Birdfest

Action at the feeder

What an exciting day at the feeder! I didn’t have to work this morning, so I devoted extra time to the Great Backyard Bird Count—and it was definitely worth it. I saw 23 different species, including some I don’t see every day, such as the red-breasted sapsucker, white-crowned sparrow, and pine siskin. Most of the regulars showed up. No bushtits today, unfortunately—I was hoping to get a picture of them swarming the feeder. But lots of others, including a new bird for my life list: the Eurasian collared dove. A flock of about ten landed in a nearby tree and then began dropping, one by one, down to the ground under the feeder. I had to look them up in my bird book, but once I did, the identification was simple. I just wish I had my camera out then!

The birds seemed especially feisty today. (Was it something they ate??) Little birds flitted in and out of the feeders, regular as widgets on an assembly line: juncos, sparrows, finches, nuthatches, chickadees. As I tried to get an accurate count, they played musical chairs, and I could never be certain if the new individual I saw was really the same one I had just counted on the other side of the bush.

Starlings tried to dominate the suet feeder, but the flicker shouldered them out of the way. Two starlings got into a squabble, rolling around on the ground together, pecking at each other, until both took off to other places.

Scrub jay gathering nuts

Then came the jay wars. The jays had been getting along, but then I tossed a bunch of birdseed on the ground. The nuts in it seemed especially attractive to the jays. The scrub jay came in and jammed 2-3 nuts in its mouth, then flew off to eat them. It came back to find a Steller’s jay moving in on its lunch. The scrub jay chased the Steller’s jay, which tried to elude the attacker by flying into the middle of the dogwood tree. Every time it landed, the scrub jay went after it again. The two did loop-the-loops through the tree, until the Steller’s jay gave up and flew off. For a bit. As soon as the scrub jay crammed its mouth and took off to eat, the Steller’s jay returned, this time with reinforcements. The two Steller’s jays gobbled up nuts as fast as they could. No flying off to eat for them; much too inefficient. When the scrub jay returned for seconds, it was not pleased. It chased one Steller’s jay and then the other. The smart Steller’s just waited for the scrub jay to take off with its mouth full and returned yet again. Finally an uneasy peace settled in—perhaps the nuts were gone by then and there was nothing to fight over.

Fun times at the bird feeders! I can hardly wait for tomorrow.

Great Backyard Bird Count: February 17-20

It’s that time of year again, time for the Great Backyard Bird Count. I love this bird count, because I can do it from the comfort of my home, just counting the birds that come to my feeders. Of course, if the weather is nice, I will also venture outside in search of birds that don’t usually visit my feeder–perhaps the pair of doves I sometimes hear cooing from nearby trees or the red-tailed hawk that circles overhead or the flock of robins that wanders the neighborhood this time of year.

I return to the window whenever I get a chance, keeping my checklist handy so I can record any new visitors. I replenish the feeders when they run low, so the birds keep coming. Then at the end of the day–or end of the weekend–I visit the Great Backyard Bird Count site and enter my data. Having fun and contributing to science: what a nice combination!

So, anyone else in?

 

Determined Squirrel

or If at First You Don’t Succeed

The squirrel came bounding across the yard and hopped up into the dogwood tree. There two choices awaited it. Should it go for the suet feeder, close to the trunk and easy to hold onto? Or would it be sunflower seeds today? That would involve a little more work, some gymnastics, and perhaps, a bit of luck.

The squirrel sat there on the branch, seemingly deep in thought. Then it pattered out on the branch holding the seed feeder. Another stop to think. A junco watched as the squirrel started down the wire to the feeder, then pulled back up. Was it worth it? For a moment, it pondered strategy. Then it tried again, slipping down the wire, back feet tightly grasping the branch above, hanging upside down next to the feeder. It carefully slid down the wire until the back feet held onto the top of the feeder.

Finally it could reach the seeds. Front paws grabbed the feeder, picking out little black nuggets. It ate a couple, reached back for more. Oops! Back feet slipped, and down went the squirrel. It plopped to the ground, dignity injured, but otherwise apparently unhurt. Okay, maybe it would just eat seeds off the ground for a bit, take the safe route.

But keeping a squirrel out of a tree is like keeping politicians off the stage. Not going to happen. Soon, confidence recovered, the furry guy was up there again, plotting its way to dinner.

Snow–Briefly

Winter arrived in full force last night, as a snowstorm hit our area. The snow floated down in big, cottony pieces, covering everything in its path. The darkness outside was turned into the kind of white fairyland that decorates Christmas cards and travel magazines. I felt like running outside and tromping through the whiteness, catching snowflakes in my mouth. But it was dark and cold and late, and I had to work in the morning, so I snapped a few pictures from the porch and went to bed.

I woke to the sound of dripping, and my heart sank. Outside rain joined with the wet snow, weighing down bushes, dragging branches to the ground. The delicate pictures of the previous night, with each twig carrying its own little blanket of white, had run like a child’s watercolor. Big globs of snow stuck to the bushes, melting to form lakes in the yard.

By midday most of the trees were bare of snow. The ground still carried a deceptive layer of white. But when I stepped onto it, my boots sank into puddles of water underneath. And even that remaining snow was fast giving way to bare dirt and flattened grass.

How fleeting beauty can be! How important to revel in it when it appears, because we never know how long it might stay. I should have hiked through the snow last night, soaking in the purity of it, laughing like a child as it blew into my face. Perhaps I would have been tired this morning, but it would have been worth it. Rejoice in the moment; it is a blessing from above.

If We Were All More Like Chickadees

I love to watch the birds at the feeders outside my window. Each species has its own personality. The Steller’s jays sweep grandly in and dominate—until a flicker shows up and chases the jays from the feeder. The starlings come in noisy hordes, the bushtits in friendly little flocks.

The chickadees are especially friendly and easy-going. The chestnut-backed seem a bit friendlier than the black-capped, but neither is particularly shy. They can get a bit demanding when I don’t keep up with my feeding chores. But when the feeder is filled with good, black oil sunflowers, the chickadees flit about in the dogwood tree where the feeder hangs. One will zip in, grab a seed, and fly to a perch nearby to eat it. Then another swoops in. They patiently take turns, each picking up a single seed and eating it before coming back for more. Occasionally two or three will land on the feeder at the same time, but no one gets pushy.

The juncos aren’t quite so obliging. They don’t like to share the feeder, particularly with other species. They flap their wings at interlopers and seemed annoyed that others would want to move in while they are eating. Still they are models of courtesy compared to starlings. Starlings will share if they have to, but you can’t make them like it. They squawk and flap about on the suet feeder, greedily grabbing big mouthfuls of food.

However, for a true show of dominance, the squirrel is definitely tops. He’ll hang by his tail over the seed feeder, gobbling down as much as he can before he loses his grip on the branch above and has to drop off. Or curl his well-fed body around the suet feeder so no bird has a chance of sneaking in.

And meanwhile the polite little chickadees eat their seeds one at a time, cheerfully sharing and enjoying life, one moment at a time.

Goodbye Again

The plane rises into the sky, lifted by forces I can explain but will never comprehend. Slicing through the clouds it disappears. Like magic. Like today turning into tomorrow, and present experiences becoming memories. For a moment, my heart flies with the plane as child of my flesh, child of my soul, you leave again.

Was it really a week ago you arrived? Why does now become yesterday so quickly? Christmas trees with glittering lights. Scones and fudge and decorated cookies. Cold sunshine and Oregon rain. Laughter amidst the warmth of family. Learning a new game where you are the master and we, your parents, mere apprentices. Chicken katsu with curry, artistically presented. You have grown into a strong and confident man, and our hearts glow with pride.

I drive slowly home, to be greeted by empty Christmas stockings and a quiet house. To embrace a husband whose heart also aches. Sweet memories have been added to my storehouse, and I will rejoice in those. Rejoice in love and family and faith—and all the blessings you have given me, often without even knowing. One day soon, those tomorrows will bring us together again. And that will be a wonderful day.

Frosty Morning

We awakened to a bright, white morning today. Not snow, but icy frost covering grass, trees, and the car in our driveway. As the sun rose, the frost glittered like a million tiny Christmas lights. Where the sunlight reached it, the ice began to melt into little dewdrops on the grass.

 When I entered our shed—an open-sided structure with a hard, plastic roof—drops of water fell from the ceiling like the beginning of an indoor rain storm. Funny to feel it raining under cover, but not outside!

 I walked down to our little woods, as the cold nipped at my toes and fingers. Frost decorated the blackberry bushes, the ferns, even a tiny mushroom growing in the path.

 The leaves are late to fall this year. According to the television meteorologist, scientists believe the wet, cool July and warmer-than-usual September and early October caused the leaves to hold more sugar and stay longer on the trees. It also makes for brighter colors than usual, something I have really noticed. It has been a spectacular autumn.

 Now the frost comes, as autumn winds down toward winter. And we enjoy the beauty of this season, as Earth continues its journey around the Sun, ever-changing, yet ever the same.

Reds

Maple leaves on the path

The leaves are rapidly falling from the trees, and heavy wind is predicted for tonight, which will likely strip a bunch more off. So I thought I had better post these pictures of leaves in my yard before they are out of date.

Frost-edged azalea

The leaves seem to be falling late this year. Autumn colors have lasted longer than usual, which has been a great treat. But now they are coming down quickly with the wind and the rain, causing the yard to look different every morning.

Dogwood leaves

Lots of reds right now, but still some yellows and bits of green. And in the background, the evergreens  stand, changing little.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But today, lots and lots of red, blazing brightly before winter sneaks in and the leaves return to the soil to bring new growth in the spring.

the aptly named burning bush

Hungry Birds

Chestnut-backed chickadee and underside of red-breasted nuthatch

The birds are hungry today. I barely got the suet feeder hung back up before they came swarming in, filling the dogwood tree with their chirps and twitters. First three or four chickadees–chestnut-backed and black-capped. Then a red-breasted nuthatch, floowed by a pair of kinglets.

Red-breasted nuthatch

I rushed inside to get my camera. The kinglets had left, but new birds kept arriving–a song sparrow, a couple house finches, a flicker, a scrub jay, juncos. They swept in and out of the tree and the feeders faster than my camera could catch them.

Black-capped chickadee

Grab a sunflower seed and fly off to eat it; peck a bit of suet, then zip away. In and out of the autumn-colored dogwood they went, as my frantic camera clicked. Hungry birds getting ready for the winter.

Sacramento

A business trip to Sacramento, California gave me a chance to visit relatives I hadn’t seen for awhile, work face-to-face with people I usually only talk with on the phone, and see some new territory. From my hotel, Old Sacramento was a short stroll through a tunnel under the freeway. Very touristy, of course, but fun to visit. Mingling uneasily with the tourists were a number of homeless men, carrying their packs and garbage bags, digging through trash bins for whatever small treasures they might find. I bought a newspaper from one man, wondering what his story might be, but not sure I really wanted to know. There have been too many sad stories touching my life recently; for this day, at least, I preferred to enjoy the sunshine.

I had to take a few pictures of the Sacramento River. My father grew up along that river, although not in Sacramento itself, and spent many hours fishing in it, bringing home much-appreciated food for dinner, back in those Depression Days. He tells of the time after a flood, when he and his brothers discovered a rowboat washed up on the bank. They had no idea where it might have come from, but happily claimed it as their own. From that day forth, their fishing expeditions were not confined to the river banks.

Back in my hotel room, I looked out at rush hour traffic, glad not to be in it. Whenever I woke in the night, I could hear cars in the background, a dull continuous hum. I enjoyed my visit to Sacramento, especially the time spent with relatives and with coworkers who are also friends. But I also enjoyed coming home to Oregon, to my quiet little place where the only sounds to disturb my sleep are the occasional barking dog or yipping coyote. As they say, there’s no place like home!