Birding Notes

New Site for Birding Notes

2010-02-25T18:05:00.002-05:00

As of mid February, my Birding Notes blog has moved to a different host. The URL address remains the same, and most readers should see the new site automatically. If you have subscribed through an RSS feed, please go to birdingnotes.com and click on the “Subscribe to Feed” icon there. Thanks very much for your interest! I hope you like the new site.

The O Canada Bird

2010-02-13T16:12:00.006-05:00

As the 2010 Winter Olympics get underway in Vancouver, here in the southern U.S. a lovely echo of the O Canada anthem can sometimes be heard just by stepping outside. White-throated Sparrows – which leave their summer breeding grounds in the forests of Canada and other parts of the far North, and come here for the winter – whistle a clear, sweet song which can be heard as Oh sweet Ca-na-da.

One of our most common and widespread winter birds, White-throated Sparrows are classic sparrows – brown-streaked birds that feed mostly on the ground and dive quickly into the cover of bushes when disturbed. But on closer look, they are handsome and distinctively marked, with chestnut-brown and black-streaked back, black and white striped head and face, a touch of deep yellow between the eye and the bill, and a crisp white throat, neatly outlined against a gray breast. Their appearance, posture and rather deliberate, confident-looking way of moving give them a dignified look much of the time – though they’re also skittish and shy, like most sparrows, and they’re almost always found in or near areas of thick, low vegetation. Their sibilant tseet calls can be heard coming from the cover of weedy fields, vacant lots, thickets, and in and under shrubs in suburban yards.

Around our house they feed on the ground beneath the bird feeders or beneath the shrubs, scratching up the leaves and mulch to search for seeds and occasional insects or fruit. They often sit half hidden in the dense, dark foliage of the wax myrtles, only the white throat giving them away. Although they don’t sing often at this time of year, it’s not uncommon to hear a few tentative, broken bars of the Oh sweet Canada song, especially early in the morning or near the end of the day, at twilight.

Red-shouldered Hawk

2010-02-11T19:59:00.001-05:00

Late this afternoon a juvenile Red-shouldered Hawk flew low across the road in front of me, from one yard to another, barely above the ground at first, then up a hill, across a garden spot and into some trees, where it passed out of sight. Its rich brown, barred coloring looked warm and slightly reddish. I was particularly happy to see it because it’s the first one I’ve seen this winter in our neighborhood.

Where Are the Ruby-crowned Kinglets?

2010-02-11T19:45:00.001-05:00

It was a pleasant afternoon for a walk – after a very blustery, cold day yesterday – sunshine filtered by filmy, high cloud cover and temperatures in the mid 40s. Many American Robins are still scattered all through the neighborhood, almost everywhere. One Red-tailed Hawk perched in a tall pine, another sat on top of a utility pole overlooking the field and the highway. Most of the usual suspects were around – but two in particular were missing, and have been for several days.

I heard and saw no Ruby-crowned Kinglet – not one. This is unusual even for one day, and certainly for several days in a row. The stuttering chatter of a Ruby-crowned Kinglet is one of the most familiar sounds around our yard. There are several particular thickets or brushy spots throughout the neighborhood where I ordinarily can count on hearing or seeing one, and they are likely to turn up just about anywhere. But for the past several days I have not been able to find one.

Also, for several days now I have not heard or seen a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. This may be just chance or my not watching closely enough, because the Sapsuckers can be pretty elusive. But even in the areas where at least one or two have been fairly common earlier this season, I haven’t heard their mewing call or found one working on the trunk of a pecan.

I’m hoping that both of these observations will turn out to be just bad timing on my part, or just unusual days – and that both will turn up again soon.

Sunrise

2010-02-06T11:37:00.002-05:00

After an all-day drenching hard, cold rain yesterday, ending in a blustery wind that rattled the branches and wind chimes all night, we awoke to a magical sunrise. The eastern sky was layered in heavy, dark gray clouds with breaks of light. A window of pale light just above the horizon widened and became soft orange, then brighter and deeper orange, red-orange that spread through the clouds like streams. When a shimmering red-gold sun slipped up over the horizon, the sunlight lit the sky and trees as if in a bubble of delicate, clear, rose-yellow light. The air was calm. The gray clouds looked blue. The brown leaves on the oaks hung still. Raindrops glittered with color on the branches. It felt like being inside a sparkling glass globe.

Then the sun slipped further up and the dense, coal-dark bank of clouds closed in again. The magic light disappeared in a breath. The day became heavy, dull and gray again and the wind began to blow. It all had lasted only moments.

Goldfinches mewed from the feeders on the deck below. A Red-bellied Woodpecker called quuuuurrrrr. A little brown Carolina Wren flew to the rail of the balcony outside our windows, tail cocked up high and head pumping up and down assertively, and sang, loud, energetic and bold.

Squirrel Chasing a Bird

2010-02-04T20:37:00.005-05:00

On a cold, gray, rainy day, all the usual small birds were pretty active around the front yard feeders – Chickadees, Titmice, a pair of House Finches, Downy Woodpecker, Brown-headed Nuthatches, Mockingbird, Red-bellied Woodpecker. One Yellow-rumped Warbler made several visits to one of the feeders, which is a little unusual. Cardinals, Dark-eyed Juncos, White-throated Sparrows and Mourning Doves fed on the ground.

One strange thing happened. I was inside, stopping to look out a large window on the second floor, and saw a gray squirrel at the base of a tree-trunk jumping around in a strange way, sort of like a cat playing with a mouse, but more clumsily. Suddenly a small bird streaked out, flying away from the squirrel and the squirrel ran after it. Both disappeared from view, and when I went downstairs to see if I could find them, I could not. I did not see what kind of bird it was, but when it flew, it looked like it got away.

It all happened very fast and was over quickly, but it certainly looked as if the squirrel was either trying to catch a bird or they were squabbling over something. After doing a very little research, I learned that squirrels are known to eat small birds sometimes – something I had never known. We have a lot of squirrels here, way too many – in part because we live in an old pecan grove and also have a lot of oaks. So far we’ve managed to prevent them from getting to the bird feeders (except for a new peanut-butter feeder out back – they’ve just figured that one out), but there are always several squirrels around. They’re a nuisance in many ways and I'm sure they compete with birds on the ground for fallen nuts, seeds and fruit from the feeders. But I assume eating birds is not something they do regularly.

Robins, Robins

2010-02-01T22:31:00.001-05:00

This afternoon – cool, partly cloudy, partly sunny and blue-sky – hundreds of American Robins were scattered throughout our neighborhood, as if they had fallen out of the sky like drifting leaves. There was not one large concentrated flock, but many red-breasted, chirping, chucking, cheeping birds foraging in almost every yard, others in treetops and along the roadsides. In some places there were clusters of Robins in the trees making squeaky calls – and a few were singing.

Rusty Blackbird Blitz

2010-02-01T22:20:00.003-05:00

“A species that was once considered abundant is rapidly disappearing before our eyes.” (eBird)*

Feeding in the grass with some of the Robins were a relatively small flock of Red-winged Blackbirds, and among them, I’m fairly sure there were some Rusty Blackbirds, but I couldn’t ever get close enough to be certain. As I approached, the flock always flushed up and flew a little further away or into the trees. There were several birds with bright yellow eyes that did not seem to be Grackles, so I think they must have been Rusties – and when they flew, they flew together and made rather soft chuck calls, not the harsher calls of a Grackle, and seemed to have the shape of Rusty Blackbirds – well, if I were a more confident observer I would have no doubt. But I just don’t trust myself. So I’m hoping they might be around again tomorrow and maybe I can get a better look. The past few winters a fairly good number of Rusty Blackbirds have been regular visitors here, but this is the first time I’ve seen them this season.

At this time of year, male Rusty Blackbirds are black with rusty speckling, or feathered edges, and striking pale yellow eyes. The rusty speckling, however, is sometimes not easy to see, especially at a distance. They often flock with Grackles or Red-winged Blackbirds, but are smaller than Grackles, with thin bills and long, club-shaped tails – but not as long as the Grackles’ tails. The females are particularly attractive in winter plumage, in muted shades of brown, from rust and cinnamon to grayish-fawn, with a dark streak through the eye and a tawny stripe over the eye.

Right now we’re in the middle of the 2010 Rusty Blackbird Blitz – a two-week period January 30 through February 15, when birdwatchers are encouraged to report observations of Rusty Blackbirds to help compile information about their population numbers and status.

Populations of Rusty Blackbirds have declined dramatically in the past few decades, falling by more than 90 percent. “A species that was once considered to be abundant is rapidly disappearing before our eyes,” says the eBird website. “Your observations can help save this species by arming scientists with critical information about its ecology.”

* For more information about Rusty Blackbirds and how to participate in the Blitz, see the eBird website.

Eastern Towhees in a Thicket – Land for Sale

2010-01-31T21:57:00.002-05:00

On a cold, gray, dreary, foggy, lightly icy day – like much of the last two weeks in January – four Eastern Towhees rustled in leaf litter on the ground in a tangled thicket of privet and other weedy faded shrubs and vines. Two were males, with dark red eyes and boldly patterned in black, red-orange and white; two females with the same overall pattern, but instead of black, a rich velvet-brown. Now and then one called cher-WINK. They kicked up the litter vigorously, searching for seeds, fruits, insects, spiders and larvae. They don’t much look like sparrows, but are – big, plump, brightly colored sparrows with colorful songs and calls to match. Robust, lively and earthy, they looked warm in the middle of a cold, gray day, glowing like the colors of a welcome fire against the withered background of the deepest part of winter.

The area of thickets where I saw them has become a favorite stopping place for me these last couple of weeks – on the rare occasions when I’ve been home long enough to get outside for a walk. It’s a vacant lot just outside our subdivision, happily neglected, overgrown with weeds and vines and grass, with a large red, white and blue “commercial property for sale” sign planted right in the middle of it. It’s not particularly attractive even when the foliage is green, and right now it looks especially bedraggled – but a lot of birds seem to like it.

White-throated Sparrows and Song Sparrows join Towhees in feeding on the ground, often coming out to the roadside nearby to forage in the grass, and sometimes they sing. Brown Thrashers lurk deep in the tangles giving smack calls loudly. There’s often the chatter of a Ruby-crowned Kinglet as it flits quickly, weaving through the bushes, the fussing of a Carolina Wren, the chatter of a Chickadee, or an Eastern Phoebe quietly stopping by to perch on a branch, wagging its tail. Usually there are at least a few Robins in the trees overhead, and the high, thin calls of a small flock of Cedar Waxwings.

Though Eastern Towhees are quite common in eastern North America, and a familiar bird around many yards, many details of its natural history remain poorly known, according to the species account in Birds of North America. “Because the bird spends much of its time near or on the ground in dense habitats and scrubby growth . . . it is usually difficult to study . . . and deserves much additional study.”*

* Jon S. Greenlaw. 1996. Eastern Towhee (Pipilo erythrophthalmus), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.) Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

As January Ends – A Scarcity of Birds

2010-01-31T21:00:00.002-05:00

For the last two weeks of January, I was away from home much of the time, so my impressions of bird activity during these days are fragmentary. But whenever I could, I went out for at least one walk during the day, and my general impression has been that this winter we have fewer species of birds and smaller numbers here than in previous winters – except for some of our most common birds, like Chickadees, Titmice, Red-bellied Woodpeckers, Mourning Doves, Cardinals and Blue Jays. All of these seem to be doing fine.

Most days I’ve seen Turkey Vultures and Black Vultures soaring, and at least one Red-tailed Hawk, sometimes soaring, but often perched in the trees or flying low along the edge of the woods. So far this winter, however, I have not seen or heard a Red-shouldered Hawk, and this is unusual. Until now, Red-shouldered Hawks have almost always been around, and in previous winters there were many days when I encountered one or two hunting from low perches in trees near the woods.

I have still seen a Cooper’s Hawk several times along a certain stretch of road that runs between yards with a combination of open space and woods.

Most days I run across at least one Yellow-bellied Sapsucker or hear its mewing call, but they are not nearly as common in the neighborhood’s many pecans and other trees as they have been in previous winters. So far we’ve seen very few Goldfinches, no Pine Siskins, and no sign of the large Blackbird flocks of previous winters.

But – to end the month on a less-gloomy note, there’s a handsome pair of Northern Flickers that usually can be found foraging in one large grassy yard with Eastern Bluebirds, Chipping Sparrows, White-throated Sparrows, Dark-eyed Juncos and other small birds. The check calls of Yellow-rumped Warblers can be heard just about everywhere, and one or two small sparkling flocks of Cedar Waxwings are usually around.

A pair of feisty Brown-headed Nuthatches are regular visitors to the feeders in our front yard, along with a pair of Downy Woodpeckers, and a few tiny, exquisite Golden-crowned Kinglets can usually be found in the pines. Carolina Wrens sing glorious songs – too often I overlook them – and also visit the feeders often. Large numbers of Robins are scattered throughout the neighborhood, spread out across yards, perched in treetops, and at end of day, glowing red in the setting sun as they fly over in small groups toward the west.

A Pine Warbler continues to trill its spring-like song outside my office window early in the morning and all around the house, all day, even in the coldest, grayest, dreariest weather.

Birdsong on a Winter Morning – Pine Warbler and Others

2010-01-15T18:06:00.005-05:00

“The calendar may tell me that the toughest days of winter are yet to come, but I know in my heart that on December 21 it is already spring. I have heard it in the air. I have heard it in the lusty singing of nuthatches and titmice and chickadees. The woodpeckers are drumming, female jays and crows rattling. In the grand cycle through the seasons, these birds know what time it is.” (Donald Kroodsma, Birdsong by the Seasons)*

It wasn’t on the winter solstice, but near the end of the first week in January when I heard the first Pine Warbler sing – a rich, musical trill like a breath of spring air on a very cold, icy, clear mid-winter morning. That was several days ago, and since then they’ve been singing every day. As I work in my office, one sings just outside my window, and I’ve also heard their songs in other parts of the neighborhood. A pair has been coming to the feeders in our front yard, a splash of warm yellow among the more somber-colored Juncos, White-throated Sparrows, Chickadees, Titmice, Downy Woodpeckers, Brown-headed Nuthatches and Chipping Sparrows.

This morning – still cold enough for ice in the bird baths, but sunny and warming up fast, with a bright blue sky – several other birds were also singing, reminding me of Kroodsma’s words and of his chapter, "The Winter Solstice Is the First Day of Spring." Two Carolina Wrens sang back and forth, matching each other’s songs and switching from one to another, a Tufted Titmouse sang peter-peter-peter, a Carolina Chickadee fee-bee, fee-bay, an Eastern Towhee drink-your-tea, an Eastern Bluebird warbled and a House Finch whistled its cheery song. A Red-bellied Woodpecker gave its spring-like quurrr call over and over. Northern Cardinals also began to sing in the first week of January, but this morning they were quiet, at least while I was listening.

Later in the morning two Brown-headed Cowbirds sat in the top branches of a bare tree along the edge of the road, giving a surprisingly nice sort of dry, feathery, trilled call together as they flew. I’ve been watching and hoping for Blackbirds, but the Cowbirds weren’t exactly what I had in mind. There’s still no sign of larger flocks with Red-winged and Rusty Blackbirds that we’ve had in previous winters. The big open grassy yards where they used to spread out every day seem empty this year, and very quiet.

Two Red-tailed Hawks perched together on the top of a utility pole in a power cut, facing each other and looking content to sit together and soak up some sun. After a few minutes one dropped down from the pole and spread its wings, gliding out and circling up with ease and calling as it got higher, as if urging the other to come along.

Two Golden-crowned Kinglets called ti-ti-ti from some pines, and one came down low enough to see for several minutes, showing a bright gold-orange crown. Some years there are more Golden-crowned Kinglets here than others, and this year there seem to be fewer, so it feels like a good day when I can catch a glimpse of one or hear their calls.

Brown Thrashers seemed to be more active than they have been for a while. Several in the old field were exchanging loud smack calls, and while I was walking past the field three came out into the tops of bushes to call and look around. I don’t know if I just happened to come by at a time when they were out, or if they, too, are beginning to feel like spring.

*Donald Kroodsma, Birdsong by the Seasons, A Year of Listening to Birds 2009, page 275.

Killdeer - An Unusual Visitor

2010-01-14T20:04:00.001-05:00

Late this afternoon the weather was cool and sunny, with a clear blue sky and high wind-swept white cirrus clouds, with temperature in the 50s, much warmer than the past 10 days or so, almost balmy.

The most surprising sighting of the day was a Killdeer – the first time I’ve ever seen one in our neighborhood. It was foraging in short, dry grass near the driveway of a home and I watched it for several minutes, just walking around. But I wasn’t the first one to see it. A couple of days ago, a neighbor had stopped me to ask about a bird he had seen and could not identify – he described it well, as a good-size bird that flew and landed in a distinctive way, mostly brown, with a long dark bill and a white ring around its neck. I couldn’t figure it out at the time since I’d never seen one here, but after I got home, decided from his description that it must have been a Killdeer – and sure enough, today I saw it not far from his house.

The Killdeer is an upland plover that’s fairly common on farmland and open grassy fields. We often see them – and hear their loud, peeping calls – in parks and ball fields. I’ve even found their eggs, in a shallow gravel nest, laid right on the edge of a walking trail in one park. But to see one here in our neighborhood is new. It’s a handsome bird, with rather long legs, white markings on the face, brown back, white throat and belly, and what looks like a white ring around its neck is created by black bands around the upper breast.

Thanks to my neighbor for a very interesting sighting!

New Year’s Resolution: eBird

2010-01-08T16:26:00.002-05:00

Today I began keeping a New Year’s Resolution to post at least one report a week this year to eBird.

eBird is an online checklist program maintained by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and the Audubon Society. Its purpose is to collect information on bird distribution and numbers. Currently observations are collected throughout North and South America, Antarctica and New Zealand, with plans eventually to expand data collection worldwide.

Participants also can use eBird to maintain personal birding records, and the website includes a number of internet tools – interactive maps, graphs, bar charts, summaries – that may be of interest.

For myself, the main reason I want to participate is to do what I can to help develop a better understanding of birds and their distribution and status, especially so that we might learn better how to help and protect them. I’ve submitted checklists sporadically over the past couple of years – but this year hope to contribute regularly. At the end of a year or two, I’ll be interested to look back and see what changes, if any, are reflected in the species and numbers of birds in my own neighborhood and other places where I bird regularly.

Birders of all levels are encouraged to participate, and it’s easy to do. You fill out a simple form on the eBird website with information on when, where and how you went birding on a particular day, and complete a checklist of all the birds seen and heard during the outing. You can also provide and track more detailed information – but the checklist is the basic tool.

The biggest drawback for me in using eBird has been that I don’t usually count birds – I like just to be out walking, watching and enjoying, and don’t want the pressure of counting to spoil that. But I’ve decided to give it a try, in the belief that the trouble it takes may be well worth the results. I should add that you don’t have to include the numbers of birds seen when you submit a checklist – but counts are definitely encouraged.

For more information, see eBird.org

Hermit Thrush, Pine Warblers and Accipiter

2010-01-08T16:15:00.002-05:00

Two highlights of a nice long walk through the neighborhood late yesterday morning – the source of my first 2010 eBird report – came in my own front yard just as I started out – a Hermit Thrush perched among the dense green leaves of a lauropetulum bush, and two Pine Warblers, one visiting a feeder and the other singing from nearby. The weather was clear and cold, but clouds were moving in as I walked, and by the time I got home again, quilted clouds covered almost all the sky. Snow and sleet were in the forecast for late in the day.

The Hermit Thrush appeared at first as a pale blob shining among the dark leaves, and when I lifted the binoculars I expected to see a Mockingbird. Instead, there was a cream-white, spotted breast (though the spots looked more like streaks than spots, maybe because of the way it was fluffed up in the cold), and the alert-looking brownish-gray head and face, thin white eye-ring, and slender bill of a Hermit Thrush. Its crown was more brown and its face more gray. Its back and tail were hidden in the shrub, and I watched it for several minutes, hoping it would emerge or fly down to the grass, but it just sat there for a long time, head raised high with the bill pointing slightly up, looking around, and then suddenly flew low across the ground and into some bushes on the edge of the woods, and that was the last I saw of it. I looked for it off and on all day but never saw it again – or heard its soft chup.

The Pine Warblers stayed around later in the day, and seem to have become regular visitors to the feeders.

Toward the end of my walk, around noon, a small hawk, either a Cooper’s Hawk or a Sharp-shinned, flew into a tree in a neighbor’s front yard. I could see its silhouette pretty clearly as it perched for several seconds – long tail, rather flat head, hooked bill – it was certainly an Accipiter, but I couldn’t see it well enough to be sure which it was, even when it flew, dropping down low, gliding swiftly over the ground and up into another stand of trees where it disappeared from view. Either way – Cooper’s Hawk or Sharp-shinned – it’s always special to see one. The Cooper’s Hawk seems to be more common here, but I have seen a Sharp-shinned at least once earlier this winter.

In all, I counted 30 species (reported to eBird with numbers for each): Turkey Vulture, Accipiter species, Mourning Dove, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Downy Woodpecker, Hairy Woodpecker, Northern Flicker, Pileated Woodpecker, Eastern Phoebe, Blue Jay, American Crow, Carolina Chickadee, Tufted Titmouse, Brown-headed Nuthatch, Carolina Wren, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Hermit Thrush, American Robin, Northern Mockingbird, Cedar Waxwing, Pine Warbler, Eastern Towhee, Chipping Sparrow, White-throated Sparrow, Dark-eyed Junco, Northern Cardinal, Common Grackle, House Finch, American Goldfinch.

Conspicuously missing: No Eastern Bluebird, Black Vulture, Golden-crowned Kinglet or Song Sparrow.

It’s also interesting that several birds were singing – including the Pine Warbler, Carolina Wren, Tufted Titmouse, Carolina Chickadee, White-throated Sparrow and Northern Cardinal.

Pine Warbler, Common Grackles, Dark-eyed Juncos

2010-01-04T22:31:00.003-05:00

Like much of the rest of the country, we are in the middle of a stretch of very cold winter weather, with lows in the mid teens and highs only in the 30s. Today was clear and windy, with a pale blue sky and bright but colorless sunlight.

Maybe because of the wind, there seemed little activity even around the feeders in our front yard. Both bird baths remained frozen in solid blocks all day. I poured pitchers of warmer water over them to make a little water available at least for a while, but all day never saw much bird activity – though I admit I didn’t spend much time outside.

Late in the afternoon, the day still clear and blustery, getting even colder, the most noticeable thing when I stepped out the front door was the quiet – no insect sounds, no birds. Only the sound of the wind in the trees, though that was quite a bit of sound in itself. I walked for several minutes along the road before hearing or seeing even the first bird – not even the call of a Blue Jay or Crow, not even a Vulture or a Red-tailed Hawk in the big empty sky.

In one spot, along a stretch of road lined with cedars and lots of shrubs along the edges of grassy yards, however, dozens of little birds were active – Eastern Bluebirds, White-throated Sparrows, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Chipping Sparrows, Dark-eyed Juncos, an Eastern Phoebe and a pair of Cardinals all flitted from tree to shrub to grass, and feeding among them on the ground was one warm, deep-yellow Pine Warbler, the first I’ve seen in several weeks. A nice surprise.

In the same area were Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker and a Northern Flicker that flew out across several open yards, flashing the broad “yellow-shafted” undersides of its wings in the sunlight, then perching in a treetop where the black bib on its breast and red crescent on its nape glowed.

A little further up the road, a flock of at least 60 Common Grackles perched noisily in the treetops. I stopped to watch them for a while, but could find no other Blackbird species among them, even when they flew, streaming low over me. They all seemed to be Grackles. This is the largest flock of Blackbirds I’ve seen so far this winter and is still considerably smaller than the numbers we usually have seen.

Dark-eyed Juncos today seemed to be almost everywhere – maybe the bird of the day. They’re often called “snowbirds,” and snow is in our forecast for later this week – a rare occurrence for us, if it comes. Juncos are common winter residents here but I haven’t seen too many this year until now. Small, familiar soot-gray birds with round heads, pink bills, white belly and white outer edges on the tail. I think they are making calls I would describe as high “little-bell-ringing” trills, but so far I haven’t found this call described clearly, so I’m not completely sure, but am trying to listen for them more closely and try to learn them. In our yard early in the afternoon, I watched for a few minutes as four emerged cautiously from the bushes and made their way across some open space to the area under the feeders – darting back to a shrub now and then, nervous in the wind.

New Year’s Day – Carolina Wren

2010-01-01T20:26:00.001-05:00

The first day of 2010 began with a cloudy sky gradually breaking up to allow a bright sun to shine through, a strong wind that shook the branches and few dry brown leaves of the white oaks outside our bedroom windows, and the song of a Carolina Wren from somewhere along the edge of the woods in our back yard. Half a dozen Black Vultures blew by, soaring, circling against the clouds, flying high and fast.

As the day went on, the cold, blustery wind swept away all trace of clouds, leaving a clear, pale blue sky. A few birds were active around the feeders and bird baths in the front yard – the usual suspects – Titmice, Chickadees, Mourning Doves, Cardinals, and a pair of Downy Woodpeckers – but it was the musical, defiantly colorful songs and trills of Carolina Wrens, strong even against the wind, that captured the spirit of the day.

On a late afternoon walk through the neighborhood, I saw and heard amazingly few birds, maybe because of the wind, and only counted a total of 12 species, with many of our most common birds not seen or heard. The most interesting sightings were several Cedar Waxwings, whose high thin calls sparkled in the air as they flew over, and about four or five Common Grackles also calling as they flew over.

A Phoebe in the Fog

2009-12-31T21:25:00.002-05:00

The last day of 2009 was dark and cloudy, cold, damp and drizzly, with off and on rain. Late in the afternoon a dense fog had gathered as I went out for a walk in the last light (such as it was) of the year. Sunset was supposed to be around 5:40, I think, but there was no hint of color to be seen, in the sky or all around – all was gray, cold, murky fog, with the black shapes of bare trees, evergreens and shrubs.

Earlier in the day birds had been fairly active in the yard, but by this late, there were few to be seen or heard – not even a single Red-bellied Woodpecker or Tufted Titmouse or Crow. Mourning Doves perched silently in bare-limbed trees. A Chickadee chattered here and there, a Carolina Wren fussed, a Downy Woodpecker called pink! One quiet Eastern Bluebird sat in the top of a bare pecan. The tseet calls of White-throated Sparrows and chatter of Ruby-crowned Kinglets came from beneath a few bushes. Yellow-rumped Warblers called sharp cheks as they flew from tree to tree. A good many Robins were scattered here and there, mostly in the trees, calling and even one or two singing pieces of songs. Eastern Towhees called from the thickets of the old field.

But mostly as I walked I noticed the tsup calls of several Eastern Phoebes coming through the fog from different spots along the way. I only saw one, as it flew into a small tree and sat on a bare branch pumping its tail up and down, but the short tsup call has become very familiar. It’s a quick, quiet call, but more complex, with more character and shading than a chip or a peep or a chek or a tseep. It’s been a good year for Phoebes here, and the past several weeks they have been among the most active and vocal of birds around the neighborhood, maybe because our resident birds have been joined by migrants from further north coming in for the winter.

A small gray flycatcher with a dark, soot-gray head, no facial markings, a faint yellow or gray-white breast, and a consistent habit of wagging its tail up and down quickly as it perches, an Eastern Phoebe is a year-round resident here, apparently finding enough insects even through the winter to live on, supplemented with spiders, other invertebrates and fruits, especially in very cold weather. Phoebes always have been among my favorite birds to have around – last spring a pair built a nest in the curve of a gutter high over our garage and successfully raised three big, strong-looking young.

So as the year comes to an end, it seems fitting enough that a Phoebe, calling somewhere out of sight in the fog, marks its last fading light.

December Birds

2009-12-31T21:18:00.000-05:00

Birds have seemed rather quiet in the neighborhood, with not as many different species and fewer numbers this December than in recent years. As always, I’m not sure this is an accurate observation because it could be that I’ve just been too busy or preoccupied – but even though other obligations have kept me from posting blogs through most of the month, I have been outside at some point for an hour or more most days, and keeping a journal.

On a good walk through the neighborhood in late December, most days I could count on finding around 20-25 species, and the total number of species for the month – not all seen on one day – has been 36. Highlights have included a Sharp-shinned Hawk that flew low overhead one cold cloudy day, its neat, compact shape perfectly held right above me; a Cooper’s Hawk seen two or three times in a certain stretch along Summit Drive, perched in low branches and sailing low over the grass; the mews of Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers, and their visits to the pecan trees in our front yard; the little-bell-like calls of Dark-eyed Juncos foraging below shrubs and below the feeders; the quick scattering of Chipping Sparrows flying up from brown grass along the roadsides; the chatter of Ruby-crowned Kinglets in bushes and low branches; the occasional high ti-ti-ti of Golden-crowned Kinglets in the higher branches of pines and hardwoods; the cuck-cuck-cuck calls of a Pileated Woodpecker in a particular section of woods; one sighting of a quiet Hermit Thrush in early December; many Black Vultures soaring, usually three or four together; a pair of Red-tailed Hawks soaring together and calling on a blue-sky, sunny cold day; the squeaking calls and bold behavior of Brown-headed Nuthatches that visit the feeders daily; the high, thin calls of small flocks of Cedar Waxwings; and the to-WHEE calls and activity of Eastern Towhees, bright splotches of black, red, brown and white scratching in dry brown leaves below bushes.

Conspicuously missing from my list are Red-shouldered Hawk and Pine Warbler – both of which I’m sure are around, but I have not seen or heard them since late fall – and Barred Owl, heard seldom lately. I’ve not yet seen a Pine Siskin, Red-breasted Nuthatch or White-breasted Nuthatch this winter, and no Brown Creeper or Winter Wren in several years now – but keep watching.

Maybe the most significant missing birds are the fairly good-size flocks of Blackbirds we usually see here in winter. So far this season I’ve only seen one lone Red-winged Blackbird, a very few Common Grackles and no certain Rusty Blackbirds, though there have been a few flying over that I wasn’t sure about. I’m still watching and hoping for the flocks to come along.

*Complete list of species seen or heard in Summit Grove, December 2009: Black Vulture, Turkey Vulture, Sharp-shinned Hawk, Cooper’s Hawk, Red-tailed Hawk, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Downy Woodpecker, Hairy Woodpecker, Pileated Woodpecker, Eastern Phoebe, Blue Jay, American Crow, Carolina Chickadee, Tufted Titmouse, Brown-headed Nuthatch, Carolina Wren, Golden-crowned Kinglet, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Eastern Bluebird, Hermit Thrush, American Robin, Northern Mockingbird, Brown Thrasher, Cedar Waxwing, Eastern Towhee, Chipping Sparrow, Song Sparrow, White-throated Sparrow, Northern Cardinal, Red-winged Blackbird, Common Grackle, House Finch, American Goldfinch.

Hermit Thrush

2009-12-07T22:34:00.006-05:00

Near noon on a cold, damp, cloudy day, a Hermit Thrush perched high among the bare top branches of a pecan tree. A small, dark, quiet shape against a dismal gray sky, it flicked its wings, flipped up its tail and lowered it slowly, over and over, each time calling a soft, soft chup.

I didn’t expect to see a Hermit Thrush so high and almost walked by without taking a second look at the bird on the branch. More often they’re under the bushes and shrubs or along the edges of the woods. In the blurry gray light, its coloring and markings were barely visible – darkly spotted upper breast, brownish back and wings and faded cinnamon tail, and I could only imagine the white eye-ring that gives it a wide-eyed and trusting look. But the shape, with head held high, and the tail and the call were distinct, and it stayed on the branch long enough for me to get a closer and closer look.

Its presence there – a little anonymous spot in a muffled expanse of grayness was a reminder – again – of how much I often miss. What I see and hear depends so much on how open my own mind is to the world around me, not locked inside myself. On this day, though persistent thoughts kept drawing me back in, I cleared them away now and then – and was lucky enough to see the Hermit Thrush and hear its gentle call.

While here in the South for the winter months, Hermit Thrushes are not as shy as their name implies, and it’s usually not hard to find one, taking no more than the trouble to stop and listen for the chup or watch in likely places. They’re fun to watch and seem to have regular habits, each day following a similar pattern of foraging around an area. Usually we have one in the bushes around our house, though I haven’t heard or seen one here so far this season, maybe discouraged by the neighborhood cats that too often hang around. A little bit like a Robin, a Hermit Thrush hops or scurries from favorite spot to spot, making its rounds – from shrub to stepping stone to potted plant to deck rail to the branch of a bush – stopping and looking around, and scurrying again, searching for insects and fruit.

Red-bellied Woodpeckers Continue Their Work

2009-11-20T21:33:00.002-05:00

A female and a male Red-bellied Woodpecker are continuing to excavate what I assume is a roost hole in a tall dead pine. Both yesterday and today, one of the two were at work in the same spot each time I went outside to look for them. They work so quietly that if I didn’t know where to look I wouldn’t know they were there – unusual for a bird I usually think of as very vocal and certainly not shy or secretive. Yesterday I again saw the female leave when the male arrived, giving a low, brief rattle in flight as he approached, and he immediately began to work just as she had.

Though I can’t see it, the hole must be getting larger and deeper. When the woodpeckers lean over to work on it now, they almost disappear from my view, leaving only the end of a bobbing tail visible on the pine trunk from my location on our back deck. But they still come back repeatedly to a vertical position on the trunk in full profile, and I’ve watched through the scope again as they lean in, come up with a big bill-full of wood fiber and toss it away, doing this several times in a row, then pausing, and leaning over several times just to dig or peck.

Gray Catbird and Song Sparrow

2009-11-19T21:38:00.001-05:00

The surprise of the day was finding a Gray Catbird feeding on clusters of dark purple fruit in a privet thicket among all the withered, tangled brown weeds in the old field. The Catbird was quiet and stayed mostly screened in the brush, but came out in the open long enough to see very well – a slender, all-gray bird with a thin black cap, one of my favorites. Usually we don’t see them often at this time of year. Most migrate a little further south for the winter or to the neotropics.

I only saw it because many White-throated Sparrows, several Eastern Towhees and Northern Mockingbirds, a Brown Thrasher, a small flock of Cedar Waxwings, Cardinals, Carolina Wrens and at least three Ruby-crowned Kinglets were all very lively in the weedy grasses and thickets of the field, especially in the privet. So I stopped to watch for several minutes. There also are persimmon trees with fruit in the field. The kudzu vines are all shriveled and dead, the grasses are brown and gray, with lots of dusty, drab gray-brown clumps of goldenrod gone to seed.

Among the other birds were Song Sparrows – brown-streaked backs and wings with darker streaks on a pale breast that come together into a central dark spot in the middle of the breast – the first ones I’ve seen this season. Two came out onto open branches, tails twitching and swishing fast, heads held high and erect, nervously looking around but lingering, as if to soak up some sunlight.

It was almost noon, usually a very quiet time for birds, but the day had begun with dense fog and heavy clouds. The sky had begun to clear about 11:00, and as the clouds dissipated and the sun came out, birds became more active, so it was a good time to be out.

A Red-tailed Hawk flew low, pursued by several cawing Crows. Six Black Vultures and two Turkey Vultures soared very high. The high, thin calls of Cedar Waxwings passed over as small, tight flocks flew. And almost all the other usual suspects seemed to be out, warmed to action by the sun – or maybe it was only that the sun warmed me to action and made me more aware and open to seeing and hearing. Either way, it was a particularly nice walk at a beautiful time of day.

Our Winter Cooper’s Hawk

2009-11-17T22:13:00.003-05:00

The bold gray swoop of a Cooper’s Hawk always takes me by surprise. Although they’re here year-round, dramatic, impressive raptors that perch and hunt low, they’re secretive and quiet, especially during the warmer, sunnier months. So I always feel lucky to see one now and then.

The past few years though, there’s a certain area in our neighborhood where I often see a Cooper’s Hawk during the late fall and winter. Along this stretch of road, there are large grassy yards with widely-spaced oaks and pecans, lots of shrubs, the woods and creek not far away, and in one yard a big solitary magnolia tree where several times I’ve seen a hawk disappear into its dark, dense foliage at twilight.

So today, I was happy when a Cooper’s Hawk suddenly flew low and close across the road in front of me as I walked past this same area. It was late in the day, cloudy, with muted, fading fall foliage and spots of still-vibrant color – maples glowing a soft rose-red, crape myrtles flaming orange, and the white oak leaves deepening almost to mahogany now.

As I left our yard a few minutes earlier, a Mockingbird was doing its best to chase away smaller birds from the feeders, with limited success. Chickadees, Titmice, a Downy Woodpecker and two House Finches pretty much ignored it or flew to the one where it was not. Brown-headed Nuthatches squeaked in the treetops and Golden-crowned Kinglets called high ti-ti-ti. A Ruby-crowned Kinglet chattered in low branches nearby. A Carolina Wren sang from the woods, and another flew up out of some bushes as I walked past and fussed at me furiously from a safe spot deep inside a wax myrtle.

Still, the prevailing mood was quiet as I walked down the street, with most bird sounds in the distance – Blue Jays, Crows – only muffled traffic, and no leaf blowers, wood chippers, or weed eaters for a change. The light was soft and gray. Yellow-rumped Warblers called chek as they flew from spot to spot. Red-bellied Woodpeckers chuck-chuck-chucked. Five Eastern Bluebirds perched in the bare top branches of some pecan trees, with one American Robin. A small flock of Grackles passed over.

As I came to the bottom of a hill, the Cooper’s Hawk swept low across the road from one yard into another, startling up four or five Mourning Doves that flew away in a whistling flurry of wings, and perched on a limb in the shadows, but in full view and facing toward me - a sleek, smooth gray, with russet-barred breast and long tail with dark and light bands and a rounded band of white on the tip. Rarely have I had such a close and clear view of a Cooper’s Hawk, though it didn’t last long. It flew to another branch and then to another, still in the same yard, among the same stand of trees, but out of my sight.

It’s nice to know that it’s here – again or still – a familiar winter presence.

Two Red-bellied Woodpeckers and a Roost Hole – A Pair? Or Not?

2009-11-16T21:40:00.003-05:00

Early this afternoon – a warm, sunny day with a flannel blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and light breezes sending down showers of brown leaves from the oaks – I watched a female Red-bellied Woodpecker working on a hole high up in a tall dead pine tree just inside the woods behind our house.

She worked for at least an hour, her claws clinging to a large loose slab of bark so that she perched on the trunk in profile to me, and through a scope I had a clear view, framed all around in the copper-brown leaves of white oaks. After about an hour I heard a low, rattled call from nearby. The female woodpecker moved quickly out of the way, around the trunk, and a male flew in to the exact same spot, clinging to the same piece of loose bark, and immediately started working in the same way. The female disappeared quietly.

It looked to me as if the two were a pair, working together on this hole and making a smooth change in the work shift, so one rests while the other works. But – when I looked this up, the information I found indicates that Red-bellied Woodpeckers are generally solitary through the fall and winter and only form pair bonds in nesting season.* So I’m not sure if these two are working together – or if they are competing for this spot. They certainly looked as if they were cooperating peacefully, no indication of aggression or objection or fussing. But I don’t know. I first saw one of the woodpeckers working on the hole yesterday, so they’ve been working on it for at least two days now. Maybe they sometimes share work on a hole even if they’re not a mated pair.

A Red-bellied Woodpecker is sturdy, medium-size, and one of the most common woodpeckers in most areas in the eastern U.S. With its shimmering red nape and crown, smooth gray face, round head, long dark bill, tawny gray breast and black wings barred with white, it’s a handsome, vocal and very active bird. The soft reddish blush on the lowest part of its belly is not at all obvious, so its name can be confusing.

The female – whose red covers the back of the neck but not the crown – clung to the loose slab of bark on the side of the trunk and leaned around the trunk, using her tail as a brace, to work on the hole, which is on the opposite side of the tree, facing south, where I can’t see it. What I could see was that her whole body worked as she knocked or dug at the hole for several seconds, then came back to an upright position, usually with a bill-full of pale wood fiber, which she tossed away with a flick of her head. After a pause of a few seconds to look around, she leaned over to work on the hole again. Sometimes I could hear her knocking on the wood, but mostly she was quiet. She continued this pattern, working steadily, sometimes leaning around further so that her tail came off the trunk, as if her head were further inside a growing hole.

Once when she paused, the sun lit her face, showing big bright amber-brown eyes and a smudge of soft red over the long dark bill. Below her tail were scattered dark spots, some in the shape of hearts.

When the male Red-bellied Woodpecker arrived, he worked quietly and steadily, as she had, after only that approaching, relatively low call. Once he stopped briefly to scratch his lower belly with his bill, and I could see the dull reddish-fawn feathering.

*The species account in Birds of North America Online says the pair bond lasts about seven months, through the nesting season, and it is “rare to find mated pairs from September through January.” It mentions that both sexes excavate cavities for roosting, and both sexes change roost sites frequently, but says “adults roost singly in cavities at night,” and does not describe pairs working together on roost holes. Clifford E. Shackelford, Raymond E. Brown and Richard N. Conner. 2000. Red-bellied Woodpecker (Melanerpes carollinus), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.) Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

November Twilight – Partial Song of a Hermit Thrush

2009-11-06T23:15:00.003-05:00

Just after sundown last night, the sky was clear, violet-gray, orange on the horizon, and the last warm, hoarded light made maples, oaks, sweet gums and tulip poplars glow as if lit from within, briefly, before they faded. Gone are the long, lingering twilights of summer. There were few birds to see, but many to hear as they settled in for the night – peeps of Cardinals, whistle of Mourning Dove wings, gentle moans of Bluebirds, mews of Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers, chips of Yellow-rumped Warblers and Chipping Sparrows, tseet calls of White-throated Sparrows, little chits and ticks of Chickadees and Titmice, tsup of Phoebe, the muted rough call of a Mockingbird. A small flock of Robins flew over.

From the edge of a rough patch of woods came the airy, ornate notes of part of a Hermit Thrush’s song, like a summer leaf drifting down, falling only once. I stopped to listen, but heard no more. Hermit Thrushes come to spend the winter here, but I seldom hear them sing here, so this was an unexpected, rare, fleeting pleasure.

Then White-throated Sparrows began to sing from all around, hesitant, often partial songs, sometimes a bit off-key, but others true and sweet, whistling O Sweet Canada or Old Sam Peabody or Come A-way With Me.

Several tall, thick Leyland cypress trees, dark against the pale orange sky, were lively with the peeps and chips and tseets of birds and with little birds chasing each other and diving into the depths of the trees and disappearing for the night.

The moon, just past full, had not yet risen, but later the night remained clear and the moon shone bright, flooding the trees and grass in pure, white, brilliant light.

Winter Birds

2009-10-31T22:40:00.002-04:00

The arrival of beautiful new twin grand-daughters, Luna and Stella, has kept me busy and rather distracted from birding as much as usual for the past few weeks, but now and then I’ve gotten out to enjoy some picture-perfect autumn days and to welcome back some of our returning winter birds. In addition to Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers – White-throated Sparrows, Ruby-crowned and Golden-crowned Kinglets and Yellow-rumped Warblers all have returned sometime during October. I haven’t yet heard the chup of a Hermit Thrush, but am hoping and listening, and also am watching and listening for a Red-breasted Nuthatch, hoping this might be another good year for them here.

The nights of October 18 and 19 brought our first light frost. Then toward the end of the month more long days of heavy rain returned, and October came to an end today with another all-day, drenching rain. The dark gray clouds, mist, fog and rain blurred the oranges, reds, saffron, wine, copper and faded green of the foliage, which is just now reaching its peak. Though it will be a late and somewhat subdued year for color, it’s at its best now, and the weather and mood are mellow, sleepy and make me want to curl up in a chair by the fire and read, and watch the rain fall through a blurry, softly colored window.