Birdwatching

Canada Goose, watching

I woke and went out Saturday, to join others on a bird walk.
This early morning, straddling both winter and spring, I set out in wool socks and heavy jacket, left hat and mittens behind. And found that what normally is the perfect layering combination for this cooler weather, at our slow pace, soon gave in to shivers and a chill.
Birding is more about the watching—less about the walk.

But from a few well-placed blinds along the trails, we were able to settle in quietly, and watch--the cool morning air, bright and crisp, reaching through the small slits placed at eye- level around the small shelter where we sat.
Beyond the wooden walls, feeders--with all attractions to bring them close enough to view.
One by one they resumed the morning feeding frenzy.
Every so often, turning back to the shelter to watch the fourteen eyes, black binoculars, and camera--
quietly watching.

White-breasted Nuthatch, watching

American Robin

Pine Siskin, watching

American Tree Sparrow

Pine Siskin, watching

Pine Siskin and American Goldfinch

American Tree Sparrow and White-throated Sparrow, watching

Tufted Titmouse, watching

Just a glimpse

The snow fell—covering every living thing.
Last week’s warm and noisy nights have been replaced by a cool, quiet stillness.
What had been just a glimpse of spring, now lies beneath a blanket over a foot deep.

The deer walk slowly through the creek bed, plunging their faces into the snow—seeking the scarce buried green.
At the feeder, a squirrel opens seed after seed, their husks piling at his feet, as the flakes pile on his back. Hunger drives them forward.


Even the birds are wearing white.
The day progresses as it began—flakes falling, the outside world cast in gray.




By nightfall, the clouds had moved past.
Beneath a sky full of stars, we emerged from the shelter of our house, wood stove glowing warmly—and skied along the trails hearing nothing at all.
From the distant darkness, the call of a great horned owl.

This morning all is quiet again. The brilliant sunshine has prompted a dripping from the eaves.

In the woods, the branches free themselves of their weighty loads as I walk past--following on foot, our trail of last night.

The pebbly frozen surface of the pond glistens like a carpet of a thousand diamonds.

Around snowy boulders, the little creek flows clearly and swiftly.

Already the melting has begun.
With the sunshine warm against my face, I walk back past the quiet pools.
The air smells of spring.
Soon.

The GBBC--more than just a number

There’s a little chickadee I look for every morning—identifiable by his bright white tail.
And, although he’s just one of a million others of his kind, he’s the one I’m able to recognize as he flits through our woods to visit the feeders.
He’s the one I miss, when he’s not here.


I wonder about the billions and trillions (?) of living things categorized into neat groups we casually call “bugs” or “frogs” or “birds.” And the many people who never think of them as being more distinct than that—never learn to recognize each for their differences.
Never seeing more than the group.
A frog is simply a frog.
Nothing more.

It’s easier to walk past, not knowing their name.
And not care.

The Great Backyard Bird Count, GBBC, is next weekend. And though it is promoted as “citizen science,” a way for regular people to contribute to research efforts, it’s more than that.
It’s an exercise in seeing beyond the group.
Taking apart the word, “bird,” and being specific about each we see.
Giving each a name.

For with a name, comes significance.
And with understanding, comes care.

Brrrrr...rds!

My window seat

When we were house shopping 15 years ago, transplanted from upstate New York to southwestern Ohio, we settled upon this old, 1835 brick farmhouse, situated atop a hill in a rural area. It needed a ton of work, as many “historic” homes do, but it offered a unique spot for us, for it snuggles up to a wooded ravine.
Perched between large, old hickories and countless sprouting locusts, we look out over sycamores and redbuds dotting the banks, and down upon a little stream bubbling along in early spring, filled in by summer with bee balm. Almost immediately we began construction on an addition—extending to within 6 feet of the woods’ edge—with lots of glass on 3 sides.
It’s my window on the world.


This morning, a dusting of snow reveals the many tracks of what is usually hidden here—barely visible against the brown, leafy backdrop. Watching, as the morning sun begins to cast long shadows through the trees, I feel as if the curtain is being raised. The stage is lit, the show is about to begin, and I have the best seat in the house.

I’ve done my best in these very cold days, to keep the feeding stations filled. It’s a daily task—and the air still holds the heavy scent of lard, from rendering fat from suet. Muffin tins and cookie sheets are filled with cakes—but think twice before you grab a snack—it’s most likely bird food!

The ground beneath the feeders has been worn bare of snow—scratched by towhees and fox sparrows. But against the snowy woods, silhouettes in the darkness become bright cardinals, purple finches and blue jays—the only spots of color against brown branches.
Three days ago, I looked out to these feeders and found the action frozen in place—the usual flitting of chickadees, titmice, wrens and nuthatches, oddly ceased. There, a few feet away, a sharp-shinned hawk patiently waited for carelessness.



Today, the deer, using the frozen stream bed as their highway from the oakstand in the back woods, have come up toward the feeders to browse the few shriveled leaves of the honeysuckles. Up in the hole of the sycamore, a squirrel peeks out, testing the morning air. A pileated woodpecker hops from tree to tree, spiraling to the bottom of each—then flying methodically to the next. Only the downy, hairy and red-bellied visit the feeders.

Pileated Woodpecker on underside of horizontal branch, 1/4/08

Pileated on dead tree, 1/1/08

I could sit here all day, watching their world from my window.


Birds seen from my window January 1, 2008
Fox Sparrow, Red (pictured)
Song Sparrow
White-throated Sparrow
American Goldfinch
House Finch
Purple Finch
Carolina Chickadee
White-breasted Nuthatch
Carolina Wren
Tufted Titmouse
Dark-eyed Junco, Slate-colored (pictured)
Eastern Towhee
Brown-headed Cowbird
Northern Flicker
Downy Woodpecker
Hairy Woodpecker
Red-bellied Woodpecker
Pileated Woodpecker (pictured)
Blue Jay
Cardinal
Mourning Dove (pictured)
European Starling
Sharp-shinned Hawk

Purple Finches!

The snow of yesterday has given way to a dripping landscape. The creeks run muddy brown--runoff from the fields added to a day's rain. Not a good day to be out. So, resigned to observing from behind glass, and determined to make the best of a day at home, I sit looking out, puttering at online shopping, making soup and catching a few glances at the feeders.

There's nothing more intimidating to a beginning birder, than knowing you're looking at a bird that is easily confused with another in appearance. And comparative descriptions only work if both are sitting side by side. Helpful hints like, more stout, shorter bill, larger head, ...are code for, "be careful what you call this."
So, imagine my appreciation for a finch tutorial like this from Cornell's Project Feeder Watch.
And birds that agreed to sit side by side!

Purple Finch and House Finch, both males

Purple Finch, male

Purple Finch, females

American Goldfinch and female Purple Finch

Purple Finch, male

Go west!

Saturday morning we packed the car--maps, winter jackets, hats, binoculars, bird books, camera and a lunch of peanut butter nutella sandwiches, chips and apples. After much indecision of whether we would go east or west, we'd chosen west--to Muscatatuck National Wildlife Refuge in southern Indiana, for a day trip. Described as a "continentally important" bird area and "an exceptionally fine bird watching site," my fear was, "and what if we don't see any birds?"
What a magnificent expanse! From glowing golden woods of yellow poplar, beech and sweet gums--to glassy lakes, clear and dotted with cypress knees! We found black ducks, ring-necked ducks, herons, cedar waxwings, Cooper's hawks, and assorted others. Oh,...and otters! Even without the birds, it would have been well worth the 2 hour drive.
We're already planning to visit again, this time--with the canoe!

Tall, straight trunks of Tulip Poplars...

warm, glowing woods...

Lake Sheryl, bounded with the cinnamon shades of cypress...

still reflections of fall color...

Bald Cypress at its northernmost native range...

Cypress knees in needles of this deciduous conifer...

and in the shallows of the lake...

the otters playing and feeding on surface of Richart Lake...
(far right blur on distant surface)

sun setting on fall fields.