justice

In a world
That now looks like
An old western
Stage coach robbery
Instigated
By the masses

Perhaps
We should all
Wear black hats

At this stagecoach stop
I find fences.
Like masks,
They let in a little light.

There are spots
Of floral beauty.
And up above
The moon grins wide.

Falling into a trance
With camera in hand
The transformative flush
Rushes through my brain
Like waves
Crashing on the beach
Cleansing out
The sticky muck
Of stress

Soon
The garden
The light
The moon
And I
Dance

The camera allows one to dispense of reality, and create new realities. An abomination for many purists. I have never thought for one second that photography can make one pure. Neither does its practice originate from a pure place. That does not make it impure. Seemingly a contradiction, only for those with chains and closed minds.
All photos are in-camera multiple exposures.

The Set: