A bright, pleasant journal of life in Connecticut -- fringe rural country where the wind still bloweth where it will, although the plastic culture evidences itself via roads strewn with beer cans and boxes of bones from Colonel Sanders. The authors are enthusiastic birders of the right sort -- unsentimental, explorative, accurate and with a sense of humor. There's a great deal in this record of the seasons, about birds and also plants, wild and cultivated; and one section gives a useful accounting of triumphs and failures in the home garden -- with a list of shady-side survivors. There are animal encounters -- the taming of cat Natty Bumpo, a nerve-wracking ride in a car with a great horned owl, an angry swan, and intruding insects. There are also diversions Connecticut-style -- an auction, a church choir concert, neighborly gatherings. The authors write with an easy-going enjoyment of it all and there are some fresh insights, as for example a passage on the ""surreal light"" of autumn yellow leaves: ""There's no sense of height or depth or direction, no refraction. There are no shadows!"" And the authors' environs seem similarly unclouded -- a nice place to visit and nice people to know.