Bird brained stories!

Spirit guide or happy coincidence?

2008-02-21T08:23:00.005-06:00

Lady Pileated struts her stuff as we searched for letterbox hybrids in Brown County

While I love any bird with which I'm sharing oxygen, one bird, it seems, has become a personal totem or spirit guide for me. I've always been especially partial to Pileated Woodpeckers. Who isn't? Their huge size, their ability to soar, pterodactyl-like, over our head in the woods, vanishing on sight while laughing at us, are all the makings of a fun kind of bird. If you've read this blog, you know I've written about my encounters with Pileateds more than once.

Lately, I've begun to understand the idea of spirit guides and how they come to us. While I am not a person whose culture or belief system embraces such things, my experiences with these birds have shown me the way. My husband, a non-birder, has learned to identify the raucous calls of these birds, and to expect that if we hear them, he can plan on stopping whatever it is we're doing until I spot it. It's that simple. Every successful marriage is based on the partners' abilities to accept and adjust to the quirks of each other, and this is one of them.

This moves beyond quirkiness. When I've been privileged to have very close or special encounters with these birds, it seems they happen at times when I need signs or reassurance. The very close encounter, accompanied by dead camera batteries, came at a time when life had thrown me some hard stuff, and that moment gave me a chance to remove my thoughts, if only briefly, from those challenges and be truly in the moment. As my husband and I have been sucked deeper into the geocaching world, we've sought out those caches that take us to wonderful new places, hiking up the side of felsenmeers or canoeing along riverways. As we've done so, a Pileated will often call nearby. It seems to correlate with those hunts we expect to be most challenging, the ones where the dreaded "did not find" might be the end result. Every....single....time; if the Pileated calls, we make those difficult finds. I looked for one along the Wisconsin River near Portage last month, one that had not been found in months and that was buried under a thick blanket of snow and at least a half inch of ice. As I threw snow and freed deadfalls from the chokehold of ice, I heard that happy laugh...just as I was about to put an end to almost an hour's worth of searching. That gave me the incentive to press on, and sure enough....there was the cache.

My spirit guide goes beyond being a lucky charm for a treasure hunting game. Recently, I had a health scare. I had to go in for tests in the morning, and they wanted me to come in later that afternoon for more tests. It was troublesome to make the drive home, as I'd just be turning around and coming back. I chose to hike some trails overlooking the city that had not been hiked by any but the deer in quite some time. Not one, but two Pileateds, probably a nesting pair seeking a suitable nest site, were calling each other....and following me up the side of the bluff to the ridge top and beyond. I took their presence as a hopeful sign.

I was right. My health scare was just that, a scare.

Though I'd suspected it for a long time, that experience cemented in my mind that Pileated Woodpeckers are truly my spirit guide, appearing at those times when I need one, providing reassurance that my path is true.

I'd love to hear others' stories of their animal guides. Share them in the comments, and thanks for visiting.

Doing the Mango

2007-09-30T08:58:00.000-05:00

Is there a birder alive who does not love hummingbirds? Heck, even non-birders love them, just take a look at any mail order catalog and see how many items are hummingbird-themed. Living in the eastern half of the United States, I enjoy Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds. Period. There have been vagrants coming into the area, but time and distance never allowed me to "chase" them. I'm not a bird-chaser by nature, anyway. Ninety-nine percent of the birds on my not-big life list have been seen right in my own three county birding territory. I like it that way. I might not see a huge variety, but I get to know the birds of my neighborhood well, and can visit throughout the season and watch as they move through their annual cycle of nesting, raising young and migrating, if they are so inclined. I've been greatly influenced by a comment made by Kenn Kaufman in The Kingbird Highway. Near the end of his year of birding the country, he caught himself in a reflective moment, realizing that he was racing to count the birds without taking the time to get to know them. Still......

Reports started coming in from the Wisconsin Birding Network of an immature Green Breasted Mango, endemic to Costa Rica, that was visiting feeders in a yard in Beloit. Even better, the homeowners were very willing to allow birders to come visit. Driving three hours, burning fossil fuels....these fly in the face of my personal birding ethics. But....it's an exotic hummingbird! One that has only been recorded 15 times above the border, most of those along the Texas border.

I wrestled with my birding ethics and decided that I'd go. Part of Wisconsin birding history and all that. Problem was, it didn't seem like any day was opportune. The first weekend after the report, we'd already made plans to go north to help my husband's parents with some fall chores. Granted, we enjoyed breathtaking fall colors while hiking several of the falls in search of geocaches. Ravens and Pileated Woodpeckers were giving long open looks. We even had great looks at two different Timber Wolves; one even howled for us. It was grand indeed, but that was two days with no chance for a trip to Beloit.

Each school day offered some new challenge to a personal day as well. Faculty meeting. New preschool student starting. Sure, I could have taken a day, but there are work ethics, too. Finally, Friday seemed to be a day I could take off. Lots of my students were on field trips, anyway, no duty, no meetings....I was off! Not knowing for sure if it was still being seen, I planned out some geocaches to do on the way there and back. It was still burning fossil fuels, but the rationalization said that along with seeing this rarity, I was getting DeLorme pages for a geocaching challenge. Saving gas instead of burning it to meet the challenge. As I said, rationalization.

I arrived at the home and noted not too many vehicles along the road. Heading up behind the hostess's home, I saw a cluster of people facing an orchard behind the homes. Lifting my binoculars, even at a distance, I could see it...a huge hummingbird with a curved bill, perched high on an apple tree!

I spent the next two hours in the company of birders who'd come from Chicago and St. Paul. One of the Chicago birders had just purchased a very nice scope, and generously offered us its use to get even closer views. When I arrived, the Mango had apparently just finished bathing, as its feathers were very ruffled and it spent time preening. It put itself into positions worthy of a contortionist as it smoothed and rearranged its jewel-like feathers. Every so often, it would fly up, then alight. Each time, it kept its back to us, though a few times, it turned enough to allow a view of the cinnamon wash on the sides of its breast. For one brief moment, it gave a full frontal view, allowing a quick look at that center stripe with hints of blue. Always, we had excellent views of those deep purple tailfeeathers.

Over the next couple hours, it followed a pattern that became predictable. From the orchard, it would head to a basswood tree in the yard, picking insects from the treetop. It flew from there to the feeder, long enough for folks to snap a few photos, never perching as it fed. From there, it would head into a maple tree near the feeders, perch momentarily as if to allow its snack to settle, then zoom off to the orchard again. At one point, it zoomed right through our little group on its way to the orchard, a miniature B-52 buzzing the crowd!

As I chatted with the ladies from Chicago, one made the comment that she, too, did not know for sure if the Mango was still here before she left to travel. She had told herself that if she saw it, that would be grand, but if it had gone, that would also be grand. I had thought the same exact thing. When these gems wander so far afield of their habitat, the prognosis for them is grim. Although this little celebrity bird has brought joy to folks coming here from Alaska, Georgia, Arizona and West Virginia, that joy is overshadowed by the thought that if it can't find its way back to Central America soon, the story will have a sad ending.

Yes, I'm glad I had a chance to share that joy with birders from all over, but I still can't help but wonder----all these reports of birds showing up in places they shouldn't be; what does this signal for our fragile planet? When we're out in remote areas hiking, I often find our way back out by listening for the birds I heard on the way in. My husband thinks I'm whacked, but it works every time. If he were out there alone, I'd never see him again! Certain birds will be found in certain places and I've learned to know where those places will be. Let's hope that like my own navigation system, this little bird suddenly realizes that he's not hearing the right birds, and should be in a certain place, far from Wisconsin. Still, many of us are thrilled that he chose to follow an old state tourism slogan to "escape to Wisconsin."

Visits of the season....

2007-09-11T18:06:00.000-05:00

Nuthatches have always struck me as one of the cutest birds out there. Truth be told, pretty much any perching bird qualifies as "cute" in my mind, but Nuthatches are just so darn jaunty and perky. Any bird that can charge down a treetrunk head first over and over again has to be a top contender in the "cute" contest. For the past few weeks, I've been enjoying a double dose of cuteness in my yard.

White Breasted Nuthatches live in my yard year round. They, like many other birds, make themselves scarce during the nesting season but return once the kids are grown up and moved out. A couple weeks ago, I was in the house when I heard a call from the pine grove that could have doubled for the Little Nash Rambler of song. Could it be?

Sure enough, the Red Breasted Nuthatches have been making themselves at home for the time being, doing battle with the bigger White Breasted for the seed feeders. Both seem to prefer the sunflower seeds, grabbing one, flying off and then stashing it elsewhere. While hanging clothes on the line today, they were constantly darting to the nearby tree, then to the feeder and off to another tree, repeating this sequence over and over. At one point, I saw two Red Breasteds, and for all I know, there's a gang of them back in those pines. However many there may be, I'm glad they've stopped and stayed for awhile, giving me the chance to enjoy their absolute cuteness, right down to their toy car horn call.

Feathers from heaven?

2007-08-28T14:28:00.000-05:00

Fair warning; this post will contain nothing of objective scientific observation. Instead, it wanders into what my storytelling friends call "woo woo" territory. Be forewarned.

One of the joys of having varied interests can also be one of the frustrations. Though passionate about birds, bordering to the point of obsession, I do have other things I enjoy doing as well. One of them is geocaching, which does get me out adventuring in the wilderness, but since this is an activity shared with my peripatetic husband, any birding has to happen incidentally. We've been doing a lot of geocaching this summer, thus my serious birding activities have been on a downswing.

My other big passion and sometimes job, as regular readers may recall, is storytelling. In fact, with one exception, all my close friends are also storytellers. I have found myself combining these two passions into a little niche market. I've collected or created a series of stories that entertain while educating the listeners about various aspects of birds and the lives they lead. You want a storyteller who can fit your "Wing Ding" theme for a park event? I'm your girl. I'm pretty adamant that any stories for such venues, though they can have birds that talk and such other elements of imagination, maintain accuracy about the birds and their behavior.

Given that, what comes next is where things enter into the realm of woo woo. Last Friday, a dear friend passed from this world to the next. It was very sudden and all too quick. Symptoms first appearing in a fabulously healthy person on July 1, passing quietly on August 24. I'd been holding her close in my thoughts since her journey began, and was visiting family in northern Wisconsin when the word came Friday evening.

Saturday morning, my husband, his brother and I set out for a geocaching marathon throughout the forests and lakes of the Nicolet National Forest. I had my birding gear along, knowing that if anything interesting came by, my husband was sufficiently entertained by his brother for me to wander off with binoculars in hand. Almost right away, as we headed into the woods, a flash and a chuckling sound caught my eye. I was off. Camera in hand, I put my new found skills in "pishing" to work, calling in a family group of curious Gray Jays. These birds don't live near me, so I was delighted to have good looks at these "camp robbers." Even more delightful, one paused long enough to give me a quizzical sidelong glance while I took a photo.

I saw and enjoyed other birds throughout the day. When we returned home Sunday night, I was delighted to hear the whinny calls of an Eastern Screech Owl late at night outside. I have not heard them near my home before, and it led me out into my backyard late at night in my pjs, looking up at the stars and hoping for a shadowy flight across the sky.

Today, as I sat writing my tribute to my friend Leanne on my storytelling blog, just as I put my final touches on it before hitting "publish," something outside my window caught my attention. A female hummingbird was at my feeder! I typically don't have them coming until this time of year, but still, the timing of her first appearance of the season struck me as more than coincidence. My friend Leanne knew well my fixation for things avian. She regularly sent me horrible birdy puns and helped me in my search for "real" bird stories when I was developing my program. I just can't help but think that these birds, whose wings bring them closer to heaven, were messengers to grab my attention, Leanne's way of letting me know that everything is fine and we'll tell stories together again one day. Leanne, we all miss you down here already, and thanks for sending those birds my way. Till we meet again......

New life, new hope....

2007-06-18T14:52:00.000-05:00

Reports have trickled in about two, possibly three female Kirtland's Warblers nesting at an undisclosed location in central Wisconsin. The Kirtland's is a highly endangered songbird, nesting in carefully managed jackpine forests near Greyling Michigan...until now. For a number of years, birders have seen and heard singing males, some not far from my own birding territory. The birding community has long held that where there are singing males, interested females will soon follow. Last week, the news was released. One of the females was sitting on a nest of four eggs. The birding community is celebrating, and I hope that we can continue to celebrate as forest management practices create suitable nesting habitat for these birds.

In the meantime, I will happily accept this intimate view of family life of one such family that nested in the neighbor's drainpipe. Loud, flashy and boistrous, this view reminds me that they're parents, too. Celebrate this fact and enjoy the birds close at hand. Reports are suggesting some of these, too, are declining. Be reminded that though we might take birds like the Blue Jay or the Eastern Meadowlark for granted in our landscape, our choices as individuals and communities do matter.

Into the forest

2007-05-16T16:49:00.000-05:00

In fairytales, girls who wander into the forest often face challenges, even danger. They lose their way. Maybe it's the storyteller in me seeking to live a fairytale that led me out into the forest this morning. Maybe I just wanted to lose myself.

There is an enchanted forest not far from home that I love to explore, especially in the springtime. The trails meander up and down the slope through prairie, sumac and honeysuckle stands, hardwoods of oak and hickory, leading through rocky outcrops that rise up out of the earth. Spring ephemerals glow in the morning sunlight; mayflowers, nodding trillium, Jack-in-the-pulpit mingle with hillside carpets of tall ferns. For watching birds, it is sublime; one can stand and look up the hill and see what's calling from the underbrush or look at treetop warblers from above. This morning, the forest was alive with the music of birds, especially Tennessee Warblers. At every turn, three or four of them were singing from the treetops, trying to own their space. At the edges, the "bee buzz" of Blue Winged Warblers could be heard. Deep in the forest, the strange call of the Veery preceded its rare appearance, bird of the forest floor that it is.

Rose Breasted Grosbeaks seemed to be everywhere, and though the leaf cover of the forest made photography a challenge, somehow I was rewarded with views of one nabbing his breakfast. A pair of Grosbeaks was seen together, allowing a good look at the difference between the boys and the girls of this species.

At one point, the calls of a pair of Pileated Woodpeckers grabbed my attention. They always do. While waiting to see how close they would come, it seemed that the birds of the forest close by exploded around me, dropping practically to eye level on all sides, their singing intensified as if to draw my view back to them.

I wandered, enjoying the sense of being lost in the woods, though I knew that eventually I'd find my way back to the blufftop prairie. The only real danger I faced was the strong desire to simply stay where I stood, amidst the ferns and stands of red pine, smelling the life of the forest floor and scent of honeysuckle, birdsong swirling about my head. As in most fairytales, the spell was eventually broken and I returned to life as I usually know it. Still, as I wandered the aisles of Target, my imagination was hearing not the Muzak of the PA system, but the music of the forest. Ahhh!

They're back!

2007-05-08T19:17:00.000-05:00

It's been a long winter in so many ways for me. The weather doesn't typically stop me from getting out and enjoying the natural world and the feathered friends who inhabit it, but this past year, other things have. With spring full upon us, I could take it no more. I was out on the marsh trails by 8AM this morning, and it felt good!

My time watching birds has been scarce for so long, I needed to spend time remembering how to even look for them. I forget that the warblers and other migrants aren't going to just perch in front of me most of the time--although this Palm Warbler was fairly obliging. Like these active insectivores themselves, I found my eyes at first darting here and there through the leafy canopy, only to see nothing but leaves. I had to remind myself to stop, watch and listen. Once I remembered that, I was richly rewarded. So many Baltimore Orioles! American Redstarts! My first Common Yellowthroat of the season. The Yellow-Headed Blackbirds croaking away, with the Soras and Pied Billed Grebes adding to the weird chorus from the water nearby.

I parked myself on a fallen tree to wait quietly to see what would appear. The chorus of songs was loud, varied and almost too much to bear. Trying to pick out one song over the others yielded way to just enjoying nature's symphony. The frogs added to the effect, shrouded as it all was in just a faint early morning fog over the still water of the wetlands.

An entire morning, slowly roaming the trails and deer paths to see and hear what has returned at last...this is therapy far better than shopping. Songs silenced since nesting last summer are returning to the woods, wetlands and fields. Today was an eleven warbler day for me. Take some time to get outside and enjoy this all too fleeting season in the cycle of life.

Birding is soul food

2007-04-21T09:09:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time since I can say I've actually been out birding. I've looked for birds while doing other things, like geocaching, but as far as actually going out into the field, binoculars at the ready with the express purpose of observing---long, long time. Life has gotten in the way the past few months, I'm afraid. Yesterday I finally got out there again, just to bird---in foreign habitat.

I was hired to do a storytelling program in the little town of Vesper Wisconsin on Thursday night. I decided that rather than drive home after dark, risking collision with deer, I'd treat myself to a bed and breakfast stay, then spend Friday birding the Buena Vista Grasslands. I've been there once before, to sit in the bird blinds and watch the spectacle of the Greater Prairie Chickens. This time, I'd see what else this area had to offer up.

As I pulled off the minimum maintenance road to wander down a trail in the middle of the prairie, a sense of near helplessness hit me. I haven't really been birding in so long, remembering most effective use of my binoculars came slowly. Listening for birds needed to be relearned. On top of all that, this is habitat that is so different from the wetland, forest/bluff and river habitats with which I'm so familiar. How do I look for these birds on this wide open landscape?

I assured myself that I'd find them, and reminded myself of my goal as a birder; not to see lots of birds, but to see the birds well. I started off doing just that, as a bird flew to a treetop and sang. Knowing it was some sort of sparrow, and thinking by the song it might be new to me, I spent close to 30 minutes with it, watching and photographing. My conclusion? A Song Sparrow with a varied song! So much for new birds, but maybe approaching every bird as if it's new yields rewards. Would I have spent so much time with it, had I realized right away it was "common?"

I managed to flush a Prairie Chicken as I walked slowly along the trail. Sandhill Cranes could be heard bugling all around me. Meadowlarks, too, including Western Meadowlarks. That was a new bird for me, but I couldn't find it to see it! I spent much time on that task, enjoying Savannahs and Grasshoppers singing as I searched. At last I did get a good look at a singing Western Meadowlark.

I wandered about the grasslands this way, eventually stopping to look at other places along the road. At my last stop, along one of the drainage ditches placed in the area, I was about ready to head home. Middle of the day, the birds are quiet. Something compelled me to keep on walking, though. Along the drainage ditch, a huge mound of dirt had been built up and overgrown, creating a long berm. I decided to see what I could see from that vantage point. Further down the ditch, a Sandhill Crane was feeding. There was a little bridge behind him, making for quaint pictures, so I continued to slowly advance, snapping with each stop.

As I closed to about a city block's distance, something along the banks caught my eye. Another crane stretched her neck out. His mate on her nest! I'd taken numerous photos with her in the frame, not even seeing her until she moved. I didn't move any closer once I realized she was on her nest, but enjoyed the chance to really observe.

Walking out to my car and heading home at last, I reflected on how relaxed and fulfilled I was feeling. It's been a long time away, and perhaps the lesson I've learned is that even if life throws us nasty curve balls, we need to find a way to make time for those things that feed our soul.

Why the nesting crane is so difficult to see

Spring might really be here at last....

2007-04-14T20:49:00.000-05:00

Why am I looking at wildflowers on a birding blog? you might well ask. If you're a birder living in the middle of North America, as I am, you would understand. After another unseasonably warm early winter, snow arrived here with a vengeance--record snowfalls--in early March. We were tempted a few weeks back with some unseasonably warm weather, only to be socked with nasty cold winds and yes, more snow this past week. My early daffodils were buried in it.

Now, I know as a birder, we tend to be a hardy lot, going out in all manner of weather. Still, when things keep getting turned upside down, it's sometimes easier to just look out the window at the feeders and call it a day.

No choice of that for me today, however. Today was the annual crane count, and I'd signed on to take a site again. A couple days ago when the ground was again covered in snow, I questioned the wisdom of such philanthropic use of my time at 5:30AM.

I needn't have worried. The snow has melted and the earth is slowly warming at last. My site is accessed from a cemetery with a trail to the LaCrosse River Bike Trail. I spend hours and hours on this trail in the warmer months, biking to this very spot and then watching all that nature has to offer in these wetlands. This morning, walking in by flashlight, my sensory experience was at first auditory. Peepers calling tentatively, robins and other chirpy birds singing. An American Woodcock peenting over there! No skydance, but I'll check again one evening soon. Winnowing Snipe, then on cue at 5:45AM, three unison calling pairs of Sandhill Cranes around me.

The view was almost mystical. A sliver of a moon reflected in the mirrored surface of the marsh, fog rising from it. The horizon just barely tinged with deep pink. One of those moments that reminds you that sometimes it pays to get up when normal people are still deep in REM sleep. All the birdsong, long forgotten since last fall, gave hope that spring was really here at last. If that wasn't reminder enough, I later discovered this Round-leafed Hepatica blooming near a frog pond as we searched for a geocache. Some of the birds are already back, others returning. It's here at last.

I and the Bird #45 goes to a party!

2007-03-21T19:57:00.000-05:00

Jayne of Journey Through Grace takes us to her 45th birthday party as she hosts the latest edition of I and the Bird. Join her in blowing out the candles and unwrapping the gifts of some of the best bird blogging out there! Happy Birthday, Jayne!

The last winter bird?

2007-03-18T09:05:00.000-05:00

The record snowfall is already receding, swelling to flood stage many of the valley rivers and streams common to coulee country. We enjoyed some spring-like weather earlier in the week, though it's returned to the 30s the past few days.

Still, signs of spring in the form of migrating birds appear every day. The Robins and Kildeers are back. Raptors are streaming north along the river, Turkey Vultures are returning to clear our roadsides of all the roadkill. I saw a Song Sparrow the other day at the Kickapoo Valley Reserve Visitors Center and heard one singing yesterday.The Peregrines were sailing over downtown LaCrosse last weekend, checking out the nest box on the US Bank building. Sandhills are returning, as are some of the Whooping Cranes. And early morning, I am again wakened by the chorus of singing birds outside my window. It's coming!

Lone Horned Lark

I captured this Horned Lark on a day when the snow was just starting to melt. I often see them on this road as I travel to work, but this particular day, I wasn't working, so I was free to stop. I was pleased to confirm the presence along with about 50 Horned Larks of some Lapland Longspurs. I knew they had to be out there, but now could legitimately add them to my life list. As I reviewed this photo the other day, I thought to myself that this might well be my last "winter" bird, as they head back north.

Not quite. Walking the dog yesterday afternoon, I enjoyed hearing that tinkling call, then watching one fly over to the next vacant field. Maybe that will be the last winter bird, but I don't mourn. If it is, it means that the excitement of spring migration isn't far off.

Postscript-I noticed that this day's posting is exactly my two year anniversary of starting this blog. Thanks for stopping by and sharing your thoughts in the comments these past two years!

Close Encounters of the Bird Kind

2007-03-10T09:03:00.000-06:00

Winter finally arrived with a vengeance here in coulee country, but it will be short-lived. It always is. For that reason, I leave my cross country skis in my car, ready to go out whenever I have the chance, and wherever I might be. I have learned that because winter is fickle and fleeting here, if I want to ski, I might not have time to get to the "good" ski trails before it's gone. The other day, I headed out to one of our large county parks that sits right along the Mississippi River to do a little skiing, and maybe spot some Long-Eared Owls seen earlier that week. No luck on the owls. The skiing was marginal at best, but even so, I couldn't think of anything I'd rather be doing. The day was already perfect enough for me, having seen numerous woodpeckers in the woods trail, even heard a calling Barred Owl and of course visited the resident deer that have no fear of humans. Could the day get any better?

After I'd finished skiing, I decided to look in a couple more likely places for those owls. Walking down the road, I was startled by the very close approach of the Black-Capped Chickadees and White-Breasted Nuthatches. The chickadees were so close that four of them perched on a branch just feet from my face and chattered at me. I wouldn't have needed my big lens to capture them. What happened next is nothing short of magical. As I stood watching around 25 of these little gems flitting nearby, I held out my hand. A chickadee landed on my fingertips, looking at me before flying off. Then another! And another! They swirled around me, near my head, on my hands, at my feet! I know for some readers, this conjures up images a la Hitchcock, but I didn't see it that way.

Armed with birdseed, I found joy in the approach of these small and delicate creatures. They never stayed long. They never do, even at feeders out of view of humans. To have them trust me enough to approach, perch, look me in the eye, then snatch a seed and take off was an experience I've long wished to have. The flutter of their wings sounded next to my head. I could feel the little breeze that action created. I enjoyed one of those rare moments when wildness and human connect. These moments always feed my soul and ease my heartache. I don't have to have physical contact; simply being there is enough. I worry that future generations will never have this joy, taking their joy in malls and man-made interpretations of nature. If only folks would stop worrying about spiders and snakes, instead going out to meet our wild neighbors, perhaps they would begin to see that healing can be found out in nature instead of a shopping bag.

It isn't always about birds, is it?

2007-02-26T19:34:00.000-06:00

I went looking one night after work for owls......

....and found a quiet sunset instead.

The usual suspects

2006-12-31T13:19:00.000-06:00

Pity the poor Black-Capped Chickadee, so common he's usually overlooked. Anyone reading state birdlistservs will rarely see posts proclaiming "Black-Capped Chickadee in Menasha!" No, that honor goes to the Slaty-Blacked Gull, subject of numerous posts in the past week on wisbird.

I have not been in a position to take a drive across the state to see for myself if this bird really is a Slaty-Backed or something else. As a general rule, I don't make it a habit of driving much beyond my local birding haunts anyway. Out of the area bird trips have to be combined with other activities that required me to travel. Had this bird made its appearance just a few days earlier, I could have justified the trip in combination with visits to my son at a medical facility near Menasha. It was not to be.

As a result, I am not likely to be one of those ardent birders out to try and catch one last bird for my list of 2006 today. With a nasty head cold, I'm finding my late 2006 birding confined to what can be seen outside my windows or while walking the dog around Lake Neshonoc. This time of year, that means what I get to see are those birds usually lumped into birding reports as "the usual suspects." The poor birds don't even garner a listing out of their names. In honor of all the "usual suspects," I will list them out by name. My proud late-2006 sightings!

Black-Capped Chickadee
American Tree Sparrow
House Finch
Cardinal
Blue Jay
American Crow
White-Breasted Nuthatch
Downy Woodpecker
Red-Bellied Woodpecker
Hairy Woodpecker
Cooper's Hawk
Red-Tailed Hawk
American Goldfinch
House Sparrow

Along with my two cool sightings on the dog route--

Great Horned Owl--thank you, American Crows and Black-Capped Chickadees, for leading me to him!
Ruffed Grouse--thanks probably go to Loca, the dog, for her too-close approach.

Though my birding these last couple months has been sorely limited, I've enjoyed each encounter, whether it's with a magnificent owl or a jaunty little chickadee scolding me. Happy New Year!

Last minute sightings? Virtual, perhaps!

2006-12-30T16:09:00.000-06:00

Many birders hope to grab one last sighting of the year. I will not be among those this year, but I can still enjoy plenty of sightings vicariously, simply by clicking on over to the latest edition of "I and the Bird," hosted this time by Natural Visions. Stop by and enjoy the latest from the best of the bird blogging world!

Children of Lir?

2006-11-12T20:33:00.000-06:00

Tundra Swans on the upper Mississippi River

A story from Irish folklore tells of some royal children who were placed under a spell by a jealous stepmother, left to fly about as swans for hundreds of years. The spell could only be broken when two warring clans were joined in marriage. The event came to pass, the swans turned back into people, people who were very old, then almost immediately died.

Strange story.

Maybe not. The Tundra Swans have arrived in our area yet again, as they do each fall. Warring clans don't bring them here, or perhaps they do. They spend the summers in the high latitudes near the Arctic Circle, then head to our coasts when the "warring" winter storms move in to chase them off. The Mississippi River valley is a stopover at which they will remain in the tens of thousands until ice makes dipping below the surface for tubers impossible. It would seem that in one form or another, cold and ice are warring against these magnificent beauties.

I have watched the backwaters just across the highway from the school where I teach the past few weeks for signs of their approach. It took a post from Fred Lesher on wisbird to find out they'd arrived for the season. Each post would bring the numbers higher and higher until one day Fred said, "Maybe 20,000, you count!"

There have been wars of a sort fought by one of my own children of Lir for a time now, and finally that child was ready to break the curse. It required not an evil stepmother's intervention, but that of his loving parents, to cast the new spell needed to help him. No one gives out instruction manuals when a child is born, and perhaps it's just as well. If one were able to read of all the possible challenges, our species would never survive.

After making a tough phone call, it seemed like the best thing I could do would be to go see the swans for myself. On a glorious fall afternoon, I was on an overlook in Minnesota, facing a huge ribbon of feathery white stretching in front of me. The river flapped and tipped; sometimes it took flight in small drifts. A wonderful cacophony of cooing created the soundtrack for this spectacle. Adding to the drama, huge kettles of Bald Eagles would soar and stream just above the blufftops behind me.

Each fall, I make it a point to spend some time appreciating the majesty of this special migration. Each fall, as I watch the swans, I'm reminded of the strange story of the Children of Lir. This fall, as I watched them, I had a moment's respite from all the hurt, but I also couldn't help but think---when the spell is finally broken, will my swan come out stronger than even before? I can hope that in this real-life story, he will return himself, just as these swans will pass through again next spring, heading back to the high Arctic.

Stranger things have happened......

2006-11-03T17:19:00.000-06:00

Lesser Yellowlegs in a cooperative mood, photographically speaking

After about three and a half years of serious birding, I hit the magical number of 200 North American life birds this past summer, most of which were seen within 50 miles of my home. Though I would read on the various bird lists of amazing sightings within the upper midwest, envying those able to run after them all, I have a job. And a family. And a desire to try and minimize my ecological footprint by avoiding lots of driving, fuel efficient though my car may be.

I would harbor dreams of attending a conference near Lake Michigan, thereby adding in lots of shorebirds and those migrants while being a good employee AND steward of our resources. Not happening. I was lucky to be granted a one day conference in Madison this year, no overnight stays, so don't even ask for reimbursement!

Really, I enjoy any birds I happen to see, even the ever-present Chickadees and Goldfinches at my feeders. The number of birds sighted isn't that important, other than the desire to enjoy a wider variety of avian friends. But....but.....

I just couldn't help myself recently when reports started to float in of a Plegadis Ibis hanging around a wetland area less than 50 miles from here. I know the location, but had only driven past it on my way to someplace else. So, bringing along my non-birding husband with the lure of a couple geocaches to be had along the way, we set off a couple of weekends ago, into the brisk and unseasonable fall weather.

As we approached the site, I spotted the bird at once. It was somewhat distant, and continued to be maddeningly non-distinctive. Most bets were that it was an immature White-Faced Ibis, and though my photos are "mood shots" only, by studying a blow up in Photoshop, it did appear to have the reddish eye tint that suggests this bird over the Glossy Ibis. Cool! A new life bird, and one that is vagrant!

But....but....but.....

There was a lot of activity in this little area. A pair of Wilson's Snipes were working an area in plain view the whole time. Usually they take seriously the old saw, "Heard and not seen," but today was an exception. Not a new bird for me, but a much better view than I've ever had before now.

But...but...but.....

Look at all the Lesser Yellowlegs here! They worked the pond ever closer to where I crouched in the brush, allowing many nice photos. And further back....a lone Greater Yellowlegs. New life bird for me! This was almost too intoxicating to handle, two new birds in less than an hour, at a distance less than an hour from home.

But...but....but.....

Along came a family of birders I know from our birding club, and as we watched through their scope, they picked out some Green-Winged Teal. A common enough bird, but one that had escaped my notice until today. Three new life birds? This was almost too much!

But...but...but....

As we watched a flock of gulls, one stood out, with a little black "earring" behind its eye. I remember noticing a gull flying with hardly any black on the wing, and thinking, "there's a gull with hardly any black on the wing," but the excitement of all these life birds was just too much a distraction at the time. We tried calling Dan Jackson, who didn't pick up, but confirmed later that yes, he had seen a Bonaparte's Gull hanging out here two days ago. FOUR new life birds?

As we finally headed off, greeting some birders from Illinois and Baraboo just arriving, I exulted in my great good luck. We found our two caches, so that made us happy, too. But...but...but....

Loading my photos onto the computer so that we could claim one of the caches, I started looking over the bird shots, only to discover that one of those Lesser Yellowlegs was actually....a Long-Billed Dowitcher! Racing from one bird id website to the next, I found several photos that looked like better quality versions of mine.

Does size matter? Try telling the Long-Billed Dowitcher it doesn't!

That made FIVE, count them, FIVE new life birds in one afternoon. All in the same unremarkable pond I've passed on the highway many times. Stranger things have happened, but not to me, at least not in my birding life.

When two hobbies collide...

2006-09-30T12:07:00.000-05:00

I've never felt it to be a bad thing to have a large variety of interests. One can never be bored if there are enough things to pursue. The problem sometimes becomes one of picking and choosing, however. Of late, I have been having a blast by combining two of my interests; birding and scrapbooking. Throw in a third interest of "not wasting resources," and I guess I've covered three.

I've enjoyed trying my hand at bird photography, sharing many of those images right here. What then? My skills and equipment are not of a level that would ever allow me to seriously consider marketing my work; this is just for fun. I had started a scrapbook some years ago to showcase some of my best work, and that was fine--for a time. When I upgraded my equipment to digital + big honking lens, the number of photos that fit the criteria for "my best work" grew beyond anything reasonable for a scrapbook.

Enter my Birder's Life List project. I had the brilliant idea that maybe a little show and tell would be a nice inclusion if I should ever receive any calls for programs now that I'm listed in the Wisconsin Society of Ornithology Speaker's Bureau. I could print out my favorite photos, scrap them on a small layout of 6 inches by 6 inches, using up my too numerous leftover scraps saved from other projects.

I think I've created for myself a whole new hobby. In the past week, I've already completed nineteen of these layouts. Now, although my North American Life List stands currently at 206, I certainly don't have good photos, or in many cases, any photos, for all of those. Still, I have enough to keep myself busy for a nice long time. I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever get back to saving family or vacation photos in my scrapbooks now.

I'm sure I'm not the only one out there who has found a way to combine this love we call birding with another passion. Share yours. Now that I think of it, I've combined one more; my Speaker's Bureau offering is a program of stories from world folklore, sharing tales of birds and why they do the things they do!

A break from real life...

2006-09-10T13:17:00.000-05:00

Lynne commented yesterday on one of my other posts that one of the reasons she is attracted to birding is that when she's watching birds, the past and the future all fade away, leaving only the present. I hadn't really thought of it that way, but it's true. How many of us have stood glued to our scopes or binoculars, watching the show, only to discover an hour has passed in that time that seemed to be but a minute?

I gave myself the gift of the present for an hour or so after work the other day. The past and the future have been nothing short of daunting this summer, leaving me tired and on edge most of the time. A warm afternoon, coupled with listserv reports of lots of migrants, sent me to a favorite trail in a county park just south of the school where I teach.

The present, on that day, was pretty quiet. Even the numerous Black-Capped Chickadees and various Woodpeckers were keeping a low profile. No matter. I could walk, stop, listen and look, and even if I wasn't seeing much, I was in the present...all cares momentarily forgotten as I snapped to attention with each flutter of the treetops out of order. The warmth of the late afternoon sun, the tang of earth as the leaves begin to fall off and add to the cycle of life on the forest floor, the little chirps overhead, all conspired to let me relax and forget for a short time.

There were a few migrants that showed themselves from time to time. American Redstarts, fanning their tails and chasing about, Magnolia Warblers, a bit duller but still quite dashing, and the plaintive, persistent cry of the Phoebe.

Along about 5pm, as I meandered the acorn strewn trail back toward the small parking area, an old friend began calling just on the other side of a brackish pond along the trail. "Who cooks for you, who cooks for you all?" I've talked with this Barred Owl many times before, even had some face to face conversations on occasion. Today, it didn't want to call back to me. That fact brought me back to the reality of life, the one where communication is strained at the moment. Still, it was an appropriate reminder that, though communication is challenging, I still needed to be home, because, after all, I'm the one who cooks for all my folks.

I will make another appointment for escape soon. We all would do well to take Lynne's advice and escape to the present for a time as we sit in nature. Life will still be there when we return, and we can face it better when refreshed.

Sublime moments

2006-09-09T09:12:00.000-05:00

I was lucky to receive a scholarship this past summer to take part in a workshop offered by Trees For Tomorrow in Eagle River Wisconsin, "Birding by Habitat." For five days, we went out into various habitats of the Northwoods, refining our understanding of why one might encounter Northern Parula Warblers in old hemlock forests. It was a wonderful interlude. While not everyone attending the week was a fanatical birder, all had an interest in being out in nature and learning more about these feathered creatures that share our planet.

As I reviewed my photos taken during this week in June, I couldn't help but smile at this Bobolink. We visited an old field one warm afternoon, filled with daisies. As we spread out and walked slowly into the field, little sensory delights would appear. A butterfly. A burst of color from an out-of-place wildflower among the daisies. Then suddenly, flying up from the field, the bubbling song of the R2D2 bird, the Bobolink. Sometimes one would fly up in song, then drop back onto a stem. Others would simply descend back into the blanket of daisies. We watched as pairs would briefly chase, then alight on the weathered fence at the edge of the field. My roommate for the week, Ann, just lay down among the daisies and enjoyed. She said all we needed was a little girl in a prairie dress to run through the daisies.

Those Bobolinks have no doubt begun their journey to South America now, and the daisies are long since dried to seed. I still have the pleasant memories of that afternoon in the field in June. Like much of life, sometimes we have to grab these pleasant memories to pull us through as the days shift toward their inevitable darkness. Through those dark days, one can look back at these sublime moments, giving us hope they will return to our lives once again.

Returning to the nest....

2006-09-02T13:19:00.000-05:00

Early in July, I had the pleasure of watching this family of Flickers at close range. Choosing to nest inside this tall snag outside the door of the family cabin, they were easily watched. Morning was my best light, and I would simply park my lawn chair in a good location, camera in hand, and wait. Wait some more. Watch as the parents would oh so carefully approach the nest hole. They would not fly directly to the begging nestlings, but perch nearby, watching. Slowly they would move closer. Why they thought such stealth was needed was a bit mysterious, as the clamors of the two nestlings pretty much revealed their location, anyway. Instinctive protectiveness, a parental characteristic that crosses species lines, was the likely explanation.

I've not had many opportunities to watch birds in the past two months, nor the energy or interest to do so. My own parental instincts have reflected those of this Flicker, cautiously approaching and retreating, even though, much as with these near-fledgling birds, my ability to have an influence has largely been a creation of my own active imagination.

Lemonade is still going to be awfully sour around here for a long time, I'm afraid. Nestlings will clamor in a way that attracts unwanted attention, parents will wring hands in spite of themselves, and hopefully, as for these birds, life will eventually sort itself out. There may well be symbolism involved in the fact that the next phase in this saga coincides with the annual start of migration. Though I've little interest, or ability, to get out and enjoy this amazing phenomenon, I realize it will happen whether I'm out there or not. Perhaps once again, birding serves as a metaphor for the joys and anguish of the lives of those of us who enjoy it.

Sometimes lemons are just...lemons.

2006-08-02T18:41:00.000-05:00

Life has thrown our family some huge lemons of late, and though we've tried to do the old lemonade thing....it hasn't worked that way. These lemons get more sour by the day.

I need to direct my energy to other things. For this reason, I will not be adding to my blogs for an indefinite period of time. I want to thank my two or three loyal readers, and if and when the time comes that I can make lemonade, I may be back.

But for now....so long.

Birding abroad!

2006-07-29T15:55:00.000-05:00

Unlike birds, who can fly freely, I've recently returned from three weeks in the United Kingdom, traveling as I have the previous three summers overseas with a bunch of teenagers as a delegation leader for People to People. Unlike birds, because I had to remain onboard a grounded 737 for 5.25 hours at O'Hare, awaiting a shift in the wind direction.

I'd debated bringing along my binoculars. After all, this wasn't a birding trip but one designed to promote international understanding for American teenagers. Still, it was a huge temptation. I did bring along Peterson's Field Guide to Birds in Britain and Europe, and before long, my mantra became, "If only I'd brought my binoculars!" So much so that no fewer than three kids pointed out to me binoculars for sale in the gift shop at the top of Cairngorm in Scotland.

So, it wasn't possible for me to bird seriously, and I heard many more birds than I could hope to identify. This being my third trip to the United Kingdom, not all birds were new to me, but some were, like the Lapwings seen at the aforementioned Cairngorm, and a family of Great Crested Grebes at close range while whitewater rafting on the River Tay. Of the birds I enjoyed watching, I'd have to say that bird of nursery rhyme, the Jackdaw, besides being almost as ubiquitous as the gulls, was the most entertaining. Gathering in enormous flocks, their raucous cries echoing along the hillsides, they gave me hours of enjoyment as I spent my evenings supervising homesick students lined up at the streetside payphones in North Wales.

Though I wasn't able to be a serious "twitcher," it still added to my enjoyment and observation of new surroundings. Since I didn't know many bird songs and calls here, I could only sit back and enjoy the music, reminding me that I'm a stranger in this land, the music foreign to one who can bird by ear back on home soil.

The kids made fun of my little obsession, as teenagers are wont to do, until they watched a mother Black Duck and her duckling. The duckling did one of those fast leaps across the water to catch up, making everyone on our raft laugh in delight at the antics. As the giggles died down, I simply said, "See why I do this?"

Birds that I did manage to identify, the starred ones being Life Birds, were:

Grey Heron
Jackdaw
Magpie
Pied Wagtail
Herring Gull
Blackbird
*Bonaparte's Gull
Mute Swan
Black Duck
Woodpigeon
*Oystercatcher
*Lapwing
*Great Crested Grebe
Ring-Necked Pheasant
*Rook
*Capercaillie
Carrion Crow
*Common Sandpiper
*Whinchat
Lesser Black-Backed Gull
*Common Moorhen

Also seen on the ferry were some kittiwakes and shearwaters that I couldn't identify more specifically, simply marveling at birds that live at sea. Perhaps the lesson I learned by leaving the binocs behind was that enjoying what I could see has value far beyond that of some arbitrary list. Instead of worrying over "which warbler," I simply enjoyed the color and song of birds I knew simply as "English warblers in the mulberry at the Bishop's Palace."

Oh, and the mulberries, in spite of staining the heck out of our fingers? Absolutely divine! I give my thanks to the birds of England for leaving a few for us to relish!

Birding: Connecting one to all of creation

2006-06-26T09:05:00.000-05:00

Birders, like any subculture, are an odd lot to those not part of the tribe. What could possibly be so interesting about birds that people willingly get up at 3 AM to go out into the field, often in miserable weather, to see birds? You can sit in your porch and see birds, can't you? You can watch them in comfort and dry weather, so what's with all the binoculars, bug spray and multiple field guides, anyway?

As the commercial says, if you have to ask, you just don't understand. Each person out in the rain and cold with her binoculars trained to the heights of the tallest tree has her reasons, each as unique as the person gazing skyward. I'm guessing you'd be hard-pressed to find a person alive who doesn't find birds at least mildly interesting. They can fly, after all. They fly incredible distances over open ocean non-stop. That's impressive, anyone would have to acknowledge that.

For me, it goes beyond that universal degree of awe they inspire. Birds allow me to connect with all of creation, natural and man-made. I just spent a week taking a teacher workshop at Trees for Tomorrow in Eagle River Wisconsin. The workshop was "Birding by Habitat," and it was a wonderful way to earn a couple university credits. The goal of the workshop wasn't to see lots of birds, but to carefully study those we did see and make some connections as to why those were the birds seen. Why, for instance, were Northern Parulas common in the mature hemlock forests and not the burned areas? As I've sought to watch more closely, I've realized the need to better understand the plant communities and habitats in which various birds choose to nest and live. I need to watch the flowers growing along the trails as closely as the birds flying in the treetops. Otherwise, how would I have seen the incredible bog plants, such as sundew and grass pink?

Understanding the habitat leads me to question the alteration of habitats and the impact on birds and other members of a given habitat community. Like many naturalists, I'm concerned by the constant sprawl taking place around me. We notice fewer birds of certain species than in years past and need to look no further than the ripped up old fields making way for a new development or strip mall. It makes us angry, perhaps, but even more so, sad. Sad for what is lost, and then the anger over that loss impels me to activism. I contact a county board member to suggest there is no need to mow a vacant field used by nesting Dickcissels. I post links to entries on this blog to increase awareness of the wonder of birds and the places they live, hoping others will follow suit. It's like that story of the woman throwing back the starfish washed ashore. She can't possibly save them all, but it matters to the ones she saves.

Most of all, birding allows me to share my moments of joy and discovery, sending out into the universe my gratitude for all that has been shared with me. On my way home from my workshop up north, I traveled through the cranberry bogs of west central Wisconsin. As I rounded a curve in the county road between two cranberry operations, something caught my eye right at the edge of the road, moving slowly and almost prehistorically through the plants. I pulled around the corner and parked, watching first through the car window, then tentatively stepping outside my car. The eating was good; they stopped, looked, and decided I wasn't much of a threat. I share with you now, in gratitude for all I've learned from each of you, my latest moment of avian joy.

No slide tackles in this World Cup!

2006-06-24T06:55:00.000-05:00

Readers of this blog might have the mistaken impression that all I do is go out birding. In fact, more than once, birders who I finally meet IRL (in real life) comment to that effect. Not true! My appreciation of the game of soccer has been nurtured by years sitting in the stands watching my two sons play. This is football for REAL men, no pads and helmets here!

So I was delighted to see that Patrick Belardo of Hawk's Owl Nest used a World Cup theme for the current issue of I and the Bird. Go see who the contenders in this first, and possibly only, I and the Bird World Cup are. Go Phantom Photogs!