Wordless Wednesday

Bird Photography Weekly

Perhaps the most abundant warbler and certainly one of my faves, the masked Common Yellowthroat is easy to photograph.  Or at least it is in my experience.  The male will sit up on weedy sticks at roadside edges, in overgrown fields, hedgerows, salt or freshwater marshes and on woodland edges.  While I do not have them on the mountain, they are easy to find.

Last year, there was one that claimed territory next to the parking lot at Oil City Road in the Wallkill.  I seriously think it was nesting there.  He would sing away, then hop down and disappear into the weeds for a short visit only to fly up to his perch to belt out his song again.  He was quite the brave soul.

Bird Photography Weekly

A long time ago, when I lived in the city in a walk-up apartment above a store and next to a bar; I had a small plot in a community garden.  Working the earth was part of my childhood and I hoed, planted and weeded with abandon.  It brought me peace and contentment to be in touch with my roots.  I always drove to the garden at first light before the sun dried the dew from the leaves and sucked the moisture from the soil.  Mostly I had the garden to myself.  One day I arrived to find I had company.  A Killdeer ambled around the scraggily grass to one side of the path.  As I approached, it flew a short distance ahead of me then started to flop, piteously dragging one wing.  I froze, scanning the stones nearby for the nest that was surely within trodding distance.  Finding the speckled eggs was a study in patterns.  When I finally found the stones that were not stones, I scavenged a rusted and misshapen tomato cage from the weedy pile of rotting leaves and abandoned gardening supplies.   I up-ended the cage over the nest and tied strips from an old t-shirt that I found moldering behind the compost.  The other gardeners were equally protective of our new family and we watched and waited for the eggs to hatch; walking in a wide berth around the make-shift fence with its fluttering black flags.  Three little puff balls with legs were  soon running around the gravel lot.  We were all as proud as if we had actually hatched them ourselves.   It was a long time ago, yet in my mind’s eye, I can still see that papa bird in a flail trying to lead me away and the joyous gleam in ancient eyes as they finally took wing.

To see other birds from around the world, check out Birdfreak’s Bird Photography Weekly.

Whatcha doin?

I sat back on my haunches, twisting my shoulders this way and that, trying to ease the strain of pulling weeds for hours on end.  I had neglected the weeding last year; with the result of not only lots of weeds but lovely Butterfly Weed seedlings; a few tiny Russian sage plants; Monarda that had wandered from the other end of the flower bed and a weensie 2-leafed sprout of a red Lace-leaf Maple.   I leaned back on my hands listening to the birds around me; sweat tickling my ear.

I looked up as a pair of Red-shouldered Hawks kir-ed overhead; floating in lazy spirals.  The backyard House Wren belted out his song; making sure it was very clear where his territory lay.  Not to be out-done, a Great-crested Flycatcher called from an oak at the top of the property.  I searched high in the trees for the Flycatcher, but didn’t see him.  From the thicketed forest, a Pewee moaned his lament and a Phoebe croaked from the wire.  The Great-crested called again.  I staggered to my feet, cursing my tingling leg and stumbled up the hill to the pile of mulch.  As I shoveled the fragrant wood into my plastic tub, the Great-crested Flycatcher sang close by.  I called back to him, WeeEEEP!  Leaning the snow shovel against the mulch pile, I grasped the handles of the tub and jerked it up only to come face-to-face with the yellow-bellied bird.  He eyed me, then the mulch, me again.  I inched past him.  As soon as I cleared the trees, he hopped down to gobble up the beetles scurrying back under cover in the mulch.

He and I hung out side-by-side for the rest of the afternoon.  I shoveled mulch, he ate the beetles while I tossed, patted, and smoothed my load.  He patiently waited for me to come back uphill for another tub-full, to fling back the plastic tarp and reveal the smorgasbord.

Skywatch Friday

I heard them first.  When I looked up, following the sound, I saw dozens of Cedar Waxwings on the overhead wires, kibitzing among themselves.  Like all travellers, I’m sure they were complaining about the weather,  the lack of appropriate food, the boredom of flying all day and Junior in the back asking “are we there yet?”

Bird Photography Weekly

Long shafts of dying light
filter through the trees,
illuminating the stillness with a cathedral grace.
Padding through shades of citrine and emerald,
I am alone in the hush;
a woodpecker drums on a distant bough
and a Hermit Thrush
with the twinkle of wings,
throws off his invisibility cloak
to search the leaf litter
before alighting on a twig,
camouflage rejected,
brown on brown with a rust tail.

Is it me or does there seem to be a lot of Hermit Thrushes around this year?

Hop over to Birdfreak’s Bird Photography Weekly to see other birds from around the world.

Grassland Bird Survey

As soon as I turned off the engine, I heard the sliding song of a Prairie Warbler.  While not one of the targeted species, at least it was something.  The grassland survey has been a disappointment so far.  The route maps were vague, and the variety and number of species were so low that I was disheartened.  Determined to persevere, and finished what I had started, I grabbed my pad and pencil, got out of the car, and sucked in a lungful of the aroma of the country: of grass, and cow manure and the sweet heady scent of the flowering Black Locusts. Ah, fresh country air.  I waited the requisite two minutes reveling in the big sky, then started to listen.

From the stream flowing through the field a Bullfrog boomed, drowning out every other sound. I listened in vain for any bird song.  I walked across the road hoping to put some distance between my ears and his voice; but it was only marginally better.  I tried tuning him out.  Red-wing Blackbirds were everywhere hopping up and down in the high grass;  Song Sparrows sang; (Bullfrog) Common Yellowthroat; (Bullfrog, again, egads were there more than one?) a Carolina Wren chortled from somewhere near the Bullfrog; a Catbird mewed in a hedge row; (Bullfrog) a Yellow Warbler sang sweetly; (Bullfrog).  Grrr, that dratted Bullfrog was getting on my nerves!  I crossed behind the car thinking my movement would startle the frog into silence.  I peered into the shadowed water.  I didn’t see it. Or hear it. I guess the ploy worked.  As flash of yellow caught my eye as a Meadowlark  landed in a tall roadside Cedar tree; I made a note, finally one of the target birds.  Hearing the faint buzz of a Grasshopper Sparrow, I whirled around to listen and look behind me.  Off in the distance wafted the bouncing song of a Field Sparrow.  I made more notes.  I glanced at my watch; my time was up.  As I walked back to the car, the Bullfrog started to bellow again.  I smiled to myself in a childish way and thought “Ha, ha, fooled you.” It will be interesting to see if he is still at it in a few weeks when I come back for Survey part II.

Mouths to Feed

A flutter of movement drew me across the street.  A dark bird flashed away.  I was scanning the trees when a hole in an adjacent snag suddenly filled up.  The phrase “gaping maw” leapt to mind.  If he had had a spoon he would have been banging it against the table.  It must be hard to fill even a tiny belly, one bitsy caterpillar at a time. I never saw the harried parent.

Bird Photography Weekly

Sitting in the car with all the windows and sunroof open, I leaned back with my eyes closed to revel in the cascade of voices around me.  Wood Warblers were singing, off in the distance a Black-billed Cuckoo called, the Wood Thrushes led the  flute section of the woodland orchestra, a Scarlet Tanager chatted hoarsely, a Least Flycatcher provided explosive commentary.  I had just opened my eyes, considering a side jaunt over to check on the Ceruleans, when a friendly Chestnut-sided Warbler popped up close to the car to meet me.

Go see what’s shakin’ elsewhere at Birdfreak’s Bird Photography Weekly.

Birding Doodletown

Seriously.  There is actually a place  called Doodletown.  It is one of the local hotspots and the one place were many of the hard-to-see warblers nest; think Cerulean.  Doodletown always pops up on the local ListServ and in conversation when the topics of warblers comes up.  I finally made the trek because there was a Kentucky Warbler singing on territory and I had never seen one.

Doodletown is a town that once was; a ghost town, if you will.  The buildings have all been demolished, but their stone foundations peek through the encroaching brambles.  There are paved streets, 2 cemeteries, a reservoir, a waterfall and trees that sing with bird call.  I cannot imagine what it must have been like to live there.

Here are some of the highlights:

Look at him giving her the once over.

Lots and lots of Hooded Warblers everywhere.  Totally a Gimme.

Ditto Redstarts. Yes, they are common, but how can you not love them?

I know you were just dying to know if I saw the Kentucky Warbler. Meet Life bird 614.  It is a totally crappy picture, but my excuse is that he was 40 feet up a tree.

Did I wet your whistle?

Black Vulture, Turkey Vulture. Black-billed Cuckoo, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Pileated Woodpecker, Olive-sided Flycatcher, Eastern Wood-Pewee, Eastern Phoebe, Yellow-throated Vireo, Warbling Vireo, Red-eyed Vireo,
Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Wood Thrush, Veery, Gray Catbird, Blue-winged Warbler, Cerulean Warbler, American Redstart, Hooded Warbler, Scarlet Tanagers, Chipping Sparrow, Northern Cardinal, Indigo Bunting, Red-winged Blackbird, Brown-headed Cowbird, Baltimore Oriole and Life Bird 614 – Kentucky Warbler.