THE CONSTANCY of CHANGE

I’m sure I’m not the only one in the north who feels this way, but at this time of the year, I’m more acutely aware of change. Perhaps it’s because much of the change involves the leaving of things whose stay seems all too brief—the songbirds and buds of spring, the blossoms and fireflies of high summer, the fruits and colors of autumn. But winter brings other birds to the feeders, unveils intricate patterns in bare branches against the somber sky, gives different vistas of the lake.

There have been some changes at my place. My next-door neighbors came for a few days to check on things before winter. For the forty-plus years they’ve owned it, it’s served as a cottage; they live elsewhere. Now in their late 80s, they’ve decided they’ll soon be putting it up for sale. They don’t come often, usually spend only about six days a year, so it makes sense. But one thing that didn’t make sense was why, on their recent visit, the husband went out with his pruning saw and cut down the beautiful old lilac bush that stood between our houses. He started with the suckers, but didn’t stop until he had cut the entire thing down to a series of ugly stumps. Now, to be fair, I have to say that although it straddled the property line, it was his bush, his tree, really—it was nearly up to the eaves on my house, and had wonderful gnarled and twisted trunks. In summer it bloomed in deep purple and a shoot one white on one side. He said he planted it over thirty years ago. What possessed him to cut it like that I’ll never know, and I was too upset to ask. I was afraid I’d only sputter my anger out, and what would be the point of that. Perhaps he felt the need to revisit his younger days when, according to his wife, he was quite the gardener. I clung to that thought, that in some nostalgic way, it pleased him to cut the tree down to the ground; it was the only way I could forgive him for the act. Once he’s finished, he observed, “It’ll come back.” There’s a weak chance that, given enough time and care, it might, but he certainly won't live to see it, and likely, neither will I if it took almost forty years to grow it the first time. And it made even less sense since they’re going to be putting the place up for sale. There’s no curb appeal to stumps.

After thinking about this a while, I called them at their home and asked permission to remove the stumps and plant something in it’s place…now there is a nice little Colorado blue spruce standing where the lilacs once bloomed. I’ll still miss the lilac, especially this winter. It was where I hung my birdfeeders, and attracted lots of winter birds that felt safe feeding in the shelter of the mass of twigs. I posted photos and blogged about it a lot last year. Perhaps after a couple of seasons the spruce will be strong enough to support a feeder, but for now, it must simply grow.

After the new tree was all planted I walked along the breakwall, and looked for a familiar rock that always amuses me. It’s not a rock actually, but a chunk of an old sidewalk that someone named Don F (or maybe Don P, it’s hard to make out) wrote his name in. There’s also the number 15. Could he have stood over the setting cement as long ago as 1915? More likely it was 15th day of some month, decades ago. Whatever the story is, a new sidewalk has doubtless been poured, and the old one now adds strength to the divide between my yard and Lake Erie. And Don, wherever he may be, probably never wonders what happened to it. I’m the custodian of it now, just as I am of the little spruce. And perhaps I’ll be moving along one day, too. Change.

LOOK...I’M A NEW AUNTIE!

For the last two summers, I’ve had a pair of mallard ducks coming to my back yard. At first they just nibbled up the seed that other birds had scattered beneath the feeder in the tree, but then I got in the habit of putting a little bit of seed at the foot of the tree on purpose. That probably wasn’t the best thing to do, but the mallards were so darn cute. Last summer they came regularly, always the two of them, until I wondered if their nest had suffered predation and perhaps they hadn’t started another clutch of eggs. I wasn’t sure where they nested, either. The closest water, other than the lake (with its treacherous rocks full of crevices a baby duck would be wise to avoid!) are the ditches on the other side of the road.


This summer, the hen didn’t show up for quite a while, though the drake came several times every day, and yesterday, I looked up and saw the proud parents at the foot of the red maple, surrounded by eleven fluffy adorable puffball ducklings. They nibbled away for a while, then the hen led them across the back yard towards the road, up between the houses, down the front lawn, under the lilac bush, across the road (I held my breath for that one!) and into the ditch. They made a second trip to my back yard later in the afternoon, with an equally dangerous return crossing, but the hen seemed to know to wait until a car went by. When a second car came along, she was well into the middle of the road and very visible, so the car slowed to let the family line-up safely pass. I’m not sure she would have been so lucky if it had been one of the big produce trucks barreling along. After the second visit I went to Staples and bought an extra large red felt pen. If the family comes again today, I’m going to put signs out on the road with day-glow tape, warning people to slow down. I feel it’s the least I can do, since they are making the crossing because of the food source. And besides, I kind of feel like they’re family.


The photos were taken hastily, through the window, and I wasn't able to crop the yellow anti-bird-strike tape that fluttered into the view, but it doesn’t really reduce the cute factor by much. (photos enlarge)

I'VE HAD IT!

My poor birdfeeder! The squirrels in the 'hood have figured out that the seed ports on my silo feeder are plastic, and therefore, eminently chewable. And chewing through them means that they can suck back birdseed at an even more alarming rate than ever before. I go out and collect the bits and pieces they so carelessly toss aside, armed with a roll of duct tape, but it never lasts. I thought hanging it in the lilac bush would make it difficult for them to access the feeder, because of the slim branches and twigs surrounding it. But these Eastern Grey Squirrels (Sciurus carolinensis) quickly learned to hang upside down by their hind toes from the slightly larger branches, and just swing on over to the seed (therefore I am hereby renaming them Sicurus Greatae Wallendii).

As you might imagine, the enormous fun of taping the feeder back together drops off rather sharply after, oh I'd say, the FIRST time. So today I took that other essential piece of plastic (Visa) and headed down the road to the Pelee Wings Nature Store, and picked up a new feeder, guaranteed to stand up to the worst they can offer. It's by the Droll Yankee company, and if price is any indication, this one should leave the squirrels gnashing their teeth in frustration for a long long time. It has an extra hard tube, and metal seed ports. HA! Take that, you thieving (but, okay, adorable) critters!

SUNDAY IN THE YARD

This morning was the first day I really got out into the yard for anything beyond filling the birdfeeders. My plan is to leave one silo feeder and two niger feeders in the lilac bush, in hopes of attracting an indigo bunting or two this year. The silo feeder of mixed seed will insure that there's plenty of activity around the bush, and there are still house and gold finches that visit, so I'm counting on word getting around to the indigos. But today, I went out with my forked weed digger and flipped out a few dozen dandelions - and there lying on the grass I found the first eggshell of the season. I'm not sure whose it is, or where the nest might be. Many species of birds fly the empty shells and drop them away from the nest, to keep predators from finding it, so it could be from anywhere. But it was a wonderful thing to see. A lot of the other birds are still displaying to potential mates, so whoever dropped this shell is a real...early bird!



Nearby, the violets I transplanted from my neighbor's yard have begun to bloom. There's some regular dark purple ones mixed in there, too, but they haven't begun to open yet. A weathered leaf from the red maple, destined to become topsoil, rests beside them like a memento mori of the past winter. All in all, it was a dewy, peaceful Sunday, with scarcely a breeze; the lake barely making a murmur.

BIRDS OUTDOORS AND IN

Yesterday's rain and dim light lasted much of the day. This picture of a Swainson's thrush is barely worth posting, but I have a soft spot for thrushes, so here s/he is. This morning very early, I heard one plaintive flute trill in the half-light. I'm not any good at differentiating thrushes by ear, so I can't say if it was the little Swainson's. I lifted my head off the pillow and opened one eye (why does that help to hear better?) but then a loud pushy bluejay announced his arrival, and I heard no more from the thrush!



Late in the afternoon, it cleared and brightened, and that 's when a small flock of American goldfinches showed up at the niger feeders, the males burning like bright little suns all their own. I love this shot of the male and female pair - has she fallen head over heels for him, or is it just because of the seed port location?





The tiny bunch of white-throated sparrows has moved on. One day was all they spent here, but I always keep one in my library. It started one day when I was wandering around a craft store, I saw an unpainted wooden birdhouse, and an idea formed. Next aisle over I found a small decorative bird with pink and purple feathers. I painted the birdhouse sky blue and dabbed some sponge trees on the sides, and repainted the bird to look like a white-throat. Then I took a popsicle stick (orange-flavor, I think it was) and glued it across the front with the homeowner's name written on it. I don't think white-throated sparrows nest in houses; mine may be the only one.

GETTING READY FOR THE MIGRATION

(click on photos)

Living within sight of Point Pelee, I see a tremendous increase of migrating birds in my neighborhood. While many are passing through on their way to the mosquito-rich boreal lands, all the summer residents of SW Ontario will move back into their summer residences, build nests and look for food. Since I feed birds all winter and much of the summer, too, I like to make it as safe for them as possible. Soon I'll be moving the main seed feeder away from the lilac bush and back to the red maple by the breakwall. That means it's time to renew the "anti-window strike" system on the back windows. This consists of horizontal lengths of clothesline across the top and bottom of the bank of windows, and then fluttering yellow "crime scene" tape strung in between.

This year I'm experimenting with two types of arrangement. The window in the corner (where my computer is) has the "old" kind. In the last year, the tape has gotten thinner as the manufacturer cuts corners to keep the price reasonable. My first tape lasted almost two years, but lately it's only lasted for a few storms. So the rest of the windows have poly rope strings on them, with tape strips added. We'll see what works best. I have all summer to test it. It's easy to replace a broken strip in summer, but not when it's bitter cold, with a mean wind and snow up to my knees! Whatever goes up in November has to last! This year the strips all ripped, and I had one tree sparrow casualty. He was arguing over a patch of seed with another tree sparrow, and they
took to the air in an aerial dogfight. When they came up on the window, the second sparrow was able to bank a turn in time, but the first one never had a chance. I don't know if flutter-strips would have helped at that speed. I'll still get the occasional strike, but with the strips, it usually a soft hit, and the bird can fly off. The big problem is that these windows have that thermal film on them, and while that makes them R-factor friendly, the reflection of the lake and sky would be treacherous without something to slow the birds down. So, here are a couple of photos of my backyard - open and ready for business!

RED-WINGED BLACKBIRDS: SPARROW DUNKING TODAY, COW TIPPING TOMORROW!

After the previously reported misadventures with a carrot-hoarding squirrel, I’ve had another Close Encounter of the "Far Side" Kind (remember those hilarious cartoons?) at my birdfeeder. As you can see, the feeder is a triple-decker square one, with a total of 12 seed ports. And because it’s hung in the lilac bush, it’s nestled in with lots of slim branches. It makes it very handy for some of the larger birds that would have difficulty (but they still try, much to my amusement) sitting on one of the small pegs provided. The red-wings, starlings and over-sized grackles can all perch on a convenient twig, and peck merrily away at the seed. It’s also a great place for them to harass any of the smaller sparrows and finches that can perch on the pegs, chase them off, and then continue feasting.

Yesterday, I was keeping an eye out for a salt-and-pepper leucistic grackle I’d seen earlier, when I saw a male Red-winged blackbird hop up a to a twig right behind a female house sparrow who was sitting having lunch at one of the perches. The blackbird leaned forward, and what happened next almost defies description. Was it a freak accident or did the blackbird intend to do it? Or did he simply not know his own strength? Who can say, but he leaned forward to give the sparrow a nip on the tail, and when he sat back again, the sparrow came with him, tail still in his beak! The sparrow immediately fell forward, and then the blackbird lowered and raised his head three times, like he was dunking the sparrow in a cup of tea! The sparrow, to her credit, remained calm, with wings folded like a tiny torpedo, until the blackbird released her. If she’d have flapped and struggled, she might have lost her tail. Then again, maybe she was just too stunned to react. I had the impression that neither bird had quite figured on this happening.

I wish I could have gotten a shot of the sparrow hanging upside down from the Red-wing’s beak, but even if I’d had my camera right at hand, it was over so fast. Doesn’t take too long to dunk a sparrow, don’tcha know!

Photo: Grackle checking out a Red-winged Blackbird at the niger feeder (click for details).

DOIN' THE STARLING STRUT

When it was so bitter cold and the wind so very fierce, I tossed some birdseed out my back porch door, into a more sheltered corner. Now today it's several degrees above zero and the sun is bright bright bright. Pearl and I watched a group of starlings pecking at the seed remnants, and Pearl was doing that low chattering thing cats do when they see something they'd like to pounce on. I went out with the camera and took this shot of the starlings' tiny tracks. I tried to follow their lead, as you can see, but I just don't have their style.

There haven't been many birds at my feeder today. I call them "foul weather friends" because they only come around for food when it's really nasty out. But that's really the way it should be. They probably can find enough natural food to eat on the mild days, and only need my feeders when they really need to stoke their inner furnaces against a big temperature dip. I topped the feeders up again this afternoon. Well, guys, I said to the empty lilac branches, it's here whenever you want it.

SUMMER FEEDER WATCH

Over the summer months, I don’t get much excitement at my feeder. I still do put out seed, but at a much slower rate. Plus, most of the really colorful birds, like cardinals and red-bellied woodpeckers, only come around in winter. In summer I get mostly grackles, starlings, mourning doves, and sparrows, although this year I was lucky to have blue jays and northern orioles nest nearby. That added a welcome touch of color and song.

With even the brownest, drabbest birds, it’s fun to watch each new generation, virtually identical in size to their parents, still begging to be fed. Some adults get seed from the feeder and return to the big babies waiting below; other’s gather up bugs from the lawn and rush over to feed their hungry offspring. Then after a few days, the parent birds start to wean the juveniles from their constant full service lifestyle. They don’t seem to be in such a hurry to stuff bugs down those gaping gullets The youngsters find their wheezy cry and helpless wing-flutter combo just isn’t working like it used to, either, so they make a few tentative jabs at the grass for themselves.

By now, the juvvies and the adults have been indistinguishable for quite a while. Even the blue jay babies, at first so awkward and patchy looking as their adult plumage grew in, now look sleek and bossy. They still make daily patrols of the feeder. I hear their loud “jay” calls, and also the one that I call the “squeaky pulley” but in general, there’s just less bird action of every species. I kind of miss having those cute noisy young ones around. Their antics were great fun to watch. I don’t know about the bird parents, but I think I have empty nest syndrome.

Blue jay and grackle photo from Wikimedia Commons