This pair comes around faithfully to enjoy niger seed. Occasionally they'll take a little safflower, but mostly they keep to the niger feeder. Sometimes they're harassed by larger species; sometimes they're left in peace and they belly up to the bar together. They feed for surprisingly long sessions, even ten minutes. Which tells you that I watch for surprisingly long sessions ;)
We're not the only creatures whose countenances sometimes seem to lack dignity ;)
In the backyard around the feeders and baths, these guys can be pretty bossy. On their own amid the darling buds of April, they're all right. Especially when they stay still long enough for me to grab a camera ;)
At the nigella seed feeder, it's starting to look like mating season.
According to my log, the birds are slow to return to the lake this year. We saw the first of the yellowheads today and, of course, the meadowlarks never left.
So the good news from the lake is that the pelicans are making a belated appearance. Sunday evening we saw two in the sky; today I saw two zooming around overhead and two in the water. Last year they showed up on March 21 and there were plenty more by now. I wonder if they've not heard that there will be no mass meetings on the lake this year.
The bad news is that the warm weather has brought out mobs of mosquitoes, mosquitoes that are the size of hummingbirds. Some birds are back, but not enough to balance things out.
Going through some images (well, thousands of them, to be accurate) today for Picturing Birds, I came across the above photo I took near Lower Latham Reservoir last August.
There's no access in shooting range (camera! camera!) to the reservoir, but there's a swamp across the road. The best thing is to use one's car as a blind and shoot from the car, which is what I'm pretty sure I did.
The only green shoots in the backyard are from crabgrass, apparently immune even to the coldest temperatures. But the birds are busy; we entertain dozens at a time. Mostly sparrows and house finches, but today I saw many robins -- headed south, ominously -- and even a northern flicker.
I finished up Jodi Picoult's Sing You Home, which disappointed me with its predictability and lack of nuance. It's a novel with a sound track, if that helps in your deliberations about reading it.
Leo Babauta has a good post about how to increase focus. I like the desk clearing idea, but I already have a couple of unyielding little boxes of things in my office. Would it really be a good idea to add another to deal with "later"? I'm thinking.
It's a wader in the curlew family and we saw several on the beach at San Diego. Cornell has interesting things, including the reason for that interesting curve of the bill.
Winnie the Whimbrel set a distance record of 3200 miles in 146 hours. I wouldn't like to drive 3200 miles in 146 hours!
Before the clouds came in, it was a lovely afternoon for working in the yard. I'm not saying that I worked ;)
Overhead, a flock of geese pressed north (see one goose-unit above). I pulled a little more grass. Pretty soon -- honk honk HONK -- a flock of similar size flew south. It's 64F right now, even with the clouds, but one wonders if something up north caused the geese to turn the bus around.
For several years I've had a death warrant out on the berberis in the backyard. Not least of its infractions is the mangling of Mr OotFP when he ventures near to mow grass in the vincinity. But I think I've sung berberis' praises recently. It is undeniably effective cover from some of the large creatures who've noted the presence of tasty tidbits in the back yard -- and I don't mean the safflower seeds!
This morning's email brought me a gorgeous photo of snowdrops from a friend who gardens in Salem, Oregon. I spent about 46 years of my life in the Pacific Northwest, where such displays are getting well under way now. See above for a current display from my garden.
But yesterday we found one undeniable sign that the wheel of the year is rolling inexorably to springtime: the first redw!ngs. This photo is from last year; the new arrivals are far too shy to pose.
Buffleheads! We saw them and other wonders, including a snowy egret, at the San Elijo Lagoon. Some travel guides won't point it out, but this place qualifies as a true "don't miss".
Although our main interest was the birds -- what a variety! --, the whole place was a delight. And we encountered walkers who've never seen my pictures, but who greatly admired the camera ;)
Coo*ts are indeed birds and they spend almost all their lives in the water. They fly and in flight look very little like their swimming selves. (Oh, give me this one; I know birds probably don't have a "self".)
Their problem is that they can't take right off. They have to manage a running start, propelling themselves across the water's surface for considerable distance. When another creature lays claim to its food, it's not like it can just take wing and fly away.
If this had been shot with a tripod and not through the windshield, it would have been a much better photo. Needs must, however, and at least the car went through the wash on Saturday. So the windshield was kind of clean.
This elegant being has spent the summer practically in our backyard (or within 30 miles or so). On the cusp of migration, what other would I want to do than gaze and gaze at it and its similarly young companions?
Always with the drama, those two!
I'm sorry not to have snagged a photo good enough to show you some of the feathery little tufts adorning head and chin.
Pure elegance in a swamp: something to think about.
Probably you recognize these birds and perhaps even the locale. If you have a question about either, please leave a comment and I'll get back to you (as long as you included your email address, which does not appear here, with typepad).
We thought we'd hit the jackpot of amusing bircl nomenc1a†ure earlier this year when we discovered †yrcinnis ver7icci1s (sorry about funny writing; please thank your neighborhood image searchers and gankers) -- until we hit on the taxon0my next door: †yrcinnis †yrcinn1s. Truly a name for myth! (Read "ci" as "a" in these little puzzle wonders.)
Anyway, they are Western and Eastern varieties of the k-1ng bircl ("cl" = "d"). On top is the Eastern type, seen just this afternoon south of a quaint little church in the area. The Westerner (below, without the overcast sky) turned up at the lake last week.
After a thunderstorm the light is ethereal, especially near the lake. A new call issued from the reeds. I've no idea what it was. Those in plain sight seemed unconcerned.
As the solstice approaches, the long hours of light are something to savor. It was just at the equinox when I began this exercise of looking with an attempt at seeing, so my only experience at the lake is of lengthening days.
An online almanac I consult about 40°N 105°W (approximately) says that two weeks from today, there will still be four minutes more of daylight than today, even though we will be on the downward slide to December. Six months from now: less than 9.5 hours of daylight. More than poor Edinburgh, which by then will have a scant seven hours of daylight (if "daylight" it is, even when completely overcast).
Sometimes a meander turns into more of an expedition. That's what happened yesterday for DC and me. How much of a meander? Depending on what you know of our geography...
At the intersection of "the middle" and "nowhere".
Hoof it, Ivan! You know what they mean when they say they're "just here for the burds."
The Benro tripod I ordered arrived busted and it was something of a bust, as well. So these photos suffer tremendously from having been taken hand-held. Consider it a flavor of driving more than 100 miles on dirt roads.
A wonderful bird is the pell-i-cane,
His bill will hold more than his belican,
He can take in his beak
Enough food for a week
But I'm damned if I see how the helican!
--Dixon Lanier Merritt, 1910
Although a number seem to have travelled on, dozens and dozens of white pelly cans stay on. Their primary settlement is in the northwest corner, visible from the main road but, closer up, completely obscured by the rushes.
Still, they are active creatures and easy to spot. The elders are often out in the middle, apparently checking the fishing forecast, and the youngsters like this fine fellow glide near the shore, letting the wind tickle their feathers as guardians soar overhead, ready to warn off the birds who do not come in peace.
At first glance, it is too easy to anthropomorphize pelicans because of their looks and behavior, viz.... The more I watch, the more pely cans become no more or less than the miracle of pelllycans, creatures plainly visible and plainly alien.
The bad news down south makes me value the plenitude of pell1c@ns in our backyard. (If you haven't done so, read the erudite Bob Sutton on BN's handling. Moral outrage is seldom as deftly expressed. Look at his update, too.) Here are some first-rate sources of information about these splendid birds:
One of the trees in the back garden dropped a heavy limb in last night's wet snowfall. And this morning our neighbor found a large limb spanning his driveway. It's cold.
But at the lake, ardor is uncooled...
...and, emboldened by the dusk, Sister Fahx takes a sidewalk survey.
Since the round trip takes maybe two-tenths of a gallon of gas, it isn't much trouble to check in with the neighbors. Good gossip that I am, I've brought back the news.
The Clarks had been to dinner; dancing to follow.
This reminds me somewhat of myself trying to do yoga, except Friend He Rohn is far more graceful and probably objects to my calumny...
...which is entirely understandable. "All metaphors must fail," I explained. Friend He Rohn replied, wordlessly.
The boyfriends are showy, noisy fellows.
And nature deems this subtle beauty a fitting foil to their exuberance. Likely she tells her grandmothers, "Once you were young, too, and cared only for pretty faces."
Subtlety is not, however, a hallmark of the neighborhood.
There are grand exceptions: the bloo-wing-ed teel, for example.
And the av Oh! cette who steal in, silently and extravagantly lovely.
As I've mentioned before, our side of town doesn't have the best reputation. These photos don't begin to tell the story, but they tell you something of the 'hood. Not the wildest part, but some of it.
There's probably gambling...
...by a nose!
And what's this?
Not the "kiss of life", that's what.
These Cl @ Rks gree bees did a little synchronized swimming before they got up to the aerial acrobatics that accompany serious courtship. Tonight I think they told their parents not to wait up.
One feels that a serious avian appreciator would not have a favorite, so take this as evidence of my lack of earnestness in the field: my captivation by the yell Ohh ow-heeded blackbird. They're skittish, they make funny noises, and to me their coloring is exotic and intoxicating. I love them and hope someday to make a good picture of one so as to be reminded in the winter that warmer days will come again.
Tonight it looked like they had set up a hawgline. And it seemed to be working.
Get ready, get set...
I'm not a wildlife photographer and have no such aspirations. And I wouldn't be sitting on CR28 every night if I didn't have to, in order to finish some course work. But it is entertaining and, when the class is over, probably I'll still wander over some evenings to see what the neighbors are up to.
Slow lens, low light, no tripod. Still, you probably see what was notable to me.
The mahogany color astonishes me...
...but lately I have to admit that it's pretty much been a cap†10n c0ntes† around here.
Sorry as I will not be to finish up this particular class, it has been a process of discovery for and only two miles from home.
Whazzat? Doesn't appear in our CO b! rd books, but Stokes confirms it as a c1 nna m0n tea 1. Funny writing because there's trouble with image ganking again.
So a pengu 1 n and a pell I can walk into a bar...
Down at the l@ke, either it's comedy hour or they're planning insurrection. I can't tell which.
