Swallow-tailed Kite and Mississippi Kites – Again!

While I was sitting on the front porch this morning around 9:30, watching the Bluebirds make trips in and out of their house and two Phoebes hunting from low branches in the pecans, two Mississippi Kites appeared above the tops of the trees directly to the north. They did not stay in view long, though it was long enough to see them clearly before they disappeared beyond the trees.

About an hour later I decided to walk down the street, just in case I could see more Kites. It was very hot and humid, but chances to see these remarkable raptors don’t come along very often, so I thought it was worth a try. At first the hazy, bleached-blue sky looked absolutely empty. Not a vulture, not a crow, nothing. Then – as if it had materialized out of nowhere – there it was. A Mississippi Kite.

Its slender shape and elegant flight were immediately recognizable. It was fairly high, over the trees to the northeast, and it was joined in just a few minutes by a second Mississippi Kite. Both were males. I could see their white heads and white secondaries catch the sunlight, and was impressed again with how thin and flat their wings are held, seen from behind, and how gracefully they fly. They remained fairly high all the time, making large circles, and I only saw them swerve for an insect a couple of times. They stayed in view for a few minutes, then drifted away back to the northeast – not moving toward the southwest as they have at other times.

I heard the scream of a Red-tailed Hawk and turned around to find it high above me, an immature, screaming repeatedly and looking handsome and strong, with a dark brown band of streaks across its breast, a dark brown head, and clean, crisp patterns in its wings that are hard to describe. It gradually climbed higher and higher until it was barely an eyelash in the sky.

As I turned to walk back toward home, two Black Vultures were soaring low over the road and beginning to rise higher. As I watched them, I saw another Kite way above them – and this one was a Swallow-tailed Kite. Wow! That’s all I could say, over and over. It was very high, and I’m not sure I would have seen it if I had not been watching the Vultures. But once seen, it was unmistakable – dramatic black and white wings, long swallow-tail, and white flashing in the sun. It stayed very high, circling around for approximately five minutes, drifting from northeast to southwest. I watched it until it grew too small to see at all, and disappeared.

A Summer Day: Northern Flickers, Busy Bluebird Parents, Phoebes Hunting in the Shade

It was another in a string of very hot, humid days – typical for August in Georgia – with hazy, bleached-blue sky and temperatures in the upper 90s by mid afternoon. Cicadas, grasshoppers and other insects sing all day, and katydids and crickets sing all night. Most of the woodland birds are pretty quiet. I last heard the call of an Acadian Flycatcher July 29, but they might still be around. A Blue Grosbeak continues to sing in the Old Field along Highway 441, occasionally there’s an Indigo Bunting singing in a vacant lot along the loop road in our neighborhood, and there’s a pair of Northern Flickers that I’ve seen every morning for the past week in one of the big shady yards. Usually they’re hunting in the grass beneath the pecan trees, or in the early morning they perch in a bare branch at the top of a pecan and bask in the morning sun.

Our Bluebird couple is feeding babies in its second nest of the season – the first was successful, with at least two healthy juveniles – and I’m just hoping they’ll survive this heat wave. Both male and female Bluebird make frequent trips to the bluebird house with food. This morning I watched as the male Bluebird perched in a low branch near the nest house for several minutes, holding an insect in its beak. Finally, the female Bluebird flew from somewhere down to the grass, picked up something there and then flew directly into the bluebird house. The male followed her and clung to the outside of the house, poking his head inside the entrance. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see exactly what occurred, but after just a minute or two, the male flew, and then the female flew out too.

Off and on throughout the day, I heard the voices of Yellow-billed Cuckoo, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Great-crested Flycatcher, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker, Brown-headed Nuthatch, Chimney Swifts, Goldfinch, Eastern Towhee, Chipping Sparrow, Carolina Wren, Chickadees, Titmice, Cardinals, occasional Blue Jays, Crows, and the coos and whistling wings of Mourning Doves. Phoebes hunt from low branches around our yard, and both birdbaths stay busy all day long.

Swallow-tailed Kites

This morning about 10:45-11:00 four Swallow-tailed Kites were soaring and catching insects over our neighborhood. They flew high in a hazy blue sky, and I could hardly believe it when I saw their deeply forked tails. They gradually circled closer until they were directly over me, and I watched for several minutes as they sailed like seabirds on long, slender, black and white wings and swerved to catch insects in the air. They were spectacular!

Two Mississippi Kites were soaring with them when I first saw them, and they all gradually circled and moved from east to west. After they disappeared in the distance, a single Swallow-tailed Kite appeared in the east again and circled a few times before disappearing back to the east – I don’t know if this was a fifth, or if it was one of the first four.

This was about the same time of day when I saw two Mississippi Kites here yesterday.

One of the best descriptions of Swallow-tailed Kites I’ve read is on the National Audubon Society’s Watchlist, which identifies them as a species of concern because of their seriously declining populations:

“Spreading its forked tail as it soars, the Swallow-tailed Kite looks like a flying star. This black and white raptor patrols the air over the wooded blackwater rivers and wetlands of the southeastern United States. Its nimble flight requires little exertion and allows this kite to eat on the wing. In North America, the primary cause of its steep decline is the loss of wetlands.” *

We’re very lucky to see them here sometimes during the late summer.

*A link to the National Audubon Society Watchlist is in the column on the right.

Mississippi Kites

This morning about 10:30, it was already hot and humid when I headed out for a late walk. The sun was high, the sky a cloudless, hazy blue, and cicadas were buzzing loudly. When I saw three dark soaring birds in the distance, I expected them to be vultures, but then I saw their long slender wings, held thin and flat, longish tails, and white heads that caught the sunlight even when they were still quite high – Mississippi Kites.

One disappeared into the distance, but the other two circled lower, and stayed over our neighborhood for about 20 minutes, swooping down almost to treetop level. Both were males, with white, rounded heads and white on the inner, back part of their wings. Their flight was dramatic, from high to low and then high again, three or four times pulling their wings in and diving toward the ground, then soaring back up again. I watched them until they circled up very high and drifted away to the southwest.

As if this wasn’t reward enough for coming out in the hot sun, as I was watching the Kites, a Red-shouldered Hawk flew across the road directly in front of me, looking in my binoculars as if it were only two or three feet away – a fast but vivid image.

A Tireless Singer Finally Takes a Break

Since early May, a Scarlet Tanager has been singing in the woods around our house. In early June or maybe even sooner, it began to sing almost all day every day, one of the first birds to sing every morning, and one of the last to sing each night. But I think it finally has decided to take a break.

Although it sings almost constantly, I haven’t often seen it. Last Saturday morning as I was starting out for a walk, it was singing from the top of the big Red Oak down the street. I stopped on the edge of our driveway and from there was able to see it very clearly in the treetop. It looked tiny in my binoculars – but perfect. A jewel-like bright, glassy scarlet with jet-black wings.

It sang a song of six, then seven phrases; now and then only five. It sang one song (one group of six or seven phrases), then moved slightly, turning to face in a different direction, or moving a little further over in the tree, then it sang again. Each time it sang, it moved just a little before singing again. Unlike a Pine Warbler or Red-eyed Vireo, it wasn't foraging and singing as it went - at least not in these few minutes while I was watching. It seemed completely focused on its song, but was constantly on the move, as if it wanted to leave not even the smallest part of its territory undeclared.

Sunday evening it sang from the same big Red Oak tree as the sun went down behind it, turning the sky a brilliant mass of gold and orange and lavender clouds. As it turned out, that may have been the last time we’ll hear it this year.

Monday morning when I stepped outside, there was no Scarlet Tanager’s song. I thought it might just have taken a break – but didn’t hear it all day Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or today. I’m not sure what this means. Since Scarlet Tanagers sing almost continuously through the breeding season, it may mean the Tanagers’ young have hatched, and maybe that they have fledged. I hope so. I also hope we’ll continue to see them now and then, and hear their chik-burr calls for several more weeks – but the singing may be over.

The Dean Martin of Birdsong

For two and a half weeks, I didn’t hear the song, or even the pik-a-tuk calls of a Summer Tanager – usually one of our most vocal summer birds. I last heard them on June 27 – then not again until last Wednesday, July 16, when I was leaving for an early morning appointment and heard the familiar song again from one of the trees in our front yard. I’m sure they’ve been around, but they’ve been pretty quiet.

Since then, a Summer Tanager has been singing often around our house and in the woods nearby. This morning, it was the first song I heard when I awoke, and when I went out for a walk about 8:00, the male was sitting in a low branch of a pecan tree, in full view, singing rather lazily, barely seeming to open his bill as he crooned his song of smooth, velvety phrases.

As I watched him, a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird flew up and perched beside the Tanager, just a little further out on the same branch. For maybe 30 seconds they both sat there – the relatively big, placid, solid-red bird with the long thick bill and the full, rich voice, and the tiny little gray and green bird, a whirring, nervous ball of energy, momentarily still. The Tanager blinked first, leaning forward and flying, and the hummer zoomed off after it, as if chasing it – but I don’t know if it really was or not.

Two Juvenile Red-shouldered Hawks

Early this morning, two juvenile Red-shouldered Hawks were hunting in the grass near a thicket in a neighbor’s yard. The area was shaded by several pecan trees, and the air still felt cool. I almost walked by without seeing them because they were on the ground, and because they were quiet and alone – no smaller birds around were sounding an alarm.

They seemed to be catching something in the grass, maybe grasshoppers or cicadas or other insects. Several times as I watched, one or the other flew up into some low branches in the thicket and disappeared there, then came out again and dropped to the grass. Both had dark brown throats and pale breasts with dark brown streaks. Once or twice they made what looked like playful flights at each other, spreading their wings – mottled brown on top, but very pale underneath – and flaring tails with narrow bands in shades of brown.

Bluebirds Nesting Again

Other highlights of an early morning walk included a Summer Tanager singing in a tree beside our driveway, a Scarlet Tanager singing at the same time in the woods across the street, a Red-eyed Vireo’s Here I am, Where Are You? in the trees around our house, the long, dry trill of a Chipping Sparrow as I walked down the street, nine Chimney Swifts sweeping overhead in a soaring blue sky with small white clouds, several Robins feeding in grassy yards, the spee calls of Blue-gray Gnatcatchers, and the fluted song of a Wood Thrush near the pond.

In the Old Field, a Blue Grosbeak sang from the highest wire over the power cut. It looked like nothing more than a little dark blob, the blue color not showing up well until I got in just the right spot, but the big silver beak shined in the sun, and it sang there for several minutes, as long as I was walking along the field. An Indigo Bunting and a White-eyed Vireo also sang, from somewhere hidden or camouflaged in the weeds. A Gray Catbird emerged from a mass of kudzu and perched briefly in the bare upper branches of a small tree, then dropped back down into the kudzu. One Phoebe sat on a wire near the north end of the field, and beneath it, two House Finches, male and female, chirped and hopped around in a tangle of brownish weeds, the male’s head and throat gleaming silky orangish-red.

Just as I got close to the top of our driveway, I heard the song of a Bluebird, and then saw the female Bluebird slipping quickly into the bluebird house, so I think they’re working on a second nest – and I’m not sure, but I think the eggs may have been laid and incubation has begun. I’m not out watching them often – and I don’t like to open the box and look, even though it supposedly doesn’t disturb them – but the past day or two, I’ve noticed the male singing from somewhere near the birdhouse when the female flies out and stays gone for a short while. He sings a softly-warbled song before she leaves, and while she’s gone, and stops after she has returned.

Dawn – A Barred Owl’s Call and a Scarlet Tanager’s Long Song

Lying awake around five o’clock this morning, through the open bedroom windows I could hear the muted, rustling songs of katydids, much softer than earlier in the night. I had just started to drift back off to sleep when I heard a deep, booming HOOooo. I waited a few seconds, and sure enough it called again, just a one-syllable, strong but velvety HOOooo, a Barred Owl, calling from somewhere fairly close. It sounded like the edge of the woods around the side of our house. It called again, and again. I could not hear a response from another owl. Every time it was a single hoot ending in a low, guttural purr – so I think it was a female. She called several times before falling silent about 5:30.

For a few minutes after that, I heard nothing but whispering katydids, until about 5:45, when the first Cardinal began to sing. It was quickly joined by several other Cardinals until at least a half dozen, and probably more were singing, one right outside my window, another further out in the yard, another two or three in neighbors’ yards, and more in the distance. Their songs are so clear and loud and there were so many of them singing that it was hard to distinguish any other sounds.

At 6:00, a Chipping Sparrow began what Donald Kroodsma* describes as its dawn song – short bursts of brisk rapid-fire trills, one right after another. At least one Chipping Sparrow and probably more sang for several minutes as the sky grew lighter and lighter. At 6:04, a Scarlet Tanager began to sing from the woods across the street. It sang constantly, and seemed to move rather quickly from one spot to another, as if it were going all around the edges of its territory faster than it would later in the day.

For a few minutes between 6:10 and 6:30, the Scarlet Tanager sang a long series of phrases without pausing. Usually its song is six or seven phrases, followed by a distinct pause before repeating them. This was just one long string of phrases – I don’t know how long or how many phrases exactly, but it was quite different from the song it sings the rest of the day. As it was singing, I also heard a second Tanager, maybe a female, calling Chik-brrr, chik-brrr.

Meanwhile, a Carolina Wren joined in about 6:10, and then another, and soon there were at least a half dozen Carolina Wrens singing in different directions. Mourning Doves began to coo, and a few Canada Geese passed overhead, honking. Around 6:20, I heard the twittering of Chimney Swifts, the cawing of Crows, and a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher’s repeated spee! A Goldfinch called potato-chip, potato-chip, an Eastern Towhee began to sing To-WHEE, a Red-bellied Woodpecker churrred, and I began to hear a high, indistinct peeping that I think was probably Titmice and Chickadees.

Soon after 6:30, the busiest part of the dawn chorus was over. Most of the Cardinals and Carolina Wrens had stopped singing for a while, the Chipping Sparrows had changed to their daytime, longer trills, and the Scarlet Tanager had begun to sing its more familiar six or seven-phrase song. At this time of year, the dawn chorus isn’t nearly as busy or full as it is in the spring, but it’s still the best way I know of to begin the day.

*Donald Kroodsma, The Singing Life of Birds, Houghton Mifflin, 2005.