Downy Woodpecker
Junco
Mockingbird
Black-Capped Chickadee
Carolina Wren
Oregon Pink-Sided Junco (? possibly)
Red-Breasted Nuthatch
Purple Finch
Dove
Cardinal
Tufted Titmouse
...and most of these came in multiples! Now that the semester's over, I could guiltlessly watch the birds in my backyard this morning instead of rush to revise essays the moment I got out of bed. It was fabulous. I only wish the doves had been turtle-doves because there were two of them. :-)
Updates on the backyards and blue jays: They both had a wonderful summer. I wondered why I didn't blog about them during the summer, and I concluded that they're so obviously beautiful when all is green and verdant and lively that it seems like overkill to call attention to what's already so apparent on its own. But this time of year, when the snow and ice are coating the backyard, and blue skies (like this morning) are rare, when the birds depend on our birdfeeders and the heated birdbath, I like to mention the brave birds who stick around even during the cold, dark Pennsylvania winter.
Some notes:
The mockingbird disappeared all summer, much to my great disappointment. A few months ago (Oct 5, actually), the mockingbird came back, perched on top of the black walnut tree, and sang for about a half-hour to announce his return. (Okay, I don't know it's the same one, but I like to think so.) I think I even heard a seagull in his new repertoire. Where were you all summer, dear bird?
About a month ago, I was outside at 1:00 a.m. trying to see the Leonids, but it was too cloudy. As I was stepping back into the nice, warm house, I heard an owl! It wasn't in my yard, but a few yards down, in a thicket of pine trees I believe. Judging by its hoot, I think it was a Great Horned Owl. I've been listening for it in the meantime, but I'm afraid he was just passing through. Sad. We've certainly got enough chipmunks around to last him the winter.
Showing posts with label roll call. Show all posts
Showing posts with label roll call. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Tea and Ten O'Clock
I find it easier to bird watch while seated at my dining room table drinking a mug of tea. It's more comfortable, for one thing, on these 30° mornings, and the birds can't see or smell or hear me while I'm behind the glass panes of my patio door. This morning, while nursing some steaming English Breakfast tea, I watched to see how the avian life has changed in the past two months.
The first bird I saw, of course, was a brazen blue jay, sweeping from the patio roof to drink from the bird bath on the deck railing, his wings and tail feathers spread out like a kite. The robins, newly arrived from some undisclosed southern location, were still more timid, and all week the mockingbirds have been chasing them from every corner of our yard. Their feathers flash like Semaphore flags as they fly.
Grackles then rose past the deck in an Air Force-like formation, and a red-winged blackbird preened his wings in our neighbor's tree, his ruddy shoulders flashing like air traffic control signals. I could hear the doves and a woodpecker, but it took a half-hour for the dove to appear on the garden fence. The woodpecker, however, remained hidden for the morning.
I was surprised to find no goldfinches, pine siskins, or black-capped chickadees, but then I remembered that they like food, and the birdfeeders out my dining room window are empty. A glance through the kitchen window, and I found them congregating on the feeders hanging from the clothesline.
With my tea drained and ten birds identified, I left the warmth of my dining room to walk among the neighbors who live in my backyard. I usually ramble through my yard in the evenings, and this morning walk was quite different. The birds were more active at this time of day, fighting for nesting space in our ash and cedar trees like pioneers in the midwest land rush. English sparrows bother my neighbor's tree and a starling couple bickers over the suet, the female finally winning out and eating first. A red squirrel bustled across the roof of the garden shed, skittish after a close encounter with the wookiee's front paw on Saturday.
But the active members of the garden aren't the only signs of life. The crocuses glowed in the morning sunlight, soon to be hidden again in the shade of the chimney on the north side of our house. The pussywillow buds cracked through the tips of the branches like warm, fuzzy snowflakes. The grass is still bleached from the harsh winter, but green leafy arrows shoot like promises from every flowerbed in the yard.
Two months ago, I dreaded the spring. But today, I think maybe its vibrant embrace will cushion the discomfort of another transition.
:31°F:
:clear and sunny skies:
The first bird I saw, of course, was a brazen blue jay, sweeping from the patio roof to drink from the bird bath on the deck railing, his wings and tail feathers spread out like a kite. The robins, newly arrived from some undisclosed southern location, were still more timid, and all week the mockingbirds have been chasing them from every corner of our yard. Their feathers flash like Semaphore flags as they fly.
Grackles then rose past the deck in an Air Force-like formation, and a red-winged blackbird preened his wings in our neighbor's tree, his ruddy shoulders flashing like air traffic control signals. I could hear the doves and a woodpecker, but it took a half-hour for the dove to appear on the garden fence. The woodpecker, however, remained hidden for the morning.
I was surprised to find no goldfinches, pine siskins, or black-capped chickadees, but then I remembered that they like food, and the birdfeeders out my dining room window are empty. A glance through the kitchen window, and I found them congregating on the feeders hanging from the clothesline.
With my tea drained and ten birds identified, I left the warmth of my dining room to walk among the neighbors who live in my backyard. I usually ramble through my yard in the evenings, and this morning walk was quite different. The birds were more active at this time of day, fighting for nesting space in our ash and cedar trees like pioneers in the midwest land rush. English sparrows bother my neighbor's tree and a starling couple bickers over the suet, the female finally winning out and eating first. A red squirrel bustled across the roof of the garden shed, skittish after a close encounter with the wookiee's front paw on Saturday.
But the active members of the garden aren't the only signs of life. The crocuses glowed in the morning sunlight, soon to be hidden again in the shade of the chimney on the north side of our house. The pussywillow buds cracked through the tips of the branches like warm, fuzzy snowflakes. The grass is still bleached from the harsh winter, but green leafy arrows shoot like promises from every flowerbed in the yard.
Two months ago, I dreaded the spring. But today, I think maybe its vibrant embrace will cushion the discomfort of another transition.
:31°F:
:clear and sunny skies:
Monday, February 16, 2009
A Brief Episode of the Afternoon
Huge and sporadic snowflakes speckle the air like static on a soon-outdated analog TV channel. Beyond the static, the twigs and branches from a fallen tree lay scattered on the frozen ground, the casualties on the losing side of last week's battle with the wind. The mockingbird sits still in a bare bush, watching me warily, holding its song until I pass.
Today, the only birds that fly away at my arrival are the doves. Of the several dead tree trunks behind the garden shed which we've left standing for woodpeckers over the past few years, only one has succumbed to the storm. As I pick my way over it, the tree beside me begins to rattle. Am I hearing an echo of the man across the street hammering shingles back onto his children's playhouse? I look up, and a small woodpecker is no more than a meter overhead, finding its lunch under the bark of a tree.
I circle the garden shed and come out by the dormant grapevines. Another several doves rise from the ground, flapping and cooing as they escape a perceived threat (me). But for them, all the birds in the yard seem to have accepted me. It's a nice feeling, to be one of the gang in your own backyard.
I don't expect to ever experience a Snow White-like oneness with nature, with the mockingbird alighting on my head while doves and blue jays feed out of my hand, the red squirrel nibbling on acorns at my feet. What's more, I don't want that. I am a natural predator to these creatures, and I hope that they remain conscious of the fact, just as I am conscious of danger around the natural predators of humans.
More doves explode from the vegetable garden as I pass, and I smile at their wisdom as I rub my frozen hands together and reenter the warmth of the house.
:32°F:
:partly sunny, light flurries:
Today, the only birds that fly away at my arrival are the doves. Of the several dead tree trunks behind the garden shed which we've left standing for woodpeckers over the past few years, only one has succumbed to the storm. As I pick my way over it, the tree beside me begins to rattle. Am I hearing an echo of the man across the street hammering shingles back onto his children's playhouse? I look up, and a small woodpecker is no more than a meter overhead, finding its lunch under the bark of a tree.
I circle the garden shed and come out by the dormant grapevines. Another several doves rise from the ground, flapping and cooing as they escape a perceived threat (me). But for them, all the birds in the yard seem to have accepted me. It's a nice feeling, to be one of the gang in your own backyard.
I don't expect to ever experience a Snow White-like oneness with nature, with the mockingbird alighting on my head while doves and blue jays feed out of my hand, the red squirrel nibbling on acorns at my feet. What's more, I don't want that. I am a natural predator to these creatures, and I hope that they remain conscious of the fact, just as I am conscious of danger around the natural predators of humans.
More doves explode from the vegetable garden as I pass, and I smile at their wisdom as I rub my frozen hands together and reenter the warmth of the house.
:32°F:
:partly sunny, light flurries:
Friday, January 16, 2009
Introduction
On Monday morning, I sat at my dining room table drinking tea, and I counted ten different kinds of birds in my backyard. Despite the gray cat from next door lurking in the bushes, and a busy red squirrel shuttling itself off the garden fence and over the branches of the ash tree, these birds busied themselves at the bird feeders and tree trunks, sharing my breakfast hour for their own repast.
Among them were, of course, blue jays, as well as gold finches, a mockingbird, both a downy and a red-bellied woodpecker, and everyone's favorite yellow-bellied sap-sucker. Later in the evening, I tried to identify the hawk whose shadow glides daily across the snow-covered lawns of the neighborhood. I believe she is a Cooper's hawk, but a definite identification remains to be made.
I include this roster in my introduction because it typifies my backyard: a variety of birds, a handful of wild mammals, and of course the cat (at least one) who stalks through the flowerbeds. Even today, when the thermometer never passed the 10°F mark, the wildlife kept the view through my well-insulated windows active and entertaining.
I look forward to watching the guest list change over the spring and summer months: which birds migrate north and which ones come back to Pennsylvania after a sunny winter elsewhere; how many rabbits dare return to a yard inhabited by both hawk and cat; and how my presence, a weekly observer on the garden swing, will affect everyone else.
A good plan might be to stock up on birdseed.
Among them were, of course, blue jays, as well as gold finches, a mockingbird, both a downy and a red-bellied woodpecker, and everyone's favorite yellow-bellied sap-sucker. Later in the evening, I tried to identify the hawk whose shadow glides daily across the snow-covered lawns of the neighborhood. I believe she is a Cooper's hawk, but a definite identification remains to be made.
I include this roster in my introduction because it typifies my backyard: a variety of birds, a handful of wild mammals, and of course the cat (at least one) who stalks through the flowerbeds. Even today, when the thermometer never passed the 10°F mark, the wildlife kept the view through my well-insulated windows active and entertaining.
I look forward to watching the guest list change over the spring and summer months: which birds migrate north and which ones come back to Pennsylvania after a sunny winter elsewhere; how many rabbits dare return to a yard inhabited by both hawk and cat; and how my presence, a weekly observer on the garden swing, will affect everyone else.
A good plan might be to stock up on birdseed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)