Sunday, September 10, 2006

Some Recent Birdlife

Sunday, September 10, 2006
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Fall Tennessee warblers can be picked out by their ochre-overall color, their super-thin bill, and subtle, thin black line through the eye.

We've had our traveling shoes on a lot here of late, but we've still managed to squeeze in short bursts of bird watching whenever possible. Here on the farm, most mornings go like this: Get up, scramble to get the kids on the bus (clothes, brush teeth, shoes, jackets, lunches, backpacks, run!), make coffee, head out to the deck or up to the tower for an hour or so with the birds.

Last Thursday we had 11 warbler species--and nearly all of them in our weeping willow during an amazing 15 minutes of action. The warblers were: magnolia, Tennessee, Nashville, hooded, black-throated green, yellowthroat, black-throated blue, chestnut-sided, blue-winged, Blackburnian, and blackpoll. The next morning we had many of these same birds plus yellow-throated, and American redstart. And three vireos: red-eyed, white-eyed, and Philadelphia! The Philly vireo is a bird we see each September but almost never see in the spring. We can pick them out if we're careful to watch for their snub-billed heads, and drab-colored bodies with a hint of lemon-yellow on the breast.

It's so birdy here this time of year. How I wish The Big Sit (coming on Sunday October 8!) were held in September! We'd clean up! It's much harder to get double figures in warbler species in October--even in early October.

Here are some images of birds I've digiscoped over the past couple of days.

The American goldfinches are beginning to fade from their bright canary-yellow spring and summer plumage.

A preening eastern phoebe in the morning sunlight.

Passing through late in the spring and early in the fall, the olive-sided flycatcher always makes itself obvious, perching in the treetops.

A fall Nashville warbler--the eyering is a dead giveaway.

Even in my fuzzy photo of this Philadelphia vireo you can see its stub-billed appearance.

Thursday, September 7, 2006

A Three-Owl Night

Thursday, September 7, 2006
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Last night, as the full moon cast an icing of silver light across the meadow, and the cardinals let the day's final chip notes loose from the honeysuckle tangle, the birds of the night-shift took over.

First to perform was an eastern screech-owl, its frail whinny wafting from somewhere along the edge of the woods below the house. Its long, monotone tremolo note was nearly lost amidst the insect noises that are the soundtrack to these autumn evenings--tree and field crickets, tree, meadow, and oblong-winged katydids, and countless others.

About an hour after it was completely dark, the barred owls bark-hooted from the western slope of our wooded valley. These birds are our most regularly heard owls which is not surprising given the species' well-known tendency to inquire almost nightly (and sometimes even during the day) about who is doing the cooking for us. First the male called, then the female, slightly higher in pitch. Perhaps he was calling her to check on how the kids were doing--a few weeks ago we heard the rasping, food-begging calls of hungry young barred owls. No doubt they were branching out, having fledged from the nest cavity, and were making it easier for their parents to relocate them at feeding time.

Then, just as I was drifting off to the Land of the Sandman, I heard the big daddy of our owls--the great horned owl. But this one did not possess the booming basso-profundo voice I've heard in deep winter here at the farm. Instead, it was higher-pitched and a bit unstable--maybe a bird of the year trying out its hooting chops? The pattern was totally GHO, but the quality of the call reminded me of Peter Brady trying to sing "Time to Change" on that cheezy episode of The Brady Bunch where, in the manic throes of puberty, his voice cracked and squeaked.

A three-owl night. Somehow perfectly complete, with a full moon and a gentle, slightly chilly breeze carrying the owls' messages far and wide, along with our dreams.

Wednesday, September 6, 2006

The Urge For Going

Wednesday, September 6, 2006
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European starlings massing for migration, covering the wires at dusk, somewhere in Indiana.

They get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown

Summertime is falling down

Winter's closing in.


I'll ply the fire with kindling now

Pull the blankets to my chin
I'll lock the vagrant winter out
and bolt my wandering in.

I'd like to call back Summertime
and have her stay for just another month or so

But she's got the urge for going

I guess she'll have to go.


She gets the urge for going

When the meadow grass is turning brown
And all her empire's falling down

Winter's closing in.


--Joni Mitchell, Urge For Going

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