Great Backyard Bird Count 2022

Scrub jay and Steller’s jay

The Great Backyard Bird Count has been fun. Birds have so much character. The Steller’s jays sweep in when I toss out peanuts. I hear them calling from the trees, alerting their friends and relatives. They swoop in to grab a peanut or two, then swoop away to a tree to eat, then back again. Most days they start coming in before I even leave the feeder area. However, my camera apparently freaks them out, because they wouldn’t come near when I was trying to take their picture. (The above was taken through the window.)

Red-breasted nuthatch

The chickadees and nuthatches flit in to the seed feeder, grab a sunflower seed, and retreat somewhere to eat it. But the house finches, house sparrows, and pine siskins sit at the feeder, gobbling down seed after seed. The towhees, juncos, and other sparrows hop about on the ground, eating what I’ve thrown down there and what the other birds knock out of the feeders. The juncos are the most active, darting from ground to tree to bush and chasing each other around from time to time.

White-crowned sparrow

The woodpeckers go for the suet, although the little downy woodpeckers will also eat from the seed feeder. And this year three yellow-rumped warblers (Yes, they do have yellow rumps!) visited the suet. I’ve never seen them at the feeder before, so that was an exciting surprise.

Yellow-rumped warbler coming in for a landing

God must have had fun making birds, because they are such delightful critters. They make me wish I could fly.

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Inertia

Inertia. Back in school I learned that inertia is the tendency of a body at rest to stay at rest and the tendency of a body in motion to stay in motion. Inertia explains why you are pushed back into your seat when the car or bus moves suddenly forward—and why the car won’t stop immediately when you hit the brakes. It’s a good principle to know.

Inertia applies in other ways, too. Like to my exercise program. During the Christmas holidays I didn’t get out running much. After the holidays ended, I caught a nasty bug that was going around and didn’t have the energy to exercise for two weeks. And then work got really busy, and I was spending too many hours on my rear in front of the computer. When a day finally came that I was able to get out and run, I really didn’t want to. I knew I needed to, but I did not want to. Inertia wanted to keep this body at rest.

Once I pushed myself—with help from hubby—to get out and move, it wasn’t so bad. I did two miles and felt good about it.

 … At this point, I intended to turn inspirational and tell you all how I kept at my running program, and it just got better and better. Inertia keeping my body in motion and all that. Unfortunately, that did not happen. Work and bad weather kept me inside for a while longer. The next time I got out to run, I tried to do my usual three miles. It was a disaster. My legs tired quickly, and I think the pace of my walk breaks was faster than that of my running. The next day my legs ached, and my right knee kept giving out. I skipped a couple more days of running, and my next outing was not fun at all. Apparently inertia is not so easily overcome.

It takes a force to overcome inertia; the greater the mass, the greater the force required. Can that be why it’s easier to get our dog to move than me? Hmmm. Might be some other principles involved there, too. Still, it can be done. We ran on the Springwater Trail yesterday—just 2.5 miles, so as not to overdo it. Trees were beginning to leaf out, flower buds were swelling, signs of spring everywhere. Beauty can be a force, too, at least for me. It makes the effort to keep those legs moving worthwhile.

How about you? Where in your life is inertia keeping you from moving? And what force will it take to break inertia’s hold?

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GBBC 2014

black-capped chickadee

dark-eyed junco

Steller’s jay

varied thrush

It’s that time of year again: the Great Backyard Bird Count! I’ve been putting out extra goodies for the birds and faithfully counting–or trying to count–each feathered friend that drops by. It’s as much a challenge as ever to get an exact count of juncos that blend into the winter ground and chickadees that flit in and out, so that I can’t tell if the one at the feeder now is a new bird or the one I just counted. The big birds are easy–the jays, flickers, varied thrushes. But those little gray and brown guys–whew! And then there are the “missing in action”–the birds I know are around somewhere, but that won’t come by to be counted. The cute little bushtits haven’t dropped in yet. One downy woodpecker visited the suet feeder today, but the hairy woodpecker hasn’t been by. I only have robins because I took a walk and saw them down the street.

There’s still one more day left, so if you want to take part, throw out some birdseed and see who shows up. It really is great fun watching the birds interact as they gobble down the food–some of them are real characters. Give it a try! And here are some of the ones I saw today, filmed through the window, so please excuse the blurriness.

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Snow and Ice

The first tiny flakes danced and twirled across the sky like dust blown by the East Wind. After awhile they began to settle into little drifts in sheltered areas where the wind couldn’t blow them about. By evening the wind died down, but the snow kept coming, covering the brown winter earth with a cool blanket.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Morning light reflected off the whiteness, all fresh and new. I ventured out before work–glad that I work at home–to take pictures and enjoy the magic. It rarely lasts long around here. We threw out extra sunflower seeds for the birds (and nuts for the jays and squirrels), trying to find places where the seeds wouldn’t just sink into the soft snow. The flower boxes on our porch worked pretty well, once the little sparrow types noticed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then came the ice. Sleet, then freezing rain, coating everything within its reach. The fluffy snow gained a crunchy coating. Every twig and bud became encased in crystal. And again the birds gathered–the shrieking Steller’s jays, varied thrushes, flocks of juncos and sparrows of various types, energetic chickadees, and, of course, the squabbling starlings. Two Anna’s hummingbirds chased each other in and out of the porch area, battling for control of the hummingbird feeder. It was quite a show!

 

Life goes on in the snow and the ice. And I watch as the fire in the woodstove merrily crackles and pops, and water for tea heats up in the kitchen.  Beauty comes with the cold, but I’m still glad that I’m not a bird.

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Moving my Feet

I did not want to go running this morning. Due to the holidays, weather, work, and a nasty virus that kept me indoors for quite some time, I had not been out on streets or trails for a month and a half. And it had become much easier to sit at the computer than move my feet. Still husband was urging me on, and I knew my body could use some exercise. So I plodded back to the bedroom, changed into my running clothes, and joined my ready-to-go hubby. We drove a short distance to Boring, Oregon. (Yes, there is a Boring, Oregon, and yes, it really is kind of boring… But it does have a Sister City: Dull, Scotland. Honest! You can look it up.) Anyway, we drove to a newly-paved section of the Springwater Trail in Boring. It was a good choice, a chance of scenery to get me started.

I wish I could say that I started down the trail excited to be running again and full of energy. No, I’m afraid my run was a slow, very slow jog, and the walk breaks were eagerly anticipated. Still, I did like being out in nature. The clouds billowed above me, and the sun managed to shine through at least part of the time. Yellow catkins dangled from the filbert trees along the path. The white bark of a crowd of aspens stood out against the browns of winter.

I think I annoyed my husband, who likes to keep his running rhythm going, by stopping to pull out my phone and take pictures along the way. But he’s learned to put up with it. I see beauty and I want to capture it. The photo is never as good as the real thing, of course. But it’s like a sign along the way, taking me back to the realness of the moment and helping me remember its fullness.

I made it almost three miles, not bad for my first time out in so long. It was almost fun. And perhaps the spell of inertia is broken, and I can get back into the routine. We shall see. At least I have my pictures to remind me.  🙂

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Another Goodbye

I hate goodbyes. I dropped my son off at the airport this morning, knowing I would probably not see him again until next Christmas. We hugged, and I watched him pull his suitcase toward the revolving doors. Around me, other people hugged their goodbyes, grasping that last touch, one final memory to hold them until next time.

Why do kids have to grow up and move away? I remember how excited I was when I went away to college. Did my mother cry as they drove away from my freshman dorm? Did a hole open in her heart that only my return could mend? I never thought about it much at the time; I was too busy living my own life.

At my age, goodbyes become more common. A little over a year ago I whispered goodbye to my father as he lay silent in a hospital bed, his spirit perhaps already flown. That farewell was even more wrenching, tinged with the knowledge that I wouldn’t see him again until eternity.

And yet I go on. The sun shines through the fog and brightens the morning. I smile through my tears. Tomorrow my husband and I will be the ones leaving, off to see our other son and his wife. The hugs will be ones of gladness, as we reconnect after many months. The time will be all the more precious due to its brevity.

At the end of every hello is a goodbye. It’s just how life works. But the pain carves passageways for joy, and every farewell increases my longing for that day when goodbyes will be no more.

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Both Sides Now

“I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now,” wrote–and sang–Joni Mitchell, “from up and down, and still somehow
it’s clouds’ illusions I recall…” And really, when it comes right down to it, clouds themselves are a bit of an illusion. They look like you could reach up and touch them, but if you did, your hand would slide right through, cool and damp perhaps, but without ever hitting anything solid.

On our recent trip to Pittsburgh to visit our son and daughter-in-law, we saw plenty of clouds, both from below and from above. Some brought rain and snow; some piled up like bright puffy ice cream sundaes in the sky.

And from above, they danced across the landscape, finally building up into a soft blanket. Heading toward our landing, the plane sliced into the blanket, and it felt like entering the void, with no way to see above, below, or ahead. Just a field of gray in every direction. Until… until we dove underneath the grayness, and the city lights sparkled below, and all was just the way it should be. And yet, I wonder… is that, too, an illusion?  

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Counting Moving Targets

  This past weekend was the annual Great Backyard Bird Count. Whenever I could find the time, I stood by the window, looking out at the dogwood tree that holds a seed feeder, suet feeder, and bird bath. The GBBC asks participants to count the birds at their feeders–or in their backyards. Then you enter your count at their site, and it can be compared with thousands of others from around the world. The number to enter for each species is the greatest number you can see at one time. Sounds easy, right? Well, it is when it comes to the big birds–the jays, crows, woodpeckers, and those nasty starlings. The little birds are another story completely.

First there are the chickadees. First, because they show up at the feeder before I can even get it hung up in the morning. However, chickadees are perpetual motion machines, never staying in one place for more than a few seconds. And we have two species of chickadees. Try to get an accurate count of those little guys as they whip in and out of the trees and feeders! The bushtits aren’t much easier, although they are awfully cute for plain, little gray birds.

Then there are the sparrows and related little birds. Juncos, finches, etc. All kind of brown, perhaps with some stripes. House sparrows, house finches, golden-crowned sparrows, white-crowned sparrows… A person could get dizzy trying to keep up. At least the towhees are easy to tell apart from the others. And the lone varied thrush that pecks quietly at the seeds on the ground.

And how about those birds that show up the day before the GBBC and then disappear, only to reappear the day after. The stinkers! And that single Eurasian collared dove that dropped in for the first time the day after. Why couldn’t it have come a day early? Is it really cheating if I add a couple of birds from the next day?? Then there’s that leucistic sparrow-type bird. If anyone can tell me what it is, please do. I am not quite certain.

Time to turn in my lists and add my tiny bit of data to the Great Backyard Bird Count. It is nice to be a part of such a great program–even if the birds don’t always cooperate.

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Pine Shore Trail

“Pine Shore Trail” the sign read. I saw it as I walked down from the conference center in Ocean Park, Washington. The trail veered off from the wide path that led straight to the beach. Where did it go? I had to find out, so I followed the sandy track into the woods, through gnarled beach pines and huckleberry bushes into a land of wonder.

Sunshine stretched long fingers through the trees, lighting up the soft green moss that began to take over the trail. Pines spread twisting limbs overhead, making shadow patterns on the ground. The trail meandered through the woods, sometimes narrowing to so indistinct a thread that I feared I might lose it. But then it would widen again, and I would continue on, eager to see what lay around the next bend.

The shining green and gray wood felt like something straight out of Middle Earth. I trod lightly on the spongy ground, half-expecting to see wood elves peeking out from behind the trees or a sleeping dragon bedded down in the moss. I followed the path until it disappeared into a grassy lake of water, left from previous rainstorms. Then I wandered a bit through the woods and finally back to the main trail. I left the magic land behind, but, like Merry and Pippin in Fangorn Forest, I grew just a bit younger after drinking in the mossy wonder of that place.

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Pacific Ocean Sunrise

The sky was turning from black to deep blue when I stepped outside the retreat center where I was blessed to spend time with a couple dozen of the nicest writers I know. The moon’s brightness faded as day softly arrived.

Pastel pinks and oranges tinged the eastern sky as I padded down the sandy trail to the beach. The sky above turned pale blue. Past the trees and the beach grass, the ocean pounded out its rhythm while gulls flew overhead and a flock of sandpipers skittered away at my approach.

Color rose higher in the sky and spread far past the eastern edges. Waves and wet sand reflected the dawn. The empty beach lay silent before the sea, whose vastness breathed peace into my soul.

I stepped where many had walked before, and yet the freshly washed sand held no trace of their presence. It spread before me in wavy patterns, new and untouched, awaiting my footprints. I prayed that the marks I left behind would be true and my path straight.

Morning arrived in beauty. I greeted it with joy and songs of praise.  

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