Sunday, August 28, 2016 I had a panic attack at a lookout point along the rim at Crater Lake. A kraut chick coughed judgmentally as she passed behind me. "Will you stop talking about the war?" "But you started it [Mr. Fawlty]! We did not start it." "Yes, you did. You invaded Poland." I walked away. My heart was beating fast. I wanted to react, but how? I tapped the sand out of my sandals on the wooden railing. Then I wanted to be out of there. I wanted to be gone. That was the reaction I chose: run away as fast as I could, down the sandy hill to the relative safety of the car. I drove away very slowly, after consulting the map. --- Before that, I saw some chipmunks at Rim Village in Crater Lake National Park. As I drove up, one ran across the road, reached up to the undercarriage of a parked car as if to go inside; maybe look for food? Another started across the road, following; darted back to the sidewalk, stopped, turned around and started back to crossing the road; then stopped and watched me. The first chipmunk ran from under the parked car to the sidewalk as I passed, stopping to eye me intelligently. While I was walking along the rim, another, or maybe one of the two I already saw, chipmunk with something in its mouth darted across a pathway, into a hold in the lawn. When I walked back to the car, a chipmunk ran across the road towards me, holding a cracker in its mouth; then it sat upright, not five feet from me, gnawing on the cracker moving it round and round in its paws, eyeing me, warily but with curious, innocent friendliness too. --- Monday, August 29, 2016 Hole-in-the-ground, Lake County, Oregon A small flock of sparrows flew into nearby (burned) trees in the morning after I got up. They chirped at me, flitted around the remaining, blackened branches in the trees, then landed on the windshield near the wipers. Some flew onto the roof-top cargo box, and then onto the side mirrors. They hung out, looking at me, pecking at surfaces, for a few minutes. Two flew from the car directly at me, veering off at the last micro-second to land in a tree behind. A woodpecker also came by, pecking at bark in nearby trees, eyeing me curiously. --- Two small birds with long needle-like beaks, white underbellies, black wings, sharp white-black straight-line boundary above their eyes, flew into the tree next to me and squeaked very faintly. They moved up and down the bark, vertically, coming within a few feet of me, eyeing me. Squeaking faintly. They flew to a tree behind me, one flying directly at me and zipping by over my shoulder. That same bird came back to a branch directly in front of me and gave me a long (for a bird) look. Then they flew off. Why are such encounters with birds so much more fulfilling and pleasant for me than most encounters with humans? Predicting happy avian interactions is much easier than the far rarer non-depression-inducing human encounters. --- I asked the white-chested bird how he kept his white feathers clean in this burnt area. He chirped and flew off. By not staying long in it?