tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38147327642694270902024-03-19T05:21:32.660-05:00Laura's Birding BlogFor the love, understanding, and protection of birdsUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1785125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-32585777185500004562023-03-24T18:15:00.001-05:002023-03-24T21:39:10.739-05:00Final Blogger Post: Moving to Substack!<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52675247042/in/photolist-2ofJpLw-2ofJHxV-2ofM1YA-2ogms6E-2oiRZDC-2oj5rYQ-2nuHTY8-2nuLpFE-2nKdgvQ-PY69AH-RAJCxs-UJjYJC-Wn72a1-2aXZtHW-2dJvgTK-2hsCwSV-2jVYdBZ-2jVYdUx-2jVYefc-2jW4153-2kcnxX1-2kBns7s-2kKiMT1-2kXLCWt-2kXLD6b-2n6y7nn-2n6y7qt-2hr8px8-2hrbneZ-2hsCtCy-2jowbed-2k7jNqE-2n126aZ-2ncAnRZ-Fwd8Ea-Fwd9jX-Goo2Ck-HjTxe3-L98dcu-NL4hMB-Q8BQUp-ReG8ai-24guLJQ-24jTLSG-24nVYJq-24E3cHe-24SSsjv-257D5jY-25bk3at-25iYitS" title="Laura and Pip"><img alt="Laura and Pip" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52675247042_ce8485615f.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>When I started "Laura’s Birding Blog" in 2007, Blogger (owned by Google) took care of sending emails to subscribers. They discontinued that part of the service in 2021, so I started using MailChimp for that. But this month MailChimp significantly raised their rates exactly when I was working on my taxes and realizing that I'd spent way more in 2022 than my work brought in. We tried a different email service, but it had too many glitches. My work is primarily a labor of love, but there’s a limit to how much I should be asking my husband to subsidize it, and how much time and effort I can put into logistical and bureaucratic tasks rather than writing about birds and sharing my photos and experiences. </p><p>So I’m switching both my blog and its email distribution to Substack, which seems both stable and trustworthy. I’ll be keeping this site as a blog archive because most of my podcasts for the past 15 years have a link to the corresponding post here, but all new posts will be at <a href="https://lauraerickson.substack.com">https://lauraerickson.substack.com</a>. </p><p>Substack allows both paid and free subscriptions. Although I will greatly appreciate every paid subscription, I do not want anyone excluded from any of my content because they can’t or don’t choose to pay. I’ve set up my account so all subscribers, paid or not, will have access to *<b>all*</b> of my posts. </p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-37371204522813461802023-03-20T06:50:00.001-05:002023-03-20T06:50:39.036-05:00Flaco the Eagle Owl: To Count or Not to Count?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Flaco (86944)" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/98/Flaco_%2886944%29.jpg/512px-Flaco_%2886944%29.jpg" width="512" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flaco, the escaped Eurasian Eagle-Owl in Central Park, NY. <br />Photo by <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0">Rhododendrites, CC BY-SA 4.0</a> via Wikimedia Commons</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I recently received an email from podcast listener David McArthur from New York, who writes: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">As you may have heard, a Eurasian Owl named Flaco has escaped into Central Park. He is now living wild in the woods across from my house. I saw him yesterday and I am wondering whether it would be legitimate to include him on my life list. Thank you in advance for your expert adjudication.</p></blockquote><p>I guess I AM sort of an expert in what is “countable” or not, because in 2013 I did a Big Year for the Lower 48, trying to see as many birds as possible during that calendar year. The American Birding Association sets the official rules for Big Year totals so any birder’s Big Year numbers can be fairly compared to anyone else’s. The final total of species I saw in the wild was 604, but only 593 of them were “countable” by ABA rules at the time. I'm perfectly happy telling people I saw over 600 species that year, but always with the explanation that that was my <i>personal </i>total, and that my ABA total—the one that counts for any fair comparison with anyone else's total—is just 593. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51427423375/in/photolist-2mmsZgn-2mmtv3X-aErCp8-aErCtz-aErCDH-aEvsA3-aEvsFd-aEvsW1-aEvt1Q-aEvtaj-aEvtfy-aEvtjA-aEvtxw-fT6MoZ-fT6PUa-fT6RF6-fT72rj-fT7cGu-fT7krC-fT7Nco-fT7RFs-fT7XcD-fT813P-fT87d2-fT88r5-fT8cnw-fT8ded-fT8eHA-fT8gBz-fT8haY-fT8oaU-fT8rpZ-fT8sMt-fT8wyr-fT8FWK-fTAR7x-fTB1ES-fTBXt2-fTBXFq-fTBYFm-fTBZqC-fTC1NN-fTC4vd-fTC4MW-fTCqAX-fXNAtj-fXNLLe-fXNN5A-fXNQPz-fXNSbU" title="California Condor"><img alt="California Condor" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51427423375_f1c46b1621.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Nine of the "uncountable" species I saw in 2013 were introduced species that hadn't yet established a naturalized population as defined by various state ornithological societies. Two were native endangered species that had been <i>reintroduced </i>but still required active intervention. Even now people are monitoring California Condors, providing safe food sources, and occasionally recapturing birds who show signs of lead poisoning. In 2013, people were still providing nest platforms for Aplomado Falcons in south Texas. </p><p>But that rule was changed a year or two later to this: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">An individual of a reintroduced indigenous species may be counted if it is part of a population that has successfully hatched young in the wild or when it is not possible to reasonably separate the reintroduced individual from a wild-born individual.</p></blockquote><p>That rule was retroactive as far as state and life lists go, and since both condors and Aplomado Falcons were breeding successfully in the wild in 2013, they're on my official ABA life list, but rule changes are not retroactive as far as Big Year totals go. Those numbers only have meaning if everyone doing a Big Year follows the same rules. I made a special effort to see condors and Aplomado Falcons because of my personal focus on conservation. From a competitive birding standpoint, it wouldn’t be fair if my total for the year jumped with the rule change when other people doing Big Years in 2013 had no reason to look for what were uncountable birds. </p><p>ABA rules allow us to count birds only if they're on the official checklist where we saw the bird. Vagrants, such as the Rufous-necked Wood-Rail I saw at Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge during that Big Year, may not be on an official list yet when birders flock to see it, but as soon as that state’s records committee makes the determination that the bird almost certainly got there on its own, that bird does become countable retroactively. So those of us who did a Big Year in 2013 and went to Bosque at the right time listed the wood-rail “provisionally” until it became official when the New Mexico records committee voted in favor of it the following year. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/9323466379/in/photolist-2mfySLo-2mfA3cc-2mfA3hh-2mfCADy-fcTbvr-fcTbDZ-fcTcd6-fcTci2-fcTcrp-fcTcxR-fcTcJk-fd8vvq/" title="Rufous-necked Wood-Rail"><img alt="Rufous-necked Wood-Rail" height="315" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5323/9323466379_9023a5aacf.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Rules for Big Year and ABA lists are strict, but there are no rules for counting whatever we want on our personal lists, including our life list. eBird reports of the Central Park Eurasian Eagle-Owl are flagged “exotic escapee." If I lived near New York, I’d still do my best to see and photograph it and report it on eBird in the same way I put Chukar on my eBird list after seeing a group in my own neighborhood. Like the eagle owl, the Chukars apparently escaped from a game farm and are not countable on any official Minnesota list, but it's still worth keeping track of escaped birds just in case some eventually do end up breeding in the Upper Midwest, as they already do in the West. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51917484216/in/photolist-2mb5Wge-2mb6WP8-2mb6WS9-2mb9C9x-2mb9CgM-2mb9CEn-2mb9CSg-2mb9CWe-2mbb4kZ-2mbb4ur-2mbb4xN-2n6rrd5-2n6wutx-2n6wvaY-2n6wTQ9-2n6wTRr-2n6wTUc-2n6y7nn-2n6y7qt-2n6y9z3-2n6zwEz-2n6C9jC-2n6Capy-2n6LCej-2n6LFhd-2mb28fh-2mb5VLg-2mb5VTv-2mb5WD8" title="Chukar"><img alt="Chukar" height="355" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51917484216_23bc4502ae.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>A few years ago, David McArthur saw a little flock of Helmeted Guineafowl on a country road in Upstate New York. Like my Chukars, those had clearly escaped from captivity. I’ve got Helmeted Guineafowl on my own life list because I saw them in the wild in Uganda in 2016. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/30359534833/in/photolist-NfLxZK-Pj2L7n-2m4ADXT/" title="Helmeted Guineafowl"><img alt="Helmeted Guineafowl" height="319" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5749/30359534833_b69a045bea.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>They’re native to Africa, but they’ve also been introduced in the West Indies, Brazil, Australia and southern France. They’ve never been introduced in America, though many aviculturists keep them in aviaries and on game farms. I saw and photographed a small flock in Port Wing, Wisconsin, in 2021, but did not list them on eBird—even though they weren't in any enclosure, they belonged to people who have a lot of exotic animals, and seeing them didn't feel all that exciting. If I see them again, especially if they wander to another property, I'll list them on eBird, not that they'd be “countable,” but like my Chukars, reports could provide valuable datapoints if escaped birds ever do start breeding in the U.S. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51236538909/in/photolist-NfLxZK-Pj2L7n-2m4ADXT" title="Helmeted Guineafowl"><img alt="Helmeted Guineafowl" height="293" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51236538909_8982515c44.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>The likelihood of David’s Eurasian Eagle-Owl starting a naturalized population is not just remote—it's impossible without any eagle owls in the wild to mate with. But if the species ever did become established anywhere in North America, or if the New York City owl mated with a Great Horned Owl and produced hybrid young, it would be valuable to know when the first individuals appeared. More important in the here and now, keeping track of this individual is essential for all kinds of conservation reasons in a city where rat poison and many other urban dangers are so prevalent. </p><p>Beyond that, I'd relish a chance to see the species that delivered all those sweets to Draco Malfoy his first year at Hogwarts. If I saw Flaco, the memory would be more vivid and exciting than the memory of a lot of my countable lifers. He may not be a legitimate twitch on anyone's "official" lists, but based on the number of people thrilled to be seeing him right now, Flaco has earned an honored place on a lot of people's life lists of avian treasures. And isn't that what a life list is all about?</p><div style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/32338138347/in/photolist-K1mMsX-RgBpTr-25xWEy3-27duPSs-27hjR2D-2mAohCe-2mAon1T-2mAtLsU-9ktsXf-br1UV6-dRfdax-fkyH1c-88hHKe-9jq3ZT-9juUKL-dRfdwD" title="Our Birth Announcement Drawing: Baby and Wood Stork"><img alt="Our Birth Announcement Drawing: Baby and Wood Stork" height="350" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7821/32338138347_72b9d9d587.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-67117729005531061562023-03-14T07:33:00.003-05:002023-03-14T07:45:07.744-05:00Eurasian Tree Sparrow<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52740621891/in/photolist-2nk9FNJ-2nkaP82-2nkc7c1-2omsPry-2omvth3-2omvtmm-2omvtr6-2omwLC1-2omwLN6-2omxAez-2omxApu-2omxSsr-2omxZan-2omxZhr-nFr8m9-nVSZ3C-nXCmnK-qxo1BB-QPyt6N-QS372V-QS38YR-QS3bj2-Rwk6s3-Rwk9uW-RwkkGf-RwkmA9-Rwknud-RwkoBy-RV65w6-S3oU1y-S6ZXCe-S6ZYXZ-2mfTM7U-fn5W64-fn5WFn-fnk7qm-fnk8d5-fnk8Vj-fnkbPw-2nkNcRt-2nkPoWW-aqKFJr-aqNjEo-aqNjQu-aqNk6u-aqNkiG-aqNkqG-aqNkxN-arb3Yf-fnkctb" title="Eurasian Tree Sparrow"><img alt="Eurasian Tree Sparrow" height="344" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52740621891_affa7c4750.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>On Saturday morning, in advance of a big snowstorm, my friend Erik Bruhnke and I drove to Superior, Wisconsin, to see a small group of Eurasian Tree Sparrows that have been hanging out in one neighborhood since December. Four birds were originally reported by DeAnna Leino on Dec 20, 2022, and since then, many birders have found up to three. I badly wanted to see them—the birds are winsome and cute, belong to a fascinating species, and are over 600 miles from the species’ established range in America, to say nothing of the fact that they’d be new for my Wisconsin list. </p><p>Like their close relative the House Sparrow, Eurasian Tree Sparrows were introduced to North America long ago, but unlike their bigger, more aggressive cousin, the only place a breeding population became established was in the vicinity of St. Louis, Missouri. By the 1970s, they were also being found regularly around Cahokia Mounds State Park in Illinois—one of my dear birding friends, Randy Korotev, was one of the people studying their range expansion there. Once in a while, one would stray up to Iowa or southernmost Wisconsin, too, but that was pretty much that until around the turn of the century. Now the birds seem to be expanding in all directions, with eBird reports from as far west as British Columbia, north up to central Alberta, and east to Nova Scotia. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWbjsEUMNu4odBTjl5wIHVyYgfMPKS113_T_bEd1gpYjXJFdQje4IIIZw2KbImXVtLaniVsueQpPQgg1h8bfpTINs_K5s2KGIERgBQBVh5xVuggm7Nno4kyKVtjNXH3Va-gEgKJoX7jchvYFdfaIaUDL4a4GyDk0cT-04yiK4X4pKn6IE3tFMvFlIK/s3606/Screenshot%202023-03-14%20at%205.43.26%20AM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2096" data-original-width="3606" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWbjsEUMNu4odBTjl5wIHVyYgfMPKS113_T_bEd1gpYjXJFdQje4IIIZw2KbImXVtLaniVsueQpPQgg1h8bfpTINs_K5s2KGIERgBQBVh5xVuggm7Nno4kyKVtjNXH3Va-gEgKJoX7jchvYFdfaIaUDL4a4GyDk0cT-04yiK4X4pKn6IE3tFMvFlIK/w400-h233/Screenshot%202023-03-14%20at%205.43.26%20AM.png" width="400" /></a></div><p>In my neck of the woods people have seen strays in Two Harbors and Duluth, but so far, the birds appearing so far out of their typical range seem to be wanderers who stick around for just days, weeks, or a single season, so most birders still add them to their life list in St. Louis, where I saw my lifer in 2004. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52076213121/in/photolist-2nk9FNJ-2nkaP82-2nkc7c1-2omsPry-2omvth3-2omvtmm-2omvtr6-2omwLC1-2omwLN6-2omxAez-2omxApu-2omxSsr-2omxZan-2omxZhr-nFr8m9-nVSZ3C-nXCmnK-qxo1BB-QPyt6N-QS372V-QS38YR-QS3bj2-Rwk6s3-Rwk9uW-RwkkGf-RwkmA9-Rwknud-RwkoBy-RV65w6-S3oU1y-S6ZXCe-S6ZYXZ-2mfTM7U-fn5W64-fn5WFn-fnk7qm-fnk8d5-fnk8Vj-fnkbPw-2nkNcRt-2nkPoWW-aqKFJr-aqNjEo-aqNjQu-aqNk6u-aqNkiG-aqNkqG-aqNkxN-arb3Yf-fnkctb/" title="My lifer Eurasian Tree Sparrow, in St. Louis"><img alt="My lifer Eurasian Tree Sparrow, in St. Louis" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52076213121_477893fdb3.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>I’ve seen them there multiple times since, especially at my friend Susan Eaton’s place.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/6192084422/in/photolist-2nk9FNJ-2nkaP82-2nkc7c1-2omsPry-2omvth3-2omvtmm-2omvtr6-2omwLC1-2omwLN6-2omxAez-2omxApu-2omxSsr-2omxZan-2omxZhr-nFr8m9-nVSZ3C-nXCmnK-qxo1BB-QPyt6N-QS372V-QS38YR-QS3bj2-Rwk6s3-Rwk9uW-RwkkGf-RwkmA9-Rwknud-RwkoBy-RV65w6-S3oU1y-S6ZXCe-S6ZYXZ-2mfTM7U-fn5W64-fn5WFn-fnk7qm-fnk8d5-fnk8Vj-fnkbPw-2nkNcRt-2nkPoWW-aqKFJr-aqNjEo-aqNjQu-aqNk6u-aqNkiG-aqNkqG-aqNkxN-arb3Yf-fnkctb" title="Eurasian Tree Sparrows"><img alt="Eurasian Tree Sparrows" height="291" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6164/6192084422_1645330272.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>In 2014, I saw them within their natural range in Austria and Hungary.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/14393213916/in/photolist-2nk9FNJ-2nkaP82-2nkc7c1-2omsPry-2omvth3-2omvtmm-2omvtr6-2omwLC1-2omwLN6-2omxAez-2omxApu-2omxSsr-2omxZan-2omxZhr-nFr8m9-nVSZ3C-nXCmnK-qxo1BB-QPyt6N-QS372V-QS38YR-QS3bj2-Rwk6s3-Rwk9uW-RwkkGf-RwkmA9-Rwknud-RwkoBy-RV65w6-S3oU1y-S6ZXCe-S6ZYXZ-2mfTM7U-fn5W64-fn5WFn-fnk7qm-fnk8d5-fnk8Vj-fnkbPw-2nkNcRt-2nkPoWW-aqKFJr-aqNjEo-aqNjQu-aqNk6u-aqNkiG-aqNkqG-aqNkxN-arb3Yf-fnkctb" title="Eurasian Tree Sparrow"><img alt="Eurasian Tree Sparrow" height="337" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3844/14393213916_3f6cd5f1aa.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>2015, I saw some at a distance in southern Illinois during an unsuccessful attempt to see an Ivory Gull. Not too bad of a consolation prize! </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/16107668337/in/photolist-2nk9FNJ-2nkaP82-2nkc7c1-2omsPry-2omvth3-2omvtmm-2omvtr6-2omwLC1-2omwLN6-2omxAez-2omxApu-2omxSsr-2omxZan-2omxZhr-nFr8m9-nVSZ3C-nXCmnK-qxo1BB-QPyt6N-QS372V-QS38YR-QS3bj2-Rwk6s3-Rwk9uW-RwkkGf-RwkmA9-Rwknud-RwkoBy-RV65w6-S3oU1y-S6ZXCe-S6ZYXZ-2mfTM7U-fn5W64-fn5WFn-fnk7qm-fnk8d5-fnk8Vj-fnkbPw-2nkNcRt-2nkPoWW-aqKFJr-aqNjEo-aqNjQu-aqNk6u-aqNkiG-aqNkqG-aqNkxN-arb3Yf-fnkctb" title="Eurasian Tree Sparrow"><img alt="Eurasian Tree Sparrow" height="354" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7547/16107668337_4ca5205b31.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>In winter 2017, a Eurasian Tree Sparrow was found hanging out by the Do North Pizza Parlor in Two Harbors.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/32504749890/in/photolist-2nk9FNJ-2nkaP82-2nkc7c1-2omsPry-2omvth3-2omvtmm-2omvtr6-2omwLC1-2omwLN6-2omxAez-2omxApu-2omxSsr-2omxZan-2omxZhr-nFr8m9-nVSZ3C-nXCmnK-qxo1BB-QPyt6N-QS372V-QS38YR-QS3bj2-Rwk6s3-Rwk9uW-RwkkGf-RwkmA9-Rwknud-RwkoBy-RV65w6-S3oU1y-S6ZXCe-S6ZYXZ-2mfTM7U-fn5W64-fn5WFn-fnk7qm-fnk8d5-fnk8Vj-fnkbPw-2nkNcRt-2nkPoWW-aqKFJr-aqNjEo-aqNjQu-aqNk6u-aqNkiG-aqNkqG-aqNkxN-arb3Yf-fnkctb" title="Eurasian Tree Sparrow"><img alt="Eurasian Tree Sparrow" height="327" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/2236/32504749890_27b426c5b3.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Last spring, one visited Scott Wolff’s place on Park Point. I got to see both of those Minnesota birds. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52069365150/in/photolist-2nk9FNJ-2nkaP82-2nkc7c1-2omsPry-2omvth3-2omvtmm-2omvtr6-2omwLC1-2omwLN6-2omxAez-2omxApu-2omxSsr-2omxZan-2omxZhr-nFr8m9-nVSZ3C-nXCmnK-qxo1BB-QPyt6N-QS372V-QS38YR-QS3bj2-Rwk6s3-Rwk9uW-RwkkGf-RwkmA9-Rwknud-RwkoBy-RV65w6-S3oU1y-S6ZXCe-S6ZYXZ-2mfTM7U-fn5W64-fn5WFn-fnk7qm-fnk8d5-fnk8Vj-fnkbPw-2nkNcRt-2nkPoWW-aqKFJr-aqNjEo-aqNjQu-aqNk6u-aqNkiG-aqNkqG-aqNkxN-arb3Yf-fnkctb" title="Eurasian Tree Sparrow"><img alt="Eurasian Tree Sparrow" height="322" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52069365150_d568c4a63f.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Erik Bruhnke is a professional bird guide for Victor Emanuel Nature Tours who has taken birders to many destinations in North, Central, and South America and Hawaii, but he’s never visited the St. Louis area. And because he spends so much time in far-flung places, he wasn’t in town when the Two Harbors or Duluth birds showed up. This Superior bird would be a <i>lifer</i> for him. </p><p>And so Saturday morning, armed with our binoculars, cameras, and cups of Bird Friendly coffee, we set out at 7:30 knowing the snow was supposed to start at 9. When we arrived near the two backyards and alley where the tree sparrows were supposed to be hanging out, we didn't see anything except pigeons, but en route, I’d noticed a large flock of House Sparrows at a feeder a couple of blocks away, so we strolled around the neighborhood, checking out that feeder and all the juniper and cedar-type trees where sparrows like to roost. After an hour and a half or so, we warmed up with a donut break at a cool shop called A Dozen Excuses, where I got a cherry-filled turnover and Erik got a raspberry-filled donut. Yum! </p><p>When we got back to our birding spot, someone else was pulling up—one of northern Wisconsin’s top birders, Robbye Johnson. We spent several minutes chatting as we scanned, but again no luck. When Robbye went on her way, Erik and I moseyed around the neighborhood one last time. I listened to a clock tower chime 11 times as the wind picked up and tiny snowflakes started to fall—excellent reminders that we'd lucked out so far, at least weather-wise, but didn’t have much time. This time, when we worked our way back to where the birds were supposed to be, voila! Erik got a great photo of one pretty much out in the open.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix70GtDQFXVEaiKaho7oIJ20BN5d4dw0_KJG3t-hWzikOfBJy-HRV12xEPqYuGSOv3apVVsIy9eKRr9p8hfD9wVXrIFV56GeDdM1IDQwcd26f2Y6ETVrlkys1srcNnTv0TBb4mipOAnKace3q-l4tEaw0qNhv5fkyI-BMgB9hrAkEcEm63Cn84EGlI/s2114/EurasianTreeSparrow_ErikBruhnke.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1394" data-original-width="2114" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix70GtDQFXVEaiKaho7oIJ20BN5d4dw0_KJG3t-hWzikOfBJy-HRV12xEPqYuGSOv3apVVsIy9eKRr9p8hfD9wVXrIFV56GeDdM1IDQwcd26f2Y6ETVrlkys1srcNnTv0TBb4mipOAnKace3q-l4tEaw0qNhv5fkyI-BMgB9hrAkEcEm63Cn84EGlI/w400-h264/EurasianTreeSparrow_ErikBruhnke.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Erik Bruhnke, Copyright 2023 by Erik Bruhnke. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>I saw but couldn’t get my camera on that one, so my own best shots were from an entirely different vantage point, of one of the birds tucked in a white-cedar. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48014585@N00/52740103862" title="Eurasian Tree Sparrow"><img alt="Eurasian Tree Sparrow" height="353" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52740103862_9930997d05.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>We quickly spotted a second bird deeper in the tree, and as we watched for 5 or 10 minutes, we finally got glimpses of the third, staying even deeper in the tree. Two of the birds moved lower and flitted out a couple of times to grab morsels at a feeder close to an owl decoy. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48014585@N00/52741035570" title="Eurasian Tree Sparrow"><img alt="Eurasian Tree Sparrow" height="348" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52741035570_d739171caa.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Now it was clearly time to head home. We made it back just before the serious snow started falling. </p><p>Seeing these birds was ever so satisfying, far beyond being additions to our birding lists and photo collections. I’ll treasure my photos, but even more the picture in my mind’s eye of these plucky little outliers, so lovely, fluffed out against the wind, dealing so beautifully with this exceptionally long winter. I don’t know how long they’ll remain in Superior, or whether a breeding pair might form and stick around, but spending a little time with them just before the oncoming blizzard was the perfect way to warm our hearts. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yBdJKEuE39M097nwDN4n7b4DX0GCHSyhZ2Jby-wJOQ0L7sFSgARCLt4FRC9M-cYx9eu65I6Wp3ZCYmw6msb7kJI7IqyPM9sCjA_YOM-qDeL7h3w1GceHakXCNTsDS4v5kM3hkHu4Xgwolg3v0rIR4Of0G7rVtW-9ztYNNQM8llvc5VUFI5cDUVKH/s2048/Erik%20and%20Laura.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1705" data-original-width="2048" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yBdJKEuE39M097nwDN4n7b4DX0GCHSyhZ2Jby-wJOQ0L7sFSgARCLt4FRC9M-cYx9eu65I6Wp3ZCYmw6msb7kJI7IqyPM9sCjA_YOM-qDeL7h3w1GceHakXCNTsDS4v5kM3hkHu4Xgwolg3v0rIR4Of0G7rVtW-9ztYNNQM8llvc5VUFI5cDUVKH/w400-h333/Erik%20and%20Laura.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-65659947261205138752023-03-12T13:35:00.001-05:002023-03-12T13:35:17.124-05:00Enhance Your Nest Box with Bark!<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52743168099/in/dateposted-public/" title="Russ Shoveling on March 12"><img alt="Russ Shoveling on March 12" height="385" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52743168099_15360113c4.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>At this very moment, people in my neck of the woods are digging out from a foot of new snow, with even more predicted later this week. Nevertheless, it is March and birds are on the move. In my dotage, I’m not as eager to get out birding when it involves winter driving as I used to be, but my good friend Erik Bruhnke, young and peppy, drove me to Superior, Wisconsin, yesterday in advance of the storm, to see three Eurasian Tree Sparrows that have been hanging around since December. En route, we spotted a small group of Trumpeter Swans in the St. Louis River. Many days this winter, I was seeing one or two Mourning Doves in my feeder, and at the beginning of the month I saw three together. But yesterday, I had four all feeding together in my platform feeder, staying there until dusk, pigging out before the storm. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52742786666/in/dateposted-public/" title="Mourning Doves before March snowstorm"><img alt="Mourning Doves before March snowstorm" height="342" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52742786666_c9c11140ba.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Even as we humans are getting most of our cardio-exercise wielding snow shovels, we’re getting into spring mode, too. Some people have already started planting seedlings indoors to get an early start on their gardens, and some are getting their bird houses cleaned out in anticipation of move-in day for bluebirds, swallows, chickadees, wrens, and more. So I was thrilled when my Arkansas friend, certified wildlife biologist Jerry Wayne Davis, posted a wonderful and timely suggestion for improving next boxes: we should cover the front with natural bark except around the hole itself. He included splendid photos to show what it should look like, including inspirational shots of a male Eastern Bluebird and a pair of bluebirds perched on the bark on a couple of his nest boxes, and generously gave me permission to use them on this very blog post. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.lauraerickson.com/images/fb9defdb-a12d-4f07-bb46-d71483400952_BluebirdPairBarkNest_JerryWayneDavid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="632" data-original-width="800" height="316" src="https://media.lauraerickson.com/images/fb9defdb-a12d-4f07-bb46-d71483400952_BluebirdPairBarkNest_JerryWayneDavid.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright 2023 by Jerry Wayne Davis, all rights reserved</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>How can a piece of bark enhance a nest box? Before many birds enter their nest hole, be it a natural cavity or a bird house, they often sit at the entrance for a moment, checking for predators or waiting for their mate to come out before they go in. The rough surface of bark makes this much easier. The bark he uses extends to the bottom of the next box—I suspect that a nice thick chunk of bark may provide some insulation as well as comfortable perching opportunities, providing eggs and nestlings at least a little extra protection from excessive heat and cold. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.lauraerickson.com/images/44910568-ddc6-40cf-bb9b-0360d74676b7_BarkNest_JerryWayneDavis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="536" height="400" src="https://media.lauraerickson.com/images/44910568-ddc6-40cf-bb9b-0360d74676b7_BarkNest_JerryWayneDavis.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Copyright 2023 by Jerry Wayne Davis, all rights reserved</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Eighty-five American bird species nest in cavities in snags and hollow trees and Jerry also reminds us how important it is to these vulnerable birds to provide predator guards to keep cats, raccoons, and rat snakes out. He notes that we can find bark of appropriate sizes on fallen logs, snags, firewood, and at wood compost recycling centers. </p><p>Jerry Wayne Davis helped me a lot when I was researching my <b><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/ways-to-help/">101 Ways to Help Birds</a></b>. I particularly love what he wrote <a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/way-to-help/55/">regarding nest boxes</a>:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Research and surveys have shown that only one percent of [our human] population is willing to do anything to make a difference. Many labels on medication tubes state one percent active ingredients and 99% inert filler. Our birds need you to be that one percent of active ingredients and not just filler living a life of doing nothing more than taking care of your biological needs. Habitat problems were created one person at a time and will have to be solved the same way. If you are not doing your part the job is not getting done. If you are not going to do more for birds in this lifetime, what lifetime do you plan to start?</p></blockquote><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.lauraerickson.com/images/35a1e5bc-e64e-457f-8811-dacd256b030b_BluebirdMaleBarkNest_JerryWayneDavid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="800" height="260" src="https://media.lauraerickson.com/images/35a1e5bc-e64e-457f-8811-dacd256b030b_BluebirdMaleBarkNest_JerryWayneDavid.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Copyright 2023 by Jerry Wayne Davis, all rights reserved</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-33098435644133649372023-03-10T15:30:00.001-06:002023-03-10T15:41:05.863-06:00Chickadee Day and Life Lists<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcbQJlVzXw6hy9h4mhRjbHv1LWmSf_mWfpEKJJqEP4sqAaD_ULc9Ft1vmKPDuVYG2xuj9gs4Ja1KtzXAh0bkvGZ1QiYCzZYMyV2X87Q11TbVpPoKX1mu_SiDPkDMZ4yIkR_B5p4VSwwPQ_tMUy1xeUsZ4Q381TAgW_pETnGqGbeCPe1ovEaEX4hJr/s1600/2023_chickadees.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcbQJlVzXw6hy9h4mhRjbHv1LWmSf_mWfpEKJJqEP4sqAaD_ULc9Ft1vmKPDuVYG2xuj9gs4Ja1KtzXAh0bkvGZ1QiYCzZYMyV2X87Q11TbVpPoKX1mu_SiDPkDMZ4yIkR_B5p4VSwwPQ_tMUy1xeUsZ4Q381TAgW_pETnGqGbeCPe1ovEaEX4hJr/w400-h225/2023_chickadees.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Every year I celebrate March 2 as “Chickadee Day," the anniversary of my seeing my first chickadee in 1975. This year, several people expressed surprise that I still remember the exact date I saw that first chickadee, but that’s the day I started my life list, and I'd honestly never noticed a single chickadee in the 23 years before then. </p><p>Most birders, including those who are most diligent about keeping lists of the birds they’ve seen, saw chickadees and other common birds long before they started keeping a bird list. Before the <a href="https://ebird.org/home"><b>eBird</b> app</a>, a lot of people checked off the birds they’d seen on some form of checklist card or in a favorite field guide, not bothering to enter dates for the everyday species they'd already seen before they became serious about listing. </p><p>When I started, I’d never identified any wild birds except pigeons, House Sparrows, robins, cardinals, a single Blue Jay I’d seen when I was seven, and a pair of Sandhill Cranes who flew over our class on a field trip at Rose Lake Wildlife Management Area near the Michigan State Campus sometime around 1973. I’d never have had a clue what those extraordinary birds were except that our professor called them out. They were stunningly beautiful and memorable, but I never thought to write the date down.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51586400824/in/photolist-2mAvMHS-2mASQwm-2mASTKq-2mBLb9X-2mBLsY6-2mBLvSH-2mBMNiY-TKxywq-U4euK1-U4evkQ-y6jPtK-SdWeab-SgA6UR-SVqVLw-TiZkWF-TiZnXz-TSVbVf-2mX42a7-2mXaCRH-2mZerko-dRfdRD-dSNoT2-dSNp3K-RRMPi9-TSVftN-U4euvy-c4sPAs-c4sRWh-dRkNg3-dRkNAh-dSNpyk-dSNpYK-dSTZWL-dSU1sb-dYAXRD-5WBSXg-5WBUwi-5WBVet-5WBWtn-5WG8Ay-5WG91m-5WGa7L-5WGaUW-5WGbkC-63Taok-63TaVX-63XnzU-63XpwW-68WwES-9i7pzn" title="Sandhill Crane"><img alt="Sandhill Crane" height="257" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51586400824_3ffc068a1c.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Something about birds seemed so wonderful and amazing that when my mother-in-law gave me a field guide and binoculars for Christmas when I was 23, I decided that unlike my usual haphazard way of doing things, I was going to be extremely diligent with bird watching. Before I ever took my new binoculars outside, I read that Peterson guide cover to cover, then read both the Golden Guide and Joseph Hickey’s <i><b>A Guide to Bird Watching</b></i>. Two and a half months later, the day I set out to be a bird watcher, the only species I saw was the chickadee, which remained alone on my life list for three days, when I saw Mallards on the Red Cedar River. Four days after that, I saw both starlings and House Sparrows. I’d seen cardinals throughout my childhood but didn’t count one on my life list until that March 17. I saw my first pigeons on the 19th, robins on the 20th, and Blue Jays on the 23rd. The only remaining bird I’d already seen but did not have on my life list was the Sandhill Crane. It took over two years, until April 30, 1977, for me to add that species, at Stevens Point in Wisconsin, after we’d left Michigan. It would be well over a decade before I finally saw cranes again in Michigan.</p><p>My daughter started a life list in 1988 when she was four, but she kept it up only until she reached 50 species—the benchmark at which I’d promised her I’d give her a brand new copy of the <b><i>National Geographic Society Field Guide to Birds of North America</i></b>. My older son Joe was never the least bit interested in keeping a life list, and Tom wasn’t until, when he was six, I dragged Russ and the kids to Grand Marais to see an extremely rare Fork-tailed Flycatcher on May 6, 1992. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/6909986705/in/photolist-5TrwD4-2nMcaC5-2nMcbXp-2nMgZms-2nMi6AB-2nMi7Lh-2nMi7Nw-2nMi7Rc-2nMi9bX-2nMiaMT-bwBuiP" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Fork-tailed Flycatcher"><img alt="Fork-tailed Flycatcher" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7192/6909986705_07b0cb1b7d.jpg" width="385" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I photographed this Fork-tailed Flycatcher in Mexico in 2006, but it looks like the one we saw in Grand Marais in 1992.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>When we got to where the flycatcher had most recently been seen, two Canadian birders were already searching. When we found it, their triumphant exuberance, along with the fact that the bird really was spectacular, inspired Tom to start a life list, too. But unlike his mother, Tom didn’t start with this amazing rarity as his Number One bird and go from there. I’d dragged him to a local wetland that very morning after we saw some birds at the feeder, so he started his life list with those, putting the flycatcher at around #25. It had taken me over 2 months to get my own life list that long.</p><p>But that’s the point. There is no right, or wrong, way to keep a life list. Now most birders, including me, put their sightings into Cornell’s <a href="https://ebird.org/home">eBird</a> app and let the software keep track, providing invaluable data for ornithologists and other scientists as well as personal pleasure for the individual birder. But even using eBird isn’t a requirement to be a bird watcher. As long as you enjoy watching birds, as my birding friend Erik Bruhnke says, it’s all good. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51137204472/in/photolist-6rvYkF-2hMS1Fk-2krg1bC-2kUPxib-2mHbwSx-2mHcGZw-2ndRRSr-2npvFNS-2npDFLE-2nFGpeb-2nNvk9B-2o4pW68-2oiRZDC-2oj5rYQ-2mx9Sjj-2ncd3iL-2ndRRTJ-2nkcstD-2npCpjY-2nKcYp4-eVS7N6" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Grandma showing Walter a chickadee"><img alt="Grandma showing Walter a chickadee" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51137204472_d5918aba8a.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Will Walter keep a life list? Only time will tell.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-78495508401618985782023-03-09T07:40:00.002-06:002023-03-09T07:40:36.672-06:00Spring Update<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52601667055/in/photolist-2o9ei14-2oi5hvn-2oi7Xnv-2oi7XAw-2oi9g2u-2oib7po-2oidLYH-2oidN6x-2oif5CG-2oiggnK-2n24UC5-2n28ntS-2n2dnC8-2n2dVPT-2n2efza-2n2ek6E-2n2et3m-2n2eZvX-2n2fzFf-2n2fNHs-2n2gHXQ-2n2hfvD-2n3ghb4-2n3gj5n-2n3gpb8-2n3hJz2-2n3hU5z-2n3jkQr-2n4nEVR-2n4sy8G-2n4sZzR-2n4t4Js-2n4E4bV-2n4FPCS-2n4Hq7R-2mbsubB-2mbsZP4-2mbvJch-2mbvNm9-2mbwUcG-2mbxfWn-2mv3rni-2mv7zP4-2mv8SCe-2mvaW6v-2mvb22c-2mvbdre-2mvbgDm-2mvcbFH-2mvcdjC" title="Black-capped Chickadee"><img alt="Black-capped Chickadee" height="351" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52601667055_45e023b910.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>There may be a couple of feet of snow on the ground and more in the forecast, but ornithological spring has sprung. As of March 1, the birds we’ve been seeing are considered spring rather than winter birds, even though the species mix in my own yard is exactly what it’s been through January and February. </p><p>The species may be the same, but their behaviors aren’t. When I hear crows yelling in winter, or see several at the same time, it usually means there’s an owl in the neighborhood. But now crows are getting into courtship and nesting mode, family groups and neighbors of mated pairs all making comments, suggestions, and complaints. These most human of all birds know that it takes a village to raise healthy young. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/50521704647/in/photolist-2jYqWDe-2k7kiUj-2kbPK5i-2kbQcDG-2kdkr4p-2kdpEK8-2kpJSiy-2kpKqDg-2kpKrs5-2mv9fPi-2mwjGaW-2mwoo4f-2mwpqS5-2mwptaM-2n6yb5L-2nuHVqo-2nxdJGJ-2nxeoDR-2nxeoKT-2nxiVA3-2nxiVMk-2nxiW5Y-2nxmnit-TC11N7-279eSkN-28eDvdi-28eDXqE-2fLgTMD-2ht2hZU-2iERdTW-2iERf9G-2iFNfcC-2j61jsp-2j62Rm7-2jj3bc9-2jj4jSo-2jj4k5s-2jj4ki3-2jj5wEL-2jj5wQF-2jj5x4G-2jkeVUo-2jkhUML-2jzmj5E-2jQ8RaB-2jQzSeU-2jYmji7-2jYqW9M-nrPFJz-nGgqxL" title="American Crow"><img alt="American Crow" height="336" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50521704647_f65fd78698.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>I heard a couple of chickadees singing their <i>Hey, sweetie!</i> song back in December, during the Christmas Bird Count. Every year, chickadees sing a lot during January and February, but this year I didn’t hear many up until March 3. Now I’m hearing those clear, whistled songs every morning. My male White-breasted Nuthatch is also doing what passes for song in that species. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51779640731/in/photolist-2mHcGmT-2mHf22L-2mJMXjc-2mJRpXp-2mKBjR4-2mM7Tms-2mMcqjf-2mTwg1o-2mTAcdp-2mTBKSH-2n2HmGZ-2n2HqiX-2n3g7Bu-2n4zarS-2n4zeR3-2n4HrCS-2n4HFCA-2n4YJrh-2obFekA-2obFexK-2obGurP-2obGuBd-2obHsJu-2obHsP4-2obHGaR/" title="White-breasted Nuthatch"><img alt="White-breasted Nuthatch" height="356" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51779640731_1585c94095.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Most years I don’t have Mourning Doves in the winter, but this year I saw one or two, not every day but fairly regularly. I thought I had a pair, with just one showing up sometimes. Then, on March 2, I had three at once. I’m wondering if all three were in the neighborhood all winter long, but there is no way of knowing. At this very moment as I write this, on March 9 at 6:13 am, exactly 20 minutes before sunrise, I can pick out all three rising out of the dusky shadows in my platform feeder. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52693737907/in/photolist-2ohnbsx-2jDKVSW-2jEK7qg-2jEPsme-2jEPswV-S27tFa-TDmYfo-Ufes6q-UP7x99-UP7xEj-Vtnxi9-Y5ZsoQ-Y9Ap4z-Y9ApQK-Z7YGPy-Z7YHnh-Z7YJTd-ZaJwj4-ZaJwCF-25arXeF-2eoDE84-2eoDFDk-2ezTUeL-2fH1qcs-2fH1qPj-2fH1qZQ-2jDFCrN-PAjwbk-2eoDEPK-2gbjUuH-uBVbEc-JGTrzb-JJbpKS-JJgCGT-JK7tix-KBSjEC-KEJU8X-2cws5Dv-2mZ5Gmk-2n5WCCL-2na19L1-ajwnYR-ajwoLD-ajzcMd-dSNrSM-dSNsuH-dSU3QQ-nt6SUB-nvahnx-ukk2M1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Mourning Doves"><img alt="Mourning Doves" height="327" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52693737907_51928fd44d.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many days I saw two doves together, like these on January 10.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Meanwhile, Kelli Alseth of Proctor saw one individual dove, who came to the exact same areas of Kelli’s yard to feed and roost, every single morning and afternoon from early January all the way up to March 1, when the sweet little bird didn’t show up for breakfast. It did come by that afternoon and again in the morning on March 2, but that was the last Kelli saw it. She wrote that they miss her “in our hearts. Her daily visits sure made January and February much more bearable.” </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52601755318/in/photolist-2o9eKeQ-2ogz5mB-2ogzprL-2ogzpL3-2ogzvJa-2ogzvKT-2ogDahn-2ogDan2-2ogDAJu-2ogEH1u-2ogEH52-2o9c6eP-2o9drag-2o9drcW-2o9egmH-2kYjR52-2kYok5Z-2kYsnNj-2kYtUav-2kYtUei-2kZjXqM-2mRJn9r-2mTFE39-2o99yc3-2o99zMH-2o9c5Vx-2o9c7oC-2o9c7qB-2o9c7zj-2o9c7E9-2o9eL7M-2o9eLj5-2kYtUmH-2o9c5Yy-2o9dr4j-2o9drKz-2o9eg8g-2o9egc9-2o9egi1-2o9ehNF-2kVD4Kt-2kVJK7t-2kWx5D5-2kXAwYA-2kXAxkT-2kXBHCS-2kXBJky-2kXEyBW-2kXG7mg-2kYcAce" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Evening Grosbeak"><img alt="Evening Grosbeak" height="315" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52601755318_70e88627eb.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In winter, Evening Grosbeaks have drab yellowish-cream bills.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51177765308/in/photolist-2kYpqBW-2kYsn6n-2kYsnmH-2kVD4Qo-2kVDHfP-2kVEdcP-2kVEdx3-2kVEdKc-2kVH6sB-2kVJLeJ-2kW53zc-2kW53C3-2kW6euZ-2kW94pU-2kW94ui-2kW94yB-2kW94Qd-2kW957F-2kWaGeE-2kWaGuK-2kWNfBX-2kWSD5m-2kXx5sS-2kXx5xB-2kXx8j3-2kXx8tG-2kXAxy3-2kXAxFN-2kXAyGv-2kXBG18-2kXBJ3z-2kXEwMy-2kXEywa-2kXG5ME-2kXG8kW-2kY8VD4-2kpboLt-2kpbuni-2kpc57d-2kUUsQC-2kUUY2D-2kUW9Lz-2kUZ1am-2kV183t-2kV1asP-2kV2Mgz-2kVb9Su-2kp7yNN-2kp7zuC-2kp7A7K" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Evening Grosbeak"><img alt="Evening Grosbeak" height="335" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51177765308_5b78259729.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As Evening Grosbeaks get into breeding mode right now, their bills are turning green.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I haven’t had a single Evening Grosbeak in my yard this entire winter, but many people here and there were seeing them in good numbers all season. A flock of about 50 showed up at Julie Miedtke’s place in Grand Rapids in mid-December, appearing every morning a bit after sunrise, and more would be there during this winter’s many snow events. Julie said she was going through 60 pounds of seed every week! But on March 7, she wrote that “Something has changed, a sign of spring, and now we just have a few coming by.” I’ve got my own fingers crossed that as flocks disperse, a few of these beloved birds will make at least a brief stop on Peabody Street. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52023339832/in/photolist-2ng8dt3-2ng93Pm-2ngMYk5-2nLhFSg-2nLiesr-2nMTqKf-2nNDXok-2nNKWpk-2nQ9WYN-2nQanPK-2nQb7r1-2nQbsjN-2nQbHVZ-2mLcMVN-2mLFZCX-2mTtiRC-2n1K4iN-2nKPa7T-2nNJK1D-2kKjmwD-2mrZi62-2ms8JAm-2msBWBo-2muCotW-2muCshc-2muD5Yo-2muHywn-2muL2Ct-2muL3hV-2muM3iL-2muMc27-2muMVHz-2muMYsn-2muYmxR-2muZvnj-2mwCCam-2mJuzmJ-2mK3RiF-2mKtR7d-2mKy2PM-2kpKzum-2kFS8nD-2kKf5kp-2kKf8eq-2kKf8zL-2kKiMT1-2kKiQzt-2kKiQHE-2kKjkDr-2kKjkPb" title="Pileated Woodpecker"><img alt="Pileated Woodpecker" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52023339832_40c79cf83f.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>My woodpeckers are behaving in a very spring-like way. Pileateds are not coming every day now. My banded boy BB has been visiting only once or twice a week, and when he does show up, a female seems to be with him every time—otherwise I’m not seeing them at all. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/42055984451/in/photolist-275kUYc-28fsmiF-2jtBBZP-2jtBC7C-2jtBCe6-2jtBCwF-2kgB2DM-2nzYfjz-oQ93rC-pJU9ML-pLKQ4T-pLKSVz-ykEqNr-HrYp6F-HRw8m4-HRw9fZ-HU7N2v-HXMso3-JBvAw3-JEExVu-KaYMKc-2ny7J8e-oQ94fm-oQ96oQ-puyeye-Fr8axW-Fr8baY-GfD3xt-GfJuQZ-Gjhuj1-GCvsy1-GCBnF2-GCBqTp-GCBx1e-GCBAPg-H8N3pN-H8N7Km-HjvAub-HjvPxA-HjFoxp-HjFpje-HjFuSZ-Hk98Jc-Hk9aBF-HpzQ4L-HpzS61-HpzXXS-HpAeh9-HpAgVq-HpEqCC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Red-bellied Woodpecker"><img alt="Red-bellied Woodpecker" height="357" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/830/42055984451_674b5fbbe6.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Female Red-bellied Woodpeckers have a red nape but grayish on the crown.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>For several weeks, both a male and a female Red-bellied Woodpecker have been visiting, and they seem to hang out near each other—when I see one, I can usually pick out the other as well. Two female Downy Woodpeckers seem to be in hot competition, bickering and displaying on and off every day. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52735563312/in/dateposted-public/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Two female Downies bickering--the one on the lower right stayed "hidden" like this for at least 20 minutes."><img alt="Two female Downies bickering--the one on the lower right stayed "hidden" like this for at least 20 minutes." height="388" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52735563312_fecb8ca3a5.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Downy on the upper left seems to have the upper hand. The one on the lower right stayed hiding behind that narrow branch for at least 20 minutes!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I’m seeing small groups of ducks and gulls flying about whenever I'm driving anywhere near Lake Superior, and people are reporting new arrivals just about every day, including Trumpeter Swans and Peregrine Falcons. It may not look like it yet, but spring has sprung.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/25694786387/in/photolist-F9yuNp-223E6mG-223E8Xo-23rwq8p-23rwtKe-23HQ3ew-23HQ5sQ-23HQ7c1-23HQ8C7-24NBvMT-24NByip-2m6uxsA-2m6v6va-2m6vrqq-2m6vzp6-2m6xTDj-2m6ydQf-2m6yhGo-2m6ymDS-2m6zU4p-2m6zUaB-2m8Yw1p-2m8ZmW7-2m94Hfs-2m94Hhr-F9ysGR-F9yt16-SQp6Ks-SQp8ab-SQp9VL-SQphLq-STcqBa-STctRg-TSVguW-TSVhko-TSVAKE-TSVCLy-U4eu5d-U7Q3ZV-U7Q4Gg-U7Q66Z-85y4xb-85y4Jb-85y5rC-85y5DA-85y6yh-9PJvcX-9PJvsF-9PMpfb-223EcEy" title="Trumpeter Swan"><img alt="Trumpeter Swan" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4782/25694786387_8f5aca1409.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-12089500956097825562023-02-23T07:56:00.025-06:002023-02-23T13:58:28.805-06:00Together and Apart<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/32338138347/in/photolist-D57tqy-DLtVd2-DQMLfa-DZ3aKK-EzDquM-5Sw62X-5Sw6ac-5SApJA-RgBpTr-2b8eTv3-2dTQsdv-8FSkX3-8JvzsF-8JvAuH-8JyEHs-99gBeE-ausVJG-eWcvcf-eWcvuJ-f244F9-5Sw3SV-5Sw5jP-5Sw5Cn-5SAnZd-5SAoHQ-5Sw2Mt-9kFqBg-5Sw1dR-5Sw1vc-5Sw2ri-5Sw3pK-5Sw3z8-5SAkew-5SAkB9" title="Our Birth Announcement Drawing: Baby and Wood Stork"><img alt="Our Birth Announcement Drawing: Baby and Wood Stork" height="350" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7821/32338138347_72b9d9d587.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>One of my favorite poems is Robert Frost’s <b><i><a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44275/the-tuft-of-flowers">The Tuft of Flowers</a></i></b>, especially the lines: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>‘Men work together,’ I told him from the heart. <br />‘Whether they work together or apart.’ </p></blockquote><p>We all love stories about families who enjoy doing the same things together, but really, how often are all the members of any family of five, or even just four or three, equally contented doing the exact same thing? That’s why many of my birding friends put aside birding during the years their children were little.</p><p>I was too addicted. Most of the time that was fine—even though I always had my binoculars around my neck when I took my kids for a walk, I was usually good at diverting my eyes from birds to whatever dandelion or spider or dragonfly or colorful rock or shovel truck they wanted me to look at. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/25322303101/in/photolist-D57tqy-DLtVd2-DQMLfa-DZ3aKK-EzDquM-5Sw62X-5Sw6ac-5SApJA-RgBpTr-2b8eTv3-2dTQsdv-8FSkX3-8JvzsF-8JvAuH-8JyEHs-99gBeE-ausVJG-eWcvcf-eWcvuJ-f244F9-5Sw3SV-5Sw5jP-5Sw5Cn-5SAnZd-5SAoHQ-5Sw2Mt-9kFqBg-5Sw1dR-5Sw1vc-5Sw2ri-5Sw3pK-5Sw3z8-5SAkew-5SAkB9" title="Katie, Laura, and Joey at Hawk Ridge"><img alt="Katie, Laura, and Joey at Hawk Ridge" height="346" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1495/25322303101_0927352437.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>In 1988, when they were 3, almost 5, and 7, we took a three-week family road trip to Washington, D.C., where Russ had a meeting, and then to Florida, where we stayed in the campground at Fort Wilderness at Disney World for a few nights and then Everglades National Park for a more genuine camping experience. I was mostly on my own with the kids in DC while Russ was focused on work, but every day we all told him about our adventures. </p><p>At the Natural History Museum, I tried to be as patient looking at the dinosaurs as the kids were looking at the bird displays. And we spent a lot of time, both coming and going, right outside the museum entrance in the Washington Mall, where the kids could play with <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncle_Beazley">Uncle Beazley</a></b>, a fiberglass statue of the Triceratops in Oliver Butterworth's children’s book <i><b>The Enormous Egg</b></i>. (At that time, children were allowed to climb all over Uncle Beazley, but in 1994, the statue was moved to the National Zoo, and children are no longer allowed to climb on it.)</p><p>Our visit to the National Zoo was fun for all of us even if our eyes weren’t always focused on the same things. The kids were thrilled with the animals in the enclosures as I paid more attention to wild mockingbirds and Black-crowned Night-Herons living on the zoo grounds. </p><p>From DC, we stopped overnight at Titusville. I got up early in the morning to bird along the wildlife drive at Merritt Island while Russ and the kids slept in—I got several lifers before breakfast! (Sadly, that motel is where we forgot our copy of <i>The Enormous Egg, </i>but fortunately, it's also where we'd finished reading it.) Then we headed to the Kennedy Space Center. I spent a bit of time birding near the parking lot but didn’t see anything I hadn’t seen in the morning, so I checked out the museum too. We all got to touch a moon rock, which was most assuredly worth taking some time out from birding to do. </p><p>We had a picnic lunch at Cocoa Beach, and then Russ and the kids waded, skipped rocks, and built sand structures while I stayed rooted at my spotting scope reveling in my lifer Northern Gannets. My attention was divided enough to be aware of all the giggles coming from them, keeping a smile on my face even as they exulted in my pleasure in seeing my long longed-for gannets.</p><p>Then we went to Orlando. As usual, I got up before Russ and the kids each morning to walk around the pseudo-wild grounds of Fort Wilderness. Feral Muscovy Ducks were everywhere, but there were also lots of White Ibises, mockingbirds, Carolina Wrens, cardinals, and Palm and Yellow-rumped Warblers. At the theme park, Russ and I had to split up for many of the rides—Tommy rode on Dumbo three times, though it seemed to have the longest lines of all, and Joey was the only one who reached the minimum height for Space Mountain. I of course had my binoculars on, and couldn't help but notice the many vultures circling optimistically above that long, long line to Dumbo, but I mostly focused on the kids. </p><p>On the drive down to the Everglades, we took a detour on the Tamiami Trail for me to look for my lifer Snail Kite and Limpkin from a restaurant parking lot while the kids and Russ ate lunch. Waiting for me to spot one was boring for them and not all that fun for me—I didn’t see a Limpkin at all and my Snail Kite was just barely within the distance of conjecture. Oddly, or maybe not so oddly, the kids seemed more sad about me missing a lifer than distressed about their own boredom even as I felt more sympathetic about their boredom than disappointed about the Limpkin. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/5344599890/in/photolist-28DYXg9-28E9qZr-28E9Fzt-28E9W2p-28Eg61z-28EgbNr-28EggGV-28EghGa-28EgrRT-28J8HZr-28Jc3TH-28JnE9n-28Jpn2H-K1mwyi-K1mCQg-K1mMsX-Lb5G1j-Lwi6uj-25U5gY7-25U5t1h-25UcZos-25Ud4Jw-27dw57Y-27hc5tV-27hjAhi-27hjJDD-27hjVkP-27yMURw-28zFBpU-28zFEsN-28E9JY2-K5agzi-K5b95X-LAjE6q-LAm4bG-27meb3n-27mf2B2-27CAqbo-27CE1aE-28DHKpd-28DJ287-28J8s4i-99htkY-G7AX-K5cx3D-K5ec6v-LAnFou-25Y9i6W-28J82o6-28J88Px" title="Tommy in the Everglades"><img alt="Tommy in the Everglades" height="342" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5283/5344599890_a10cc4d137.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>The Everglades were wonderful for everyone, especially the Anhinga Trail, where alligators and ginormous, colorful grasshoppers and orb-weaving spiders competed with the large, colorful wading birds for everyone’s attention. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/40830153973/in/photolist-25d2dgX-25d5238-25emxNi-25emyiB-25emzUn-25emAxX-25emBVB-25emCCD-2eqBdAK-2eqCQkZ-2erYHZM-2eC7NM5-2fKTrF5-2fLgTMD-2fPBa7k-2fPBcdp-2fQtHs2-2fQtVWR-S476SD-S478kt-S4YJqD-S4Z7Ur-S5tqbV-TGe7FQ-TGepZY-TGesqu-TGesBb-TGesMw-TGetib-TGetzy-25dTYhH-25dTZrr-2ervwZz-2eCJPmu-2eCJQn7-2eCKbcC-2eCKcQs-2fKT3Kf-2fKTkPA-2fKTmuU-2fLmhas-2fPB8WK-2fQtArt-RZB4M2-RZB62r-RZB6Rx-RZB7Ai-RZB8cD-RZB9rH-RZBauK" title="Eastern Lubber Grasshopper"><img alt="Eastern Lubber Grasshopper" height="336" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/40830153973_dab4612c7b.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Katie was badly allergic to mosquito bites, so while I hiked the Snake Bight Trail, Russ took the kids down to Flamingo. They had fun adventures, and were thrilled to hear about my own slightly scary encounter with a huge alligator blocking the path and my wonderful lifer—a Mangrove Cuckoo I’d never have even noticed except for some excitable Blue-gray Gnatcatchers swearing at it. </p><p>By our last day, I’d still not seen a Limpkin. They are often active and vocal after dark, so we went back to the Anhinga Trail after our last dinner in our tent. Mosquitoes were thick so Russ stayed in the car with the kids listening to Raffi songs while I walked to the boardwalk and quick success. Russ and the kids seemed almost as thrilled about the lifer as I was, perhaps especially because I was so expeditious in seeing it. </p><p>When we got home, the very first thing the kids told their grandparents about—the highlight of the entire trip to Washington, Disney World, and the Everglades for them—was the women’s bathroom in the Everglades campground. Throughout each day, colorful tree frogs gathered in the sink drains and toilets, and one large toad spent each day hunkered down in the corner nearest the door. We’d of course shepherd the frogs out of the toilet before using it, and were very careful to run the water in the sink slowly to not disturb the frogs in the drain. We wrote a song about them with many verses, but I can only remember one:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">There's a tree frog in the toilet, in the toilet. <br />There's a tree frog in the toilet, in the toilet. <br />Please don't flush or you could spoil it <br />For the tree frog in the toilet.<br />There's a tree frog in the toilet, in the toilet. </p></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;"> I still wish the park had posted an identification poster—there were several species there—but one of the naturalists told me that for most visitors, those frogs were not a feature but a bug. </p><p>In 1990, we went to the Black Hills and Badlands of South Dakota. The kids were especially looking forward to visiting Rapid City’s Dinosaur Park and Storybook Island. I managed to stay engaged with paleontology at the one, but as we were piling out of the car in the parking lot for Storybook Island, I heard a Black-throated Grosbeak—a lifer! I figured I’d catch up in just a few minutes, but there were so many birds along a stream running alongside the parking area that I ended up not getting into the park until they were almost ready to leave. The funny thing is, I had a wonderful time listening to their stories about what they saw, and they thoroughly enjoyed hearing about the cool birds I saw, especially my lifer. </p><p>The next year, I took a Minnesota Ornithologists’ Union birding trip to Texas without my family—I badly wanted to get my life list up to 500 before I turned 40. I got 20 lifers, but the biggest thrill of all was when I came down the jetway after the flight home. There were Russ and the kids holding up a big banner they’d made, saying “Welcome Home, Mommy” with a huge, colorful "517!"—my new life list total. </p><p>In 1993, we took another road trip to visit some of Russ's family in New York City and Long Island. We told everyone to pick one or two places they most wanted to visit en route or in New England. Joey, who had just memorized Longfellow's incredibly long "<i><b><a href="https://poets.org/poem/paul-reveres-ride">Paul Revere's Ride</a>,</b></i>" wanted to visit some of the places mentioned in the poem. Katie wanted to see Niagara Falls. Tommy wanted to go to the top of what he called the Stachuke of Liberty. I wanted to visit three places—Grayling, Michigan, to go on a Kirtland's Warbler tour; Walden Pond; and Machias Seal Island to see my lifer Atlantic Puffins. Russ wanted to visit a close friend in Concord. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/5773949813/in/photolist-2md2fkf-eGshx2-eGsinp-eGymWE-eGynDy-eGyofQ-eGyoR5-eGypxY-eHzcT3-eHzfFy-eMi7Dq-eV6N4z-eVWPor-2mcP3gg-2mcSMGT-2mcSMLR-2mcSXW5-2mcTQEM-2mcTSEZ-2mcU2Fe-2mcWwhz-2mcXUYA-9Ne17R-9NgKkC-9NgMjb-bWXX2W-bYtPV9-eGsdxa-eVjjoE-9NdYDv-9PJuBk-eGs9KZ-eGsapD-eGsbTk-eGygu9-eGygZ9-eGyhVu-eGykmf-9NdMse-9NdMXn-9NdPqX-9NgvoW-9NgyDb-9NSTeN-9NSU61-9NdLQ2-9NguAd-9Ngya1-9NQ3PR-9NSRSU" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Kirtland's Warbler"><img alt="Kirtland's Warbler" height="387" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3591/5773949813_595a7575b6.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What I promised</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Somehow, everyone's choices were fun for everyone except my Kirtland's Warbler tour. I'd overhyped the "Bird of Fire" and how easy it would be to see it, based on the trip there Russ and I had made in early June 1976. Now, at the very end of a different June, it was hot and muggy, and most males were too busy feeding young to sing much. None of us, including our guide, saw any until near the very end of the two-hour hike, when I saw a male singing at treetop height not too far away. Unfortunately, at that very moment he finished singing and flew off. The kids got a quick, unsatisfying glimpse of him darting away, and poor Russ didn't see him at all. And for all that, the bird wasn't even a lifer for me. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/5781340924/in/photolist-2md2fkf-eGshx2-eGsinp-eGymWE-eGynDy-eGyofQ-eGyoR5-eGypxY-eHzcT3-eHzfFy-eMi7Dq-eV6N4z-eVWPor-2mcP3gg-2mcSMGT-2mcSMLR-2mcSXW5-2mcTQEM-2mcTSEZ-2mcU2Fe-2mcWwhz-2mcXUYA-9Ne17R-9NgKkC-9NgMjb-bWXX2W-bYtPV9-eGsdxa-eVjjoE-9NdYDv-9PJuBk-eGs9KZ-eGsapD-eGsbTk-eGygu9-eGygZ9-eGyhVu-eGykmf-9NdMse-9NdMXn-9NdPqX-9NgvoW-9NgyDb-9NSTeN-9NSU61-9NdLQ2-9NguAd-9Ngya1-9NQ3PR-9NSRSU" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Kirtland's Warbler habitat"><img alt="Kirtland's Warbler habitat" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3414/5781340924_7dcf56d70e.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What everyone saw</td></tr></tbody></table><p>After that, the kids kind of rolled their eyes when I waxed euphoric about puffins. But in Maine, the actual event far, far exceeded even my own expectations. Family time in the observation blind at Machias Seal Island turned out to be one of the biggest highlights of the trip for everyone, the puffins just a few feet away, some even padding on the plywood roof. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/9145971994/in/photolist-5Sw62X-eWcuQj" title="Piggy and Tommy looking out the blind at the puffins and razorbills on Machias Seal Island"><img alt="Piggy and Tommy looking out the blind at the puffins and razorbills on Machias Seal Island" height="320" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/2853/9145971994_b14b4425bc.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51338603689/in/photolist-2mdBLgt-2mdBLkM-2mdDa6q-2mdDaiQ-2mdDaAU-2mf6uMY-2mfag19-2mfbRpU-2mfc6dq-2mfc6iq-eUy4jZ-eUKqQ7-eUKs91-eUKsNw-eVpnfK-eVpoDg-eVAGio-2mdy1ZS-2mdz8gE-2mdz8oo-2mdz8vY-2mdBKNp-2mdBL8n-2mdBLju-2mf2FNE-2mf2Hg4-2mf36uN-2mf6sjm-2mf6v4u-2mf87uQ-2mfbRu8-eVpm8H-eVqnq4-eVAJHS-eVAQfG-eVB5fG-eVB6kU-eVBGK9-eVBJNU-eVBP65-eVBQno-2mdkeYj-2mdkiSM-2mdkiUF-2mdkje3-2mdkk1U-2mdkmAH-2mdkp1H-2mdkp4U-2mdoBK3" title="Atlantic Puffin"><img alt="Atlantic Puffin" height="327" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51338603689_2a12c09975.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51356164144/in/photolist-2mfaLnW-2mfaNNs-2mfaQiS-eVBRkW-GTBips-HPsLPc-2mf71xQ-2mf8qd5-2mfaYQX-2mfb112-2mfcdxR-eUUSxC-eVB7pW-f1NPv8-f244wE-f2DPhF-f2U4nm-2a3fWpf-2mduhz3-2mdy1Gx-2mdy2eu-2mdz8dJ-2mdBKKU-2mdBKYj-2mdBLbi-2mdBLej-2mdBLgt-2mdBLkM-2mdDa6q-2mdDaiQ-2mdDaAU-2mf6uMY-2mfag19-2mfbRpU-2mfc6dq-2mfc6iq-eUy4jZ-eUKqQ7-eUKs91-eUKsNw-eVpnfK-eVpoDg-eVAGio-2mdy1ZS-2mdz8gE-2mdz8oo-2mdz8vY-2mdBKNp-2mdBL8n-2mdBLju" title="Atlantic Puffin and Razorbill"><img alt="Atlantic Puffin and Razorbill" height="339" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51356164144_c1d0b547e0.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>In 1995, we traveled to Yellowstone National Park. Russ and the kids did a lot of serious hiking while I moseyed about looking for birds. On two loop trails, they lapped me, on one going around three times before I made it around once. We spent a lot of time waiting for Old Faithful to erupt, but it was fun for all because adorable little marmots—chunky rodents—swarmed about the boardwalk. Visitors were prohibited from feeding them, but the hopeful little guys came bizarrely close for petting, and one took a particular liking to Tommy. I spent my time watching Violet-green Swallows flying about. We visited Old Faithful twice because Russ wanted to make sure his camera settings were right for the geyser, and both times, a Mountain Bluebird alighted near the geyser a few minutes before it erupted and then, right before the water started gushing, it flew right toward us and hovered, an adorable little park guide making sure we were all looking in the right direction just before the gush. After the eruptions, it disappeared, apparently going on break until the next eruption. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/11597908915/in/photolist-ix1u2T-iESgJ6-iESjfP-iETjNZ-iETnTg-iEU46W-iEU5s3-iEWjd7-Q6mLEK-RHCR2f-RHD1PG-RHD3dU-RHD4SL-2csRenF-2csRnSM-2csRokF-2cKABkA-2dLYeLJ-2dRxuDi-2dRxGf4-2n5KJHj-2n5KJMT-2n5MkP2-2n5Mm2g-2n5Mm64-RHCXW7-2b5Znh7-2b5Zo5Q-2csRjNF-2csRkKF-2dLYjXA-2dRxAkD-2dRxB6r-amwDZu" title="Yellow-billed Magpie"><img alt="Yellow-billed Magpie" height="305" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5512/11597908915_292ed59d4b.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>In 1996 we took our longest road trip of all, to California. We did all kinds of fun things for everyone, from the San Diego Zoo all the way up to Alcatraz. My only hard-and-fast birding goal was to see a Yellow-billed Magpie. We'd planned to spend a couple of days near Santa Barbara, and one of my friends told me it would be impossible to miss these splendid birds at Nojoqui Falls County Park. Unfortunately, the falls, and the birds, are apparently seasonal. We hiked through the park three times but didn't see the waterfall, the magpies, or much of anything else. I did finally add that lifer when we were headed to San Francisco—the only lifer I've ever seen without binoculars while going close to 70 miles per hour. </p><p>In 2000, over winter break during Joey's senior year of high school, we took our biggest family trip of all, to Hawaii. There were so many wonderful adventures for all of us, but no matter what else they were doing, the kids were hellbent on finding a Hawaiian Goose for me—a most yearned-for lifer. Russ was the one who spotted it first, and they all felt triumphant. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48014585@N00/24480592454" title="Hawaiian Goose"><img alt="Hawaiian Goose" height="377" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1651/24480592454_5170f032fb.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </p><p style="text-align: left;">Even since that "final" family vacation, the five of us have gathered together in Florida a few times. Lake Kissimmee State Park was a favorite destination for everyone when Florida Scrub-Jays still greeted visitors at the entrance. This wonderfully friendly and charismatic bird is declining dangerously, but Florida developers have done their best to keep the species off the Endangered Species List.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/3119748124/in/photolist-9fSNW6-9fSPvV-9fSQ8T-9fSQKg-9fSRgx-9fSSbx-9fSTHT-9fVN6b-9fVQmj-9i7pzn-9i7pUZ-9jt9nQ-5KFwqL-6aaP5R-6aaQJe-6aaRQz-6aaSB4-6aaT3e-6aaUgD-6aaV8M-6aaYux-6aeWTW-6aeXph-6aeXR9-6aeYgQ-6aeZtS-6aeZSN-6af49G-6af5mU-6af7cy-6af8vW-6af8RS-9kx2Ap-9kA4fG-9kA4oG-9kA4JW-6aaLZ4-6aaPsx-6aaR5T-6aaSec-6aaTPt-6aaYXr-6aaZug-6ab3ja-6aeVUf-6af273-6af6h1-6af6JC-6af7AE-6af811" title="Florida Scrub-Jays and Joe"><img alt="Florida Scrub-Jays and Joe" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3102/3119748124_7a36b9f512.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>I’ve been thinking about all this because Katie and Michael invited Russ and me along on a family trip to the Gunflint Lodge this Presidents Day weekend. I spent hours watching and photographing the many birds at the nature center while the rest of them visited a playground and a wonderful sledding hill. Back at our cabin, I parked myself on a chair by a window where I could sneak peeks at the birds at the feeder even as I played with Walter. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52702893477/in/dateposted-public/" title="Pine Grosbeak"><img alt="Pine Grosbeak" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52702893477_2557a753c8.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>After the trip was over, when we asked him what his favorite part was, I naturally wanted him to say the birds—he really had been taken with the big, pink Pine Grosbeaks and the teeny tiny yellow American Goldfinches right outside our window. Katie, Michael, and Russ of course hoped he’d say the sledding, or at least the slide in the playground. But nope. The biggest highlight of all for Walter was watching some men fixing the engine on a snowmobile. </p><p>Families have fun together, I told them from the heart. Whether we play together or apart. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52702936352/in/dateposted-public/" title="Heading out for sledding and skiing!"><img alt="Heading out for sledding and skiing!" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52702936352_1edcb7da26.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-84396393097589078072023-02-17T08:10:00.004-06:002023-02-17T08:16:31.311-06:00Earning Trust in the Age of Climate Change<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/46062071685/in/photolist-2dbma8K-2dbmPhv-2dbqQsZ-2dbrhRF-2dbsQaa-2diYj2S-2dt5R71-2dt5RvC-2dt5Te7-2dt61u9-2dt61Xo-2dt6fXh-2dt9XBC-2dta7rb-2dtb8UE-2dtdD2d-2dtdDsy-2e9YnQY-2euyVGb-2euyZXq-2euD5bY-2ez6uMV-2ez6XwM-2ez7ihP-2ezaSzV-2ezaVDv-2ezb1Vx-2ezc2LZ-2ezem96-BQHC1A-DCfDZe-DCfGf6-DUVnRi-DWa898-DWa9iT-EQVh5K-EQVo9t-F9nZSu-F9o5cb-F9o8uJ-F9objS-FnVX3Z-GmZYEr-GnntHL-GwcZ8J-GzPeSK-GzPfv8-GzPuqH-HMHwVr-Jkqpn2" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Ruffed Grouse"><img alt="Ruffed Grouse" height="365" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7905/46062071685_5438fe7ea3.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruffed Grouse often bury themselves in deep snow for the night. Yeah, it's cold, but on frigid nights the temperature under thick snow is higher than the air temperature and there is zero wind down there. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>My son-in-law, still adjusting to life in northern Minnesota, plays on an outdoor curling team. His game has been cancelled three weeks in a row, two weeks ago because it was double-digits below zero, the following week because it was so warm the ice was melting, and this week because it was raining. At this very moment, as I write this, temperatures are back below zero but are expected to rise into the 20s today. </p><p>This weather is of course not “normal,” but when it comes right down to it, no winter is normal anywhere—there are always days, and sometimes entire seasons, that are significantly above or below the average for temperature and precipitation. I know one TV weather forecaster who was still insisting, last time I talked to him a few years ago, that climate change is a hoax, citing every recent cold weather event as “proof.” It must be getting harder and harder for him to make that case—in the century and a quarter from 1895-2021, the daily average minimum temperatures during winter (Dec-Feb) have increased 4.9 degrees in southern Minnesota, 6 degrees in central Minnesota, and an astonishing 7.3 degrees here in northern Minnesota. </p><p>That does not mean winters are growing milder. Even though we’ve not had enough cold for Lake Superior to freeze this year, the wild swings are extremely hard on wildlife and humans both. A January snowstorm took out several of my daughter’s trees, ice dams have been a huge problem for a lot of Duluth houses, and rock-hard ice on top of deep snow makes vole hunting difficult for owls, plunging under the snow for shelter hard for grouse, and walking hard for deer. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/50617608707/in/photolist-2jtYucs-2k7Utzv-2kism57-2kyq16M-2kFyGTf-2m6fCvA-2jC8g3k-2jCcurR-2jLTCAQ-2jLTCNd-2jLTD5q-2jLXdpy-2jX8uLi-2jXcYiJ-2kymoxv-2kymoXd-2kypZFd-2kyqCuK-2kFzf7U-2mBQ3Pn" title="Gray Squirrel"><img alt="Gray Squirrel" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50617608707_7a56712786.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Yesterday when a backyard squirrel, all plumped up with its tail snugly wrapped over its back, looked trustingly at Walter and me through my dining room window, I cranked the window open and Walter tossed it some peanuts. He was delighted that the squirrel instantly ran up and grabbed one to carry to a nearby branch where Walter could watch it eating. As soon as it finished the peanut, it ran back below the window and grabbed another. </p><p>Walter is 2 ½ now, and understands that squirrels, bunnies, and backyard birds all live outdoors. They can’t come in the house to warm up, but they don’t need to—their fur or feathers keep them warm as long as they have enough food. I love that he’s developing empathy, taking joy in making sure our squirrels have that food. Compassion begins with self and family, but then circles out to include friends and neighbors, including backyard wildlife. Cultivating empathy and compassion for these inner circles helps ensure that little by little it will flow further outward. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52693737907/in/dateposted-public/" title="Mourning Doves"><img alt="Mourning Doves" height="327" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52693737907_51928fd44d.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Walter and I also watched the two Mourning Doves who have been visiting my yard fairly regularly, especially on the coldest mornings. They are obviously counting on my feeder, but the fact that they don’t come every day is evidence that they have at least one other refuge somewhere near here. They’ll almost definitely get through the season in fine fettle, but I still get anxious on the coldest nights knowing how vulnerable their fleshy feet are to frostbite. I haven’t told Walter that—just reassured him that they have lots of bird seed in that feeder. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqcFE1KLT4VAI7ix5elmXXO9hG69eCE_fLSZaY8skZPJmq4QPj_DAt_JFLBf44kOLrA8wiyS8m7mGHgJjL1FLTVedH4DA2SfPaU4PjvRP9t_XzkgROR29hhmzW5sykMfVpk2P4PrfKQ6EY3Oh_KgP5cAUey-QtBcMoRq9R_0Vdz_g-_2We9Xvi0wY/s640/Kelli%20Alseth%20Dove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqcFE1KLT4VAI7ix5elmXXO9hG69eCE_fLSZaY8skZPJmq4QPj_DAt_JFLBf44kOLrA8wiyS8m7mGHgJjL1FLTVedH4DA2SfPaU4PjvRP9t_XzkgROR29hhmzW5sykMfVpk2P4PrfKQ6EY3Oh_KgP5cAUey-QtBcMoRq9R_0Vdz_g-_2We9Xvi0wY/s320/Kelli%20Alseth%20Dove.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kelli Alseth's dove</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Kelli Alseth, in Proctor, has been seeing one lone Mourning Dove every single day since early January, and every day she makes sure the bird has sunflower chips and white millet in safe, fairly secluded spots near her house. Kelli notes that the little dove has a few favorite places for eating and for roosting, including some in full sun and some sheltered from the wind. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhsvQ23RkBTdQEgy5UK_2jUi8i94wSp_OfK1DUslCnVWgF5CBm8SyORml6i_oEg5EiPqj3_BT-BbYwXBod9ppC12ma0RkPrFq_usPEJIiVBAlfbHwSJnNaAWBzwRPeQmRM61wKjejTcUDrAVQ7r9CeWlDRFWLCPgZvDGYFOARPHoLsecmSLl3b4l8/s640/Kelli%20Alseth%20Dove2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhsvQ23RkBTdQEgy5UK_2jUi8i94wSp_OfK1DUslCnVWgF5CBm8SyORml6i_oEg5EiPqj3_BT-BbYwXBod9ppC12ma0RkPrFq_usPEJIiVBAlfbHwSJnNaAWBzwRPeQmRM61wKjejTcUDrAVQ7r9CeWlDRFWLCPgZvDGYFOARPHoLsecmSLl3b4l8/w300-h400/Kelli%20Alseth%20Dove2.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kelli's dove knows where it'll be warmest depending on sunlight and wind. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>We know that Kelli’s dove relies on her yard because it shows up every single day at dawn and dusk—the two most critical times for wintering birds to fill up on food. Her conscientiousness toward that one little soul tells me a lot about what kind of trustworthy and compassionate human being she is—the kind I so want my little Walter to become. </p><p>Meanwhile, Russ and I are doing everything we can to make Walter’s future as safe as possible even as climate change continues apace. Last fall we bought a heat pump, and we’re going to be installing solar panels as soon as the snow is gone this year. Being in our 70s, we won’t recoup the financial investment in our lifetime, but profits and dividends aren't always measured in dollars, and by any measure, burning less carbon is a Good Thing. No individual can make much of a difference in a global problem that is so big and so deep and so tall, but doing what we can makes me feel at least a little worthy of my grandchild’s love and trust. </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52682278912/in/dateposted-public/" title="VIP at my book signing"><img alt="VIP at my book signing" height="361" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52682278912_5088d14dab.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-31683686766894274092023-02-15T09:47:00.011-06:002023-02-15T13:39:35.935-06:00Birding Basics: Binoculars<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/6150621808/in/photolist-nXJWU1-5Qp223-QLYnbi-2a5cJzx-anvxzA-btnJjE-cDJZ6q-dG6YpX-nFmyny-nXJVgb-wDVhTf-wGjsbe-xyBHEu-xAWn2z-DYRL5W-anvxFh-cDJZBs" title="Laura's new binoculars!"><img alt="Laura's new binoculars!" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6191/6150621808_95c9b16525.jpg" width="372" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> </p><p>Binoculars are essential equipment for birding, but a lot of people get frustrated trying to get birds in their binocular view before the birds fly. When I went out on my first birding jaunt, on March 2, 1975, I was using brand-new Bushnell 7x50 binoculars. They weren’t expensive even for back then, but with their huge field of view and extreme brightness, I never, even from the start, had trouble finding birds in them. </p><p>Those binoculars were a gift, and although they were extremely heavy, they were my passport to the whole new world of birds. A year later when I took my second ornithology class, I was asked to assist as a leader on some field trips, entitling me to use the university’s top-of-the-line Leitz 10x40 binoculars. They magnified birds 10 times rather than 7, and were smaller and lighter, the objective lens 40 mm instead of 50 mm. They were a noticeable improvement because of their superior manufacturing, but I had no trouble handing them back after each outing, happy to return to my own beloved pair. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/9133542783/in/photolist-eGsinp-eGymWE-eGynDy-eGyofQ-eGyoR5-eGypxY-eHzcT3-eHzfFy-eMi7Dq-eV6N4z-eVWPor-2mcWxix-2mcWFeC-2mcSMGT-2mcSMLR-2mcTQEM-2mcXUYA-9NdYDv-9Ne17R-9NgMjb-9PJuBk-bWXX2W-eGs9KZ-eGsbTk-eGygu9-eGygZ9-eVjjoE-2mcP3gg-2mcSXW5-2mcTSEZ-2mcU2Fe-2mcWwhz-9NgKkC-bYtPV9-eGsapD-eGsdxa-eGyhVu-eGykmf-9NdMse-9NdMXn-9NdPqX-9NguAd-9Ngya1-9NgyDb-9NQ3PR-9NSRSU-9NSTeN-9NSU61-9NdLQ2-9NgvoW" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Me looking at my lifer Kirtland's Warbler"><img alt="Me looking at my lifer Kirtland's Warbler" height="344" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7439/9133542783_15c110bddf.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking at my first Kirtland's Warbler through my trusty Bushnell 7x50s.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Tragically, a few years later the cheap plastic neck strap snapped and my binoculars hit a rock, knocking them out of alignment. At this point I was ready for something lighter, but I made the mistake of going too far, getting Minolta 8x25 pocket binoculars. No one told me that the tiny objective lenses of pocket binoculars don’t let in enough light in early morning and late afternoon or in forested habitat, and are especially worthless for twilight or night birding, nor that the combination of higher power and narrower field of view would make it harder to find birds, though I used them so often that I quickly adapted to that. I do wish I’d known the longstanding rule that the diameter of the objective lens in mm should be at least 5 times the magnification power—that is, 7x35, 8x40, or 10x50. </p><p>Optics have improved enormously since the 1970s, but that 5-times rule still is very important for inexpensive binoculars that lack the sophisticated coatings of pricier models. Even in top-of-the-line models, the second number should never be less than 4-times the first. </p><p>For beginners, I strongly suggest a magnification of 7x or 8x. For any given model, that provides a much brighter view, less binocular-shake, lower weight, and a bigger field of view than 10x. It’s very important to use our binoculars a lot, pulling them up while keeping our eyes directed toward the bird. Practicing on stationary objects at first helps us discern whether the view through our specific pair of binoculars will land directly on, slightly above, or slightly below where our eyes were looking—this practice pays off when a good bird flies seconds after we spot it with our eyes. If you wear glasses, make sure the binocular eyecups are all the way down, putting your eyeglass lenses close to the binocular optical lenses. Those eyecups are designed to hold the optical lenses a precise distance from your eyeballs, but eyeglasses hold the binoculars about the right distance without the cups. </p><p>One very important rule for buying binoculars is to get the best model you can <b><i>comfortably</i></b> afford. Coatings and lens materials have improved enormously since I started out, and binoculars at every price point are better than they were half a century ago, but remember that for optics, the relationship between cost and quality is not linear. The jump in quality between $50 and $250 binocs is huge compared to the difference in cost. The jump in quality between $250 and $3,000 binoculars is huge, too, but not nearly as significant as the jump in cost. Top-of-the-line Zeisses or Swarovskis are definitely better than just about anything, but the biggest differences are hardly noticeable except for people who use their binoculars for long hours every day. For most of us, the difference between $250 binoculars and $3,000 binoculars could pay for a wonderful trip to see a lot of birds. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/3636839653/in/photolist-pAHoKh-5Qp223-6xnHWT-6xnJwg-6xnKHX-6xrV4E-antiAT-anw7Fq" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Chandler Robbins in Guatemala"><img alt="Chandler Robbins in Guatemala" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3405/3636839653_13ea7f8921.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this photo of Chandler Robbins, my birding hero, in Guatemala in 2007. Back in the 1970s or early 80s, one of his friends made a protective leather cover for his binoculars, the same brand and from about the same era as my original Bushnells, and he stuck with them lo those many years, spending his money not on upgrading his optics but on important conservation projects to protect the birds he loved. When people gave him "better" binoculars, he usually gave them away to deserving birders in the tropics.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>My focus has always been more on birds than on equipment, and I have no idea what products are out there anymore, so I asked one of my dearest friends, who is objective and knowledgeable about the current optics market, about his current recommendations. His top four favorites, all 8x42, as of February 2023 are: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><a href="https://landseaskyco.com/collections/binoculars-binoculars-scopes/products/vortex-diamondback-hd-8x42">Vortex Diamondback </a></p><p>•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><a href="https://landseaskyco.com/collections/binoculars-binoculars-scopes/products/kowa-sv-ii-8x42-mm-binocular">Kowa SV II </a></p><p>•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><a href="https://landseaskyco.com/collections/binoculars-binoculars-scopes/products/opticron-natura-bga-ed-8x42">Opticron Natura BGA</a> </p><p>•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><a href="https://landseaskyco.com/products/kowa-bd-ii-xd-8x42-mm-wide-angle-binocular">Kowa BD II XD</a> </p></blockquote><p>When you’re in the market for binoculars, the very best way to test different models is at birding festivals. Representatives from manufacturers and retail companies encourage people to test their wares, often from an outside booth where you can look at real birds in natural conditions. If you know what your budget is, try to discipline yourself to test only models at or below your max. </p><p>Once you have the binoculars you'll be using for a while, the most important thing is to stop thinking about optics and just <b><i>use</i></b> them. After all, the whole point of birding binoculars is to focus on birds.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/3173109880/in/photolist-nXJWU1-5Qp223-QLYnbi-2a5cJzx-anvxzA-btnJjE-cDJZ6q-dG6YpX-nFmyny-nXJVgb-wDVhTf-wGjsbe-xyBHEu-xAWn2z-DYRL5W-anvxFh-cDJZBs" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="These binoculars have seen a LOT of birds!"><img alt="These binoculars have seen a LOT of birds!" height="352" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3466/3173109880_39ab0443e8.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this photo of Chandler Robbins's binoculars, which he was still very satisfied with, at lunchtime when we were in Guatemala in 2007. </td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-37761322218493162362023-02-13T19:01:00.003-06:002023-02-14T15:08:36.893-06:00Superb Owl Sunday 2023<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/8458497564/in/photolist-dS6PrY-dS6PR7-dS6QFE-dS6Rws-dS6Siu-dS6SDm-dS6Tnd-dS6Ua1-dS6Ux1-dS9C3r-dSFwYe-dSFxVV-dSM7oN-dSManh-dTmnca-dTmnrk-dTs1yJ-dTs1CU-dTs1Mh-dUkBBF-dUkCfR-dS16Wk-dS6JQm-dUrdiN-ppgBAk-q4tajC-q4tdC1-q4Bhnr-qiK1D1-qiKkLQ-qkQYSr-qkR8MF-qkRbSP-qkRfNz-qm1ZyF-qm2rhK-qm2sPH-8VUVoF-8VUVtg-8VXYCu-dRZZvK-dS11sg-dS12Z2-dS13pV-dS13QR-dS6Acs-dS6Bg1-qiKcXo-qm2dc6-dS6BFW" title="Boreal Owl"><img alt="Boreal Owl" height="318" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/8112/8458497564_21db4ecfe2.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Russ and I don’t get to go birding together very often, but we do make a point of getting out one particular Sunday in February whenever we can—Superb Owl Sunday, which I made into a personal annual tradition back in the 1980s. Some years I haven’t been able to go birding, and many times Russ’s schedule hasn’t allowed us to celebrate together, but the very best owl photo I ever took, of the most cooperative Boreal Owl in the most perfect light ever, was on Superb Owl Sunday 2013. That was during my Big Year, and it happened on the only day that whole year that Russ and I could get out together. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48014585@N00/8443224020" title="Boreal Owl"><img alt="Boreal Owl" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/8377/8443224020_906862b207.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>This year hasn’t been great for finding owls at the Sax-Zim Bog—I suppose I could blame it on something trendy like supply chain issues, but some winters owls do just fine further north and don't show up here. People up at the Bog have seen a Great Gray Owl every now and then this year, but the birds are apparently finding enough food at night that they don’t need to sit out in the open by day. Great Gray Owls don’t mind people too much as long as we don’t approach uncomfortably close, but ravens and crows can be very rude when they spot a Great Gray, so the big owls prefer to hide out by day if they’re not too hungry. On my two trips to the Bog so far this year, I haven’t lucked into a Great Gray. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/32036765087/in/photolist-QNYN7K-Sr8BRd-Sr9kEy-23EXvCz-23XisQU-23Xit1d-23XitaS-23XPEQp-23XQ3Pe-23XQG9e-23XQJkZ-24YgSHb-2534smz-2dbweza-2dbwfH2-2dbx2UV-2dbx3aK-2dtfWX9-2dtgBYL-2euEiX3-2ezgHUM-2img3X1-2img5hR-2img4KD-2img4R5-ER5fxZ-EZNcb6-EZNd5F-EZNdtr-GwbJx3-GwcZ8J-Kbv9ya-21KinyA-21TVisE-21TVmrf-22udQH1-22udUi7-22udUUY-22udWaJ-22udYE3-22udZSd-22ue1rj-233DJoA-2391Ji4-23hJHNp-23hJJHR-23hJKwz-23hJNLv-23hJPqM-23hMweg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Great Gray Owl"><img alt="Great Gray Owl" height="349" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7872/32036765087_3bff87b8d2.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this photo on Superb Owl Sunday 2019.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I did get fairly nice if somewhat distant looks at a Barred Owl at the bog this year on New Year’s Day. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52600748612/in/photolist-2o99zYQ-Sr6ooL-Sr9rC5-23XMHat-23XQKBg-23YA2H8-2dbtXbH-2dbx4AR-2dtdA8h-2dtdCjw-2dtdD2d-2dtdDsy-2dtdDGb-2evrX4N-2evrYJ1-2ezeHVx-2ezhiZR-dRzpVN-dSTXPQ-dSTYYf-nns8YL-dSNmZk-dSNnrZ-dSNo4c-dSTXuU-dSTYkh-67dAok-6nFJsC-85eRtr-8VUM9B-8VUMmz-8VXR1J-6s4438-6s44eB-6s6XFb-6s8aMN-77X4Kw-85eRni-85eRS6-85hZsJ-85hZMJ-8VXRq3-bnDmbN-bAybGR-c4sTMq-dSNk98-dSNkor-dSNmwX-dSTWtY-dSTWT3" title="Barred Owl"><img alt="Barred Owl" height="312" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52600748612_a641a2c11b.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Then on January 31, a Great Horned Owl turned up in my own yard in early afternoon, sitting in a very exposed limb in a big deciduous tree for several minutes. The bird seemed to be actively hunting, noticeably checking out the neighborhood squirrels and my little dog Pip, so I instantly brought her (the dog, not the owl) indoors. Great Horned Owls start nesting in January and February up here, so I’m assuming this was a male searching for food for his mate and, if they’ve already hatched, his tiny nestlings. No way could a Great Horned Owl carry off an 8-pound dog, but he could easily kill her and then eat her in place or carry off chunks for his family. I think the local pair is nesting somewhere near Lester Park. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52661836873/in/dateposted-public/" title="Great Horned Owl"><img alt="Great Horned Owl" height="357" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52661836873_070c7d848e.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>On February 9, I noticed crows harassing a different Great Horned Owl behind my daughter’s backyard—that owl was roosting and trying to evade the notice of any local crows. It was too tucked against the trunk for Walter to pick it out, and the crows drove it off before my son-in-law Michael made it to the window. Any glimpse of an owl should be plenty good enough for me, but I was still disappointed that Michael didn’t get to see it. </p><p>That was it for owl sightings in 2023, so I was filled with eager anticipation on Superb Owl Sunday. Russ and I headed to the Bog, and sure enough, one of our very first birds of the day was a Northern Hawk Owl. It was extremely far away—almost beyond what Pete Dunne calls the distance of conjecture—so wasn’t at all satisfying from a photographic standpoint, but in birding as in baseball, a win is a win, defined on Superb Owl Sunday as seeing any owl. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52685254686/in/dateposted-public/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Very distant Northern Hawk Owl"><img alt="Very distant Northern Hawk Owl" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52685254686_7a64cbeb30.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That teeny tiny speck at the top of the tree right in the center is a Northern Hawk Owl. Really!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Even better, owls are not the only birds, and we saw plenty of birds up close and personal, especially one of my all-time favorites, Evening Grosbeaks, which were visiting all the feeders. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52685539249/in/dateposted-public/" title="Evening Grosbeak"><img alt="Evening Grosbeak" height="320" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52685539249_4191ea8167.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52685539519/in/dateposted-public/" title="Evening Grosbeak"><img alt="Evening Grosbeak" height="354" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52685539519_949e661ec9.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52685624864/in/dateposted-public/" title="Evening Grosbeak"><img alt="Evening Grosbeak" height="307" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52685624864_1466c989a3.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p>Their pleasant chatter formed so much of the soundtrack of my life for the lovely decade when my children were little, back when Evening Grosbeaks were abundant here, that hearing them is balm for my soul. I’ve made long stereo recordings from my house (all listed on <b><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/bird/evening-grosbeak/">my Evening Grosbeak page</a></b>), but couldn’t help but hold my phone up for a <a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/sound-recording/13445/"><b>2-minute recording</b></a> behind the Visitor Center.</p><p>Evening Grosbeaks way outnumbered Pine Grosbeaks, but both species gave me lovely photo ops. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52685820483/in/dateposted-public/" title="Pine Grosbeak"><img alt="Pine Grosbeak" height="358" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52685820483_e5e52cd597.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52685755873/in/dateposted-public/" title="Pine Grosbeak"><img alt="Pine Grosbeak" height="336" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52685755873_ac03121ec0.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>One lone Pine Siskin hanging out near a feeder by the Welcome Center outhouse was very cooperative. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52685323021/in/dateposted-public/" title="Pine Siskin"><img alt="Pine Siskin" height="365" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52685323021_ff976e7f41.jpg" width="500" /></a><br /></p><p>Canada Jays in several places were just as cooperative. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52685605724/in/dateposted-public/" title="Canada Jay"><img alt="Canada Jay" height="338" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52685605724_2085af1370.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52685322601/in/dateposted-public/" title="Canada Jay"><img alt="Canada Jay" height="348" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52685322601_ce1dc75612.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>We came home happy and satisfied with our beautiful day of birding.</p><p>But Superb Owl Sunday wasn’t over yet. My dear banded Pileated Woodpecker BB showed up soon after we got home, and SheB (the female who may or may not be BB's mate) came soon afterward. And then, what to my wondering eyes should appear but a little Brown Creeper hitching up my box elder. I was right in the middle of downloading photos from my camera’s card, but even if the camera had been ready for shooting, the little bird was focused on eating, not accommodating my photographic needs. I didn’t care—like I said, a win is a win.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48014585@N00/5361242207" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Northern Hawk Owl"><img alt="Northern Hawk Owl" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5290/5361242207_ecbcef5342.jpg" width="377" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo was taken in January 2011--not on Superb Owl Sunday, but a Superb Owl nonetheless. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-41525702218991742032023-02-10T08:53:00.001-06:002023-02-10T08:53:35.487-06:00A Few Conifer Specialists<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48014585@N00/5773949813" title="Kirtland's Warbler"><img alt="Kirtland's Warbler" height="387" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3591/5773949813_595a7575b6.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>The relationships between birds and plants are wonderfully complicated. Just about every bird I’ve ever seen in my yard has spent at least a little time in my conifer trees. But a few birds are so specialized that they <b><i>require</i></b> conifers —sometimes even a single species of conifer—during an essential part of their annual cycle. </p><p>For example, Kirtland’s Warblers are extremely tied to jack pines. On their wintering grounds in the Bahamas, during migration, and even on their breeding territories they find plenty of insect food from a variety of plants, but they nest exclusively on the ground beneath the sheltering bottom branches of jack pine trees. Males aren’t too fussy, but females are—one won’t even consider nesting until she finds a jack pine between about 5 and 15 years old and roughly 5–15 feet high. Too young and a tree won’t provide enough shelter for the nest; too old, and the bottom branches have fallen off, again leaving the nest too exposed. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/5781340924/in/photolist-eGshx2-eGsinp-eGymWE-eGynDy-eGyofQ-eGyoR5-eGypxY-eHzcT3-eHzfFy-eMi7Dq-eV6N4z-eVWPor-2mcWFeC-2mcSMGT-2mcSMLR-2mcSXW5-2mcTQEM-2mcU2Fe-2mcXUYA-9NdYDv-9Ne17R-9NgKkC-9NgMjb-9PJuBk-bWXX2W-bYtPV9-eGs9KZ-eGsapD-eGsbTk-eGygu9-eGygZ9-eGykmf-eVjjoE-2mcP3gg-2mcTSEZ-2mcWwhz-eGsdxa-eGyhVu-9NdLQ2-9NdMse-9NdMXn-9NdPqX-9NguAd-9NgvoW-9Ngya1-9NgyDb-9NQ3PR-9NSRSU-9NSTeN-9NSU61" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Kirtland's Warbler habitat"><img alt="Kirtland's Warbler habitat" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3414/5781340924_7dcf56d70e.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ideal Kirtland's Warbler habitat near Grayling, Michigan<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Jack pine cones open only when subjected to extreme heat—historically from natural wild fires. Now, with so many humans encroaching on their small natural range in northern Michigan, Kirtland’s Warblers depend on extensive management to ensure there are always stands of acceptable jack pines for them. </span><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/7185574756/in/photolist-eGshx2-eGsinp-eGymWE-eGynDy-eGyofQ-eGyoR5-eGypxY-eHzcT3-eHzfFy-eMi7Dq-eV6N4z-eVWPor-2mcWFeC-2mcSMGT-2mcSMLR-2mcSXW5-2mcTQEM-2mcU2Fe-2mcXUYA-9NdYDv-9Ne17R-9NgKkC-9NgMjb-9PJuBk-bWXX2W-bYtPV9-eGs9KZ-eGsapD-eGsbTk-eGygu9-eGygZ9-eGykmf-eVjjoE-2mcP3gg-2mcTSEZ-2mcWwhz-eGsdxa-eGyhVu-9NdLQ2-9NdMse-9NdMXn-9NdPqX-9NguAd-9NgvoW-9Ngya1-9NgyDb-9NQ3PR-9NSRSU-9NSTeN-9NSU61" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Female Kirtland's Warbler at Magee Marsh"><img alt="Female Kirtland's Warbler at Magee Marsh" height="366" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7245/7185574756_63af2cfb25.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This fussy female Kirtland's Warbler was photographed at the Black Swamp Bird Observatory's Magee Marsh in Ohio during migration. No jack pines available, but she's not nesting yet anyway. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>Crossbills nest in conifers, but it’s their feeding habits that make them such extreme conifer specialists. They get their name from the way the lower bill crosses under the upper, either toward the left or toward the right—an adaptation that allows them to insert the bill between cone scales and then twist the lower mandible towards the side to which it crosses, enabling the bird to extract the seed at the bottom of the scale with its tongue. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/40012873203/in/photolist-2krfXTw-2krfY4S-2krfYFo-2krfYVG-2nxfnrZ-2nxkEau-QNXPxc-QNXQmX-Sr8ccU-23XNnAX-23XNovT-23XNqET-23XNrbc-23XNyGK-23XPuTk-2dbuLkx-2dbvMyT-2dbvPiK-2dtftx9-2dtfuQj-2dtfvbQ-2dtfvPU-2euD339-2euD45u-2euD4jY-2euD5bY-2euDdkJ-2euEbNo-2euEc1N-2euEddh-2ezfjK2-QNWYWe-5UB7sr-5UFtZj-614Smw-614SDo-614TiU-614U8A-7qUbNM-7qUcdt-7qUctM-7qUcxr-7qUcHP-7qUcXM-7qY6Qu-7qY73J-7qY7c3-7qY7tj-7qY7Sf-7qY81q" title="White-winged Crossbill"><img alt="White-winged Crossbill" height="310" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4891/40012873203_1e149796c9.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Whichever way a bird’s lower bill crosses determines the side of its face that must be close to the cone. Intriguingly, just about exactly half of all Red Crossbills are left faced and half right faced, but about 75 percent of all White-winged Crossbills are right faced. That difference reflects their cone choices. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/50634261628/in/photolist-2k9nPEM-2k9nPPK-2k9nPUQ-2k9nQLQ-2k9rDSa-2k9rE4Y-2k9rEXr-2k9rFa5-2k9rFJG-2k9s5mB-2k9s5ta-2k9s5Mr-2k9s6h9-2k9s6tX-2krbF8b-2krfv4t-2krfvc4-2krfvr2-2krfXTw-2krfY4S-2krfYFo-2krfYVG-2nxfnrZ-2nxkEau-QNXPxc-QNXQmX-Sr8ccU-23XNnAX-23XNovT-23XNqET-23XNrbc-23XNyGK-23XPuTk-2dbuLkx-2dbvMyT-2dbvPiK-2dtftx9-2dtfuQj-2dtfvbQ-2dtfvPU-2euD339-2euD45u-2euD4jY-2euD5bY-2euDdkJ-2euEbNo-2euEc1N-2euEddh-2ezfjK2-QNWYWe/" title="White-winged Crossbill"><img alt="White-winged Crossbill" height="326" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50634261628_18f1632436.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>White-winged Crossbills specialize on spruce and tamarack cones, which tend to be smaller and less sturdily attached to the branches than pine cones. White-winged Crossbills feed on cones still adhering to the trees, but if a section of cone is too hard to access for, say a right-faced bird, it can simply snip off the whole cone and rotate it in its foot, to get out all the seeds. White-winged Crossbills also feed on cones that have fallen to the ground, again easily rotating the cones to extract the seeds. In this species, the lower bill crosses to the right in three times as many individuals as the other way around—about the same percentage we’d expect assuming the way a bill crosses is due to a simple dominant or recessive gene. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/16421497511/in/photolist-r27t6r-JzHEiz-23XNyGK-2dtfuQj-f3vsM8" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Red Crossbill"><img alt="Red Crossbill" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7347/16421497511_8258c23710.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, Red Crossbills usually feed in pine trees. This one is picking up grit to help it digest those pine seeds and give it some minerals the seeds lack.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>In contrast, Red Crossbills specialize on pine cones, which usually remain firmly affixed to the tree even as the seeds are pulled out, so Red Crossbill individuals miss a lot of seeds under scales that happen to be too close to the branch to access, depending on which way their bill crosses. Crossbills hang out in flocks, and for them to maximize the number of seeds for the entire flock, it makes sense that the bill crossing is 50/50, though scientists have not figured out how this is controlled genetically. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/9217376073/in/photolist-r27t6r-JzHEiz-23XNyGK-2dtfuQj-f3vsM8" title="Red Crossbill"><img alt="Red Crossbill" height="269" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3693/9217376073_56ce9a157c.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>When I worked at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, I checked out the specimens in their collection. In Red Crossbills, it’s supposed to be 50-50, and sure enough, 22 of 41 Red Crossbills crossed one way, 19 the other. But in White-winged Crossbills, a much higher percentage of birds have lower bills crossing to the right than to the left—in the Cornell birds it was 32 of 46 birds, or 70 percent. This kind of ornithological trivia is a little too specialized to ever make it into the TV game <i>Jeopardy!</i>, but I think it’s fascinating.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52104008316/in/photolist-2nofEoY-2nnZWgM-2no18XN-2no217g-HnSk44-L13aCb-LrqXXX-24haYyu-261HvvH-261HxY8-261Hz2R-261HA76-26hCHEA-27oq8uP-28b7mXS-28fpJDZ-2fYpksa-8ttAAi-2jvq2Lw-2jvq2Qp-2jAqZzT-2jAr22R-2jAuspm-2jAvhQF-2jAviwR-2jHAqB6-2jHE2pz-2jHE3HB-2jHE3NX-2jHESvX-2jHESyh-2jHESDc-2nmVX9m-ajUM2K-oEEiiC-oEEC9b-oRJPDh-xDNWZ6-xWj6V4-xWj91B-LrqYCe-Lrr17X-Lrr32i-28fpGSx-28fpHtT-2jvmEZu-2jvq2GZ-2jAr27v-2jAviBa-2jHtjBp" title="Tennessee Warbler"><img alt="Tennessee Warbler" height="315" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52104008316_203f045358.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48014585@N00/52111300403" title="Cape May Warbler"><img alt="Cape May Warbler" height="339" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52111300403_54e651bcec.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/41927289022/in/photolist-26SYjiu-HhZUEZ-JQgWv7-KrSrhN-KrSuZN-24Q3cxE-25zq6ti-25zq8bM-25zq8xP-26d45Gt-26d495R-26d4aQK-27vteb1-81uHTV-2nnzeaR-2nnEtN2-2nomGJh-2noo1eU-2nopj5H-ey7184/" title="Bay-breasted Warbler"><img alt="Bay-breasted Warbler" height="357" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/970/41927289022_01d4bab177.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Some birds depend on conifers for food even though they don’t eat seeds at all. Tennessee, Cape May, and Bay-breasted Warblers feed voraciously on an insect that feeds on spruce and fir needles in northern forests: spruce budworm. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgblBLEApvQM6lrQyTCi3X-kPScPF1E6ktFxZIXHnky26trSLFo-41smiXtzOqQWoWhp5II3WWcBhewqG-3oT85sB2iMaXY7LQCfsFlZC5aiuRzj0hzhEmpUeyogIHv8TW_xwgfAnOwo7AbDbr2oUU9QlmSWpCdNGW7z1ieLMIC_NMVwF5r0pEuKlRs/s3072/Choristoneura_fumiferana_larva.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="3072" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgblBLEApvQM6lrQyTCi3X-kPScPF1E6ktFxZIXHnky26trSLFo-41smiXtzOqQWoWhp5II3WWcBhewqG-3oT85sB2iMaXY7LQCfsFlZC5aiuRzj0hzhEmpUeyogIHv8TW_xwgfAnOwo7AbDbr2oUU9QlmSWpCdNGW7z1ieLMIC_NMVwF5r0pEuKlRs/w400-h266/Choristoneura_fumiferana_larva.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #54595d; font-size: 13.6px; text-align: start;">photo by Jerald E. Dewey, USDA Forest Service, </span><span face="sans-serif" style="color: #54595d;"><span style="font-size: 13.6px;"><a href="http://www.forestryimages.org/browse/detail.cfm?imgnum=2252020">http://www.forestryimages.org/browse/detail.cfm?imgnum=2252020</a></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>This moth larva, considered a serious pest by foresters, is so important for these birds when feeding young that their populations fluctuate with spruce budworm population cycles. Evening Grosbeaks also depend heavily on spruce budworms for feeding their nestlings. </p><p style="text-align: center;"> <a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51147585155/in/photolist-2kVJK7t-2kW6euZ-2kW94yB-2kW957F-2kWaGeE-2kWx5D5-2kWSD5m-2kXAxkT-2kXG5ME-2kV784V-2kV7bX6-2kV8ib8-2kVcQKz-2kVzAQD-2kVzB6J-2kVD4Dr-2kVD4Qo-2kVDHfP-2kVEdKc-2kVH6sB-2kVJK3f-2kVJLeJ-2kW53zc-2kW53C3-2kW94pU-2kW94ui-2kW94Qd-2kWaGuK-2kWNfBX-2kXx5sS-2kXx5xB-2kXx8j3-2kXx8tG-2kXAwYA-2kXAxy3-2kXAxFN-2kXAyGv-2kXBG18-2kXBHCS-2kXBJ3z-2kXBJky-2kXEwMy-2kXEywa-2kXEyBW-2kY8VD4-qJQEq4-r2goSH-23W18QF-2kp7xRN-2kp7y2n" title="Evening Grosbeak"><img alt="Evening Grosbeak" height="361" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51147585155_61f3cf372b.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>The more I learn about the fascinating connections between birds and plants, the richer my world becomes. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51169704255/in/photolist-2kXG7mg-2kXG8kW-2kYcAce-2kYjPMY-2kYoiZx-2kYojhb-2kYok5Z-2kYpqoK-2kYsn6n-2kYsnmH-2kYsnNj-2kYtUav-2kYtUmH-2kZjXqM-2mRJn9r-2mTFE39-2kVzBez-2kVD4BN-2kVD4Kt-2kVEdcP-2kVEdx3-2kVJK7t-2kW6euZ-2kW94yB-2kW957F-2kWaGeE-2kWx5D5-2kWSD5m-2kXAxkT-2kXG5ME-2kV784V-2kV7bX6-2kV8ib8-2kVcQKz-2kVzAQD-2kVzB6J-2kVD4Dr-2kVD4Qo-2kVDHfP-2kVEdKc-2kVH6sB-2kVJK3f-2kVJLeJ-2kW53zc-2kW53C3-2kW94pU-2kW94ui-2kW94Qd-2kWaGuK-2kWNfBX" title="Evening Grosbeak"><img alt="Evening Grosbeak" height="324" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51169704255_195ef22693.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-34904719981848600892023-02-08T08:45:00.004-06:002023-02-08T08:45:42.476-06:00100 Plants to Feed the Birds: Conifers<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/49456501986/in/photolist-2imiv17-2imivqL-2imiwNq-2imix1u-2imixUJ-2imjEmR-2imjGwn-2imjGWL-2imjHmZ-2imjHFM-2imjKJK-2imjM9d-2imn6st-QNYN7K-Sr8BRd-Sr9kEy-23EXvCz-23XisQU-23Xit1d-23XitaS-23XPEQp-23XQ3Pe-23XQG9e-23XQJkZ-24YgSHb-2534smz-2dbweza-2dbwfH2-2dbx2UV-2dbx3aK-2dtfWX9-2dtgBYL-2euEiX3-2ezgHUM-2img3X1-2img4KD-2img4R5-2img5hR-ER5fxZ-EZNcb6-EZNd5F-EZNdtr-GwbJx3-GwcZ8J-Kbv9ya-21KinyA-21TVisE-21TVmrf-22udQH1-22udUi7" title="Great Gray Owl"><img alt="Great Gray Owl" height="327" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/49456501986_b1892422e6.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>When I started putting together my book, <i><b><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/book/100-plants-feed-birds/">100 Plants to Feed the Birds</a></b></i>, the title was written in stone—Storey Publishing intended it to be third in a series that already included <i>100 Plants to Feed the Bees</i> and <i>100 Plants to Feed the Monarchs</i>, but it never occurred to me to limit myself to plants that produce seeds, nuts, fruits, nectar, or other vegetal matter that birds eat directly. Most of the birds who do feed on those items also eat a lot of insects that plants support, and birds also use plants for nesting, roosting, and hiding out in; for nest-building fibers; and more.</p><p>I knew I’d start with trees, which are the critical component in various ways for birds associated with every forested habitat and even for many grassland species. I broke trees down into two categories—conifers and broadleaf trees. Some people call those two categories “evergreens” and “deciduous trees,” but some conifers, such as the tamaracks in my neck of the woods, turn colors in autumn and then lose their needles until spring. Up here, broadleaf trees are pretty much all deciduous, losing their leaves in winter, but live oaks keep their leaves year-round, the old leaves staying green until new leaves replace them each spring.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/50740612078/in/photolist-2kiLUch-2kiLV3f-2kiLVmw-2kiLVA9-2kiQF29-2kiQFey-2kiQFPw-2kiRcZT-2m5iXpJ-2nozeob-2noAjQ7-2j6TCWZ-2jvraGf-2d8yTuw-2d8yU11-2d8yUgS-2d8yUBG-2d8yVJ1-2d8yXLC-2e9YnQY-2gh2XRD-2gh3ciR-2gh3cun-2gh3cAQ-2gh3cHi-2iYVHgP-2iYVJ45-2iYYq4E-2iYYq8N-2iYYqi7-2iZ11o5-2iZ11sU-2iZ11Ho-2iZ11TP-2iZ126s-2e9Ykpq-2e9Yok5-2eeD6zi-HLLDqG-HLLTdw-HLLVid-J3tDQE-J3tHaW-J5MvKx-J5MLE2-J5MMKZ-J5N4Fr-J7BNgS-J9jerL-J9jXyb" title="Black-capped Chickadee in Northern White-Cedar"><img alt="Black-capped Chickadee in Northern White-Cedar" height="348" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50740612078_cb79e73e40.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Conifers are woody plants that produce their seeds in cones; they may grow as shrubs as well as trees. Some of our most familiar backyard birds, from chickadees and nuthatches to many finches, are experts at pulling seeds out of cones. Few birds eat conifer needles—breaking down cell walls to extract the nourishment within involves a more specialized digestive system than most birds have, but a few species, such as Spruce Grouse, do eat needles, especially in winter and early spring, until insects and other more easily digestible foods become available again. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/14239321754/in/photolist-S6cnpz-T6fxCW-T6fAoq-T8D3W8-T8D5FR-Tk539K-2nvRboi-2nvVYVC-2nvVZ2S-2nvW4ri-2nvW6G3-2nvWmFw-2nvWACG-2nvXprT-2nvXpzU-2nvXEBh-2nvYsPt-2nvYsSp-2nvYzww-2nvYZTn-2nvZ135-npP3Jg-npPb1S-npPcch-npPgp7-npPhaz-npPheF-npPCkx-npPUxp-npQ5v1-nEfSVj-nEfWrN-nEg48U-nEg8NA-nEghGC-nG77Xu-nG7h1E-nGhfgu-nGhgMW-nGhiGY-nGixfD-nGiTfP-nGjuVB-deEWKL-deGS2z-dv3Mhu-deEvUw-deECso-deEMhn-deETnH" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Spruce Grouse"><img alt="Spruce Grouse" height="382" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5273/14239321754_3da5680992.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adult male Spruce Grouse</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52189958477/in/photolist-S6cnpz-T6fxCW-T6fAoq-T8D3W8-T8D5FR-Tk539K-2nvRboi-2nvVYVC-2nvVZ2S-2nvW4ri-2nvW6G3-2nvWmFw-2nvWACG-2nvXprT-2nvXpzU-2nvXEBh-2nvYsPt-2nvYsSp-2nvYzww-2nvYZTn-2nvZ135-npP3Jg-npPb1S-npPcch-npPgp7-npPhaz-npPheF-npPCkx-npPUxp-npQ5v1-nEfSVj-nEfWrN-nEg48U-nEg8NA-nEghGC-nG77Xu-nG7h1E-nGhfgu-nGhgMW-nGhiGY-nGixfD-nGiTfP-nGjuVB-deEWKL-deGS2z-dv3Mhu-deEvUw-deECso-deEMhn-deETnH" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Spruce Grouse chick"><img alt="Spruce Grouse chick" height="305" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52189958477_d788854d13.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spruce Grouse chick in a spruce</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Many conifers ooze droplets of sap from the tips of needles, buds, and branches, attracting insects; birds may feed on either or both the fluid and the insects. Native conifers also harbor a wealth of insects within the foliage and cones, providing even more food for native birds. The diversity of warblers in northern forests is due to the diversity of trees—most warblers specialize on gleaning for insects or flycatching from particular areas within specific kinds of trees, and several warblers are especially drawn to conifers.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/4755711012/in/photolist-ep3nTT-epYfYd-epYj5U-5TL2bD-5TQmvG-5TQmCG-5TQn8y-5TQnp5-5TQnE3-5YnZx1-81uJfB-81uJoH-81uJBp-81uJFZ-81xTYq-81xU1N-81xU7q-81xUam-81xUey-8fbXjX-6mvnfR-6mvnPz-81uJdk-8f7ikZ-8fazTS-8fbTj4-8fbTEr-8fbVe8-8fbVkr-8fbVDg-8fbVRg-8fbVZ4-8fbWP2-8fbXcv-8fbXFV-8fbYkk-8ff9L5-8ffa7A-8ffb8G-8ffbD7-8ffbLS-8ffcdL-8ffcB9-8ffdpG-8ffdRw-8ffeZU-8fffm9-8fffDu-8ffg5L-8ffgcs" title="Magnolia Warbler"><img alt="Magnolia Warbler" height="332" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4116/4755711012_16ec7cd5a8.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/4631372106/in/photolist-GXYRTG-GXYT61-GXYTAj-H1VX6n-S4XQ56-S4XRvn-TGdcmy-2eruA54-2eruAe2-2eruAYP-2eCHZP5-2eCJ1GN-2m4tjHx-2m4wXbv-2m4y2bz-2neBaNi-2neCtA3-dRkRJ9-npS8Ko-npSehc-nrQgHr-nGmuVx-6rA755-6rvXGr-6rvXNZ-6rA7bu-6rA7i9-81uF5a-81uFnR-81uFGD-81uFWa-81uG1X-81xQGN-81xQKC-81xQNE-81xQQW-81xQTA-81xRef-81xRSW-81xRYS-84cUht-84cUDV-84fXXL-84fZch-84fZzd-9NdYDv-c4sN6Y-iSxEHi-6ab13i-6aaZW4" title="Pine Warbler"><img alt="Pine Warbler" height="391" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4056/4631372106_41d1932ba3.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Conifers have enormous value far beyond providing food, because their dense branches provide shelter for many birds. Many of the owls I’ve photographed were roosting within a conifer, and cardinals, juncos, and a great many other birds spend their winter nights within the sheltering branches of conifers.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/15805349446/in/photolist-2kU3Qfy-2kVgyjs-2nQPyo4-2nQR21o-2nQR3c1-2nQRtQB-2nQRtV6-2nQS9im-F4uiqX-F4ur8F-F4uw9x-FcTKre-FuBFya-2jWMDaN-2jWMEAo-2jWMEHs-2jWMF6b-2jWMFpx-2jWMFRe-2jWMGnQ-2jWRiFH-2jWRiNg-2jWRj4S-2jWRkd5-2jWRkzh-2jWRkLV-2jWRnLS-2naMyRC-2naSGjT-2naT2mT-2naT2pP-2naVzgn-2naVzKi-q5ExJW-2pAt1-EfvR8r-F2cgfG-F2chm9-F4uhpZ-FazUKU-5KyeAH-8ZJ1Xi-8ZJ2kr-8ZM7wN-8ZM7EL-asyKJ9-bytprU-dS7fwA-eVS7N6-fyyaMw" title="Northern Saw-whet Owl"><img alt="Northern Saw-whet Owl" height="346" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5605/15805349446_7172055746.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/46063592385/in/photolist-2o99zYQ-Sr6ooL-Sr9rC5-23XMHat-23XQKBg-23YA2H8-2dbtXbH-2dbx4AR-2dtdA8h-2dtdCjw-2dtdD2d-2dtdDsy-2dtdDGb-2evrX4N-2evrYJ1-2ezeHVx-2ezhiZR-dRzpVN-dSTXPQ-nns8YL-dSNmZk-dSNnrZ-dSNo4c-dSTXuU-dSTYkh-dSTYYf-67dAok-85eRtr-8VUM9B-8VUMmz-8VXR1J-8VXRq3-6nFJsC-6s4438-6s44eB-6s6XFb-6s8aMN-77X4Kw-85eRni-85eRS6-85hZsJ-85hZMJ-bnDmbN-bAybGR-c4sTMq-dSNk98-dSNkor-dSNmwX-dSTWtY-dSTWT3" title="Barred Owl roosting"><img alt="Barred Owl roosting" height="334" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4904/46063592385_77f535236e.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/49566894163/in/photolist-2iw4hKv-2iw4hRh-2iw4iFD-2iw4iN7-2iw6S1s-2iw6S8w-2iw6SuD-2iw6T49-2iw6T9u-2iw6Tt7-2iw6ZMV-2iw6ZUJ-2iw77ui-2iw77Av-2iw82Sa-2iw831g-2iw844y-2iw8aPH-JDjGcD-22dH56e-DCfDZe-DCfF4Z-DCfGf6-DWakEa-F9nZSu-F9o3z3-F9o5cb-F9o5RY-F9o8uJ-F9objS-Jkqpn2-Jkqxa6-JDjwJR-22cq8pN-22cq9Fq-22cqfMU-23ervQ5-23ery1h-23h2X1V-dTwaQ5-dUrfaL-dUrfv9-dUrdFw-dUrdYG-dUrexY-22XtevX-dS14fV-dS15FV-dS1654-dS16v8" title="Boreal Owl"><img alt="Boreal Owl" height="336" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/49566894163_14333d9b34.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>When planting to help birds, I recommend not just native American species but species and cultivars that are <b><i>locally</i></b> <b><i>native</i></b>. Those are the ones that grow best in local conditions, minimizing the need for watering and fertilizers, and the ones most resistant to local insect damage while supporting the local insect species our birds depend on. Starting in the 1600s, when homesick Europeans brought to America many of the European plants they missed, right up through today, when gardeners still plant many non-natives, exotic plants made inroads and started taking over huge swaths of what would otherwise be natural habitat. Some exotic plants don’t compete excessively with native plants, but some have become extremely invasive, out-competing native plants. And bringing in those plants from faraway places also unintentionally brought in many harmful pests, from emerald ash borer and other harmful insects to chestnut blight and Dutch elm disease.</p><p>Exotic plants don’t support many of the insects that native plants do, but some aren’t huge ecological problems. As important as it is to plant locally native vegetation as we create backyard habitat, we can safely ignore some exotic plants that are already established. For example, here in northern Minnesota, Norway spruces are an exotic that were planted in many urban environments. I don't recommend starting new Norway spruces in our yards, but they haven’t become naturalized in wilder settings so we don't need to chop them down.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/50662039077/in/photolist-rmwetB-sik1tH-2iERdTW-2iERf9G-2jWZt2h-2jWZtko-2jWZEWE-2jX4YVB-2kbPK5i-2kbQbgb-2kbQcbn-2kbQcDG-2mQ9ee6-2n6y9GR-2n85u3R-2n86X1N-2n86XDw-2oesAAf-2oewCrD-2oexFoH-bqwzPS-bytpc9-bytpid-bDruBt-fyyac7-5KCtMJ-9zGjXz-9zGkGM-9zGnjM-9WGtrR-9WKjZj-9WKkYE-bqwzmj-9WGuaX-bnDkvC-bqyNZ9-bytonu-bytoF7-bDtJ1D-bDtJwt-bMo6tM-bMo6BP-bMo6LF" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Great Horned Owl being mobbed by crows"><img alt="Great Horned Owl being mobbed by crows" height="353" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50662039077_0552fa6dcf.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great Horned Owl trying to hide from local crows in a Norway spruce</td></tr></tbody></table><p>But oddly, even some locally native conifers cause serious problems. In scrub habitat such as what Black-capped Vireos and Golden-cheeked Warblers require, fire suppression has led to junipers taking over, crowding out the many other essential plants these birds also require. Providing quality habitat in these areas may require burning or otherwise getting rid of some of the junipers to ensure a more well-rounded habitat. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/14067667021/in/photolist-nr7ti8-nro9GH-nrogVR-nta1N8-ntajaT-ntanSn-ntapbz-ntavwR-n9TQgu-n9TQT1-n9TUpj-n9TWTi-n9TZAU-n9U2xr-n9U3Cx-n9U4ET-n9Ufz8-n9UkKw-n9UoaR-nr6Gx7-nr6HxT-nrnSrM-nrnVQv-nrqfjE-nrqqE9-nt9JnH-nt9U84-nrpTZG-nrqe2j-nt9gup-nt9t7T-nt9uhD-nt9yCH-n9Tw1b-n9TxWA-n9TEhU-n9TEkN-n9TJ9E-n9TJXy-n9TLeG-ndG79w-npkqVJ-npkwth-npkxdy-npkCBj-nr6wFn-nr6DAe-efuzNp-efuBoV-efuCYa" title="Black-capped Vireo gathering nest materials"><img alt="Black-capped Vireo gathering nest materials" height="352" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7306/14067667021_1e95c45c52.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>So understanding local issues goes way beyond simple lists of good and bad plants. The more we understand about our local areas, the more inviting we can make our yard for the wildlife that belongs in our neighborhoods.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/5773949813/in/photolist-eGshx2-eGsinp-eGymWE-eGynDy-eGyofQ-eGyoR5-eGypxY-eHzcT3-eHzfFy-eMi7Dq-eV6N4z-eVWPor-2mcWxix-2mcP3gg-2mcSMGT-2mcSMLR-2mcSXW5-2mcTQEM-2mcTSEZ-2mcU2Fe-2mcWwhz-2mcXUYA-9NdYDv-bWXX2W-eGs9KZ-eGsapD-eGsbTk-eGsdxa-eGygu9-eGygZ9-eGyhVu-eGykmf-9Ne17R-9NgKkC-9NgMjb-9PJuBk-bYtPV9-eVjjoE-9NdMse-9NguAd-9NSTeN-9NdLQ2-9NdMXn-9NdPqX-9NgvoW-9Ngya1-9NgyDb-9NQ3PR-9NSRSU-9NSU61" title="Kirtland's Warbler"><img alt="Kirtland's Warbler" height="387" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3591/5773949813_595a7575b6.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-23333962405687286402023-02-07T10:20:00.004-06:002023-02-07T10:20:32.167-06:00My Upcoming Events<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/5182077242/in/photolist-B4Wm4V-B4WmEK-C2mgdg-8TVv2m" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Laura, Archimedes, and LARRY MEILLER!"><img alt="Laura, Archimedes, and LARRY MEILLER!" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4107/5182077242_0cfff65e54.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo is from 2007, when Archimedes and I were in Larry Meiller's studio. This time I'll be remote. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>I don't usually promote my own stuff, but if you're interested, tomorrow (<b>February 8</b>) I'll be Larry's guest on the <b><a href="https://www.wpr.org/programs/larry-meiller-show">Larry Meiller Show on Wisconsin Public Radio</a></b>, talking about my new book, <b><i>100 Plants to Feed the Birds</i></b>. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/book/100-plants-feed-birds/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2690" data-original-width="2120" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-WjHzxknOL_tAav319p-vBnslxSoh4_zqJTI-lY1kc9cigxQ7GuAKLV6T7qLuzyE-EzSG6u4NddJf5TCN5phnSWWhSE_9oKdnJ3K9Ynga9SoQWkPmcmUbPtbEudHW4YDZgKGH8mzY6mYTMJBOErn6UZ2dFBqvo9DQzy_0jQe5hVlaPloaR20g3B8o/w315-h400/100PlantsCover.jpg" width="315" /></a></p><p>On February 5, I was a guest on Ray Brown's Talkin' Birds (Program #920), talking with Ray about my book. <b><a href="https://www.talkinbirds.com/archive?fbclid=IwAR0TZSa_q5dC8plwDK5LjmyrXfNlzIcZkBAKHTenXXLX_N_v6ExEFsJ1nbs">That program is archived here</a></b>. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52675306863/in/dateposted-public/" title="Laura is a guest on Ray Brown's Talkin' Birds radio program!"><img alt="Laura is a guest on Ray Brown's Talkin' Birds radio program!" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52675306863_6548ec0dd6.jpg" width="485" /></a></p><p>Thursday, <b>February 9</b> at 7 pm CST, I'll be giving a <a href="https://mailchi.mp/586eae6fcbf0/duluth-audubon-september-program-15538251?e=a421571ce8">talk for the Duluth Audubon Society about my 2016 trip to Cuba</a>. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/30290071271/in/photolist-N7tQYW-N9CwU8-Na9yNt-NELtjk-28ZB8sA-2n5Xfhn-2n5XgVc-2n5XHZy-2n5XKAe-2n5YUeq-2n5YXLF-2n61v5X-2n61vtC-2n61xAU-MGLJLg-N7vc3S-N9CuwT-Ne85t5-NeAYhm-NELsVK" title="Cuban Tody!!"><img alt="Cuban Tody!!" height="353" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/8418/30290071271_23aaaef1ee.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Saturday, <b>February 11</b>, from noon till 2 pm CST, I'll be doing a <b><a href="https://www.zenithbookstore.com/events/23300">book signing at Zenith Bookstore in West Duluth</a></b>. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://cdn1.bookmanager.com/i/9904174/Main_pic_compressed.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="800" height="189" src="https://cdn1.bookmanager.com/i/9904174/Main_pic_compressed.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Wednesday, <b>March 1</b>, at 7 pm EST (6 pm my time) I'll be talking about <a href="https://www.eventbrite.com/e/turn-your-home-garden-into-a-healthy-habitat-for-birds-with-laura-erickson-tickets-489240129397"><b><i>100 Plants to Feed the Birds</i> </b>for the Kirtland Bird Club</a>.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://img.evbuc.com/https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.evbuc.com%2Fimages%2F410151919%2F345145645947%2F1%2Foriginal.20221215-043545?h=2000&w=720&auto=format%2Ccompress&q=75&sharp=10&s=2cb8dde0787f79dd916d323674e0b137" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="720" height="182" src="https://img.evbuc.com/https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.evbuc.com%2Fimages%2F410151919%2F345145645947%2F1%2Foriginal.20221215-043545?h=2000&w=720&auto=format%2Ccompress&q=75&sharp=10&s=2cb8dde0787f79dd916d323674e0b137" width="400" /></a></div><p>Monday, May 8, I'll be keynoting at the <b><a href="https://www.biggestweekinamericanbirding.com/">Biggest Week in American Birding</a></b> festival. </p><p>Tuesday, May 9, I'll be along on a field trip, "Celebrity Bird Outing with Laura Erickson." (A case of "Dammit, Jim, I'm a birdwatcher, not a celebrity!")</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGkAd8PpoHIdwamtWdxMZTu76EqHLCTCd4dUF6aaWmazBATJ8Qra41xM-zfXgGzBaOi3utEy4u5yhwgRMfi0vJmdWRv00RLXkGnKfRmRo_qhIVy6n0opchyVoV9dzdXvYyPy_QwIyG4Y_1ytw0cZ7-UkK-B98bk5HoUbY-zpSd_foosPx-VOaaTxSl/s3398/Screenshot%202023-02-07%20at%2010.17.03%20AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1276" data-original-width="3398" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGkAd8PpoHIdwamtWdxMZTu76EqHLCTCd4dUF6aaWmazBATJ8Qra41xM-zfXgGzBaOi3utEy4u5yhwgRMfi0vJmdWRv00RLXkGnKfRmRo_qhIVy6n0opchyVoV9dzdXvYyPy_QwIyG4Y_1ytw0cZ7-UkK-B98bk5HoUbY-zpSd_foosPx-VOaaTxSl/w400-h150/Screenshot%202023-02-07%20at%2010.17.03%20AM.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-60408964374510685752023-02-01T15:22:00.034-06:002023-02-02T14:27:35.844-06:00Slow Birding<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.birddiva.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1667" data-original-width="2500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyFazaLqNAEMBb6EgnwTfWUajQ-cOXze1iRPl6Xh6VULDunpSXZVnahqgwLctvEGU_7GHVcZgyLJ_TEAzHawq1DzkDWcGUacjR_RzHEbnSMtEa3DdcrtUk-PTakT-UM911N1-00ZfDhwXJ9s0vvySxSwX2Jx44h-CITSbMGOdifn4ncK-uZIJQIji/w400-h266/BButler_headshot.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>In 2016, a Vermont naturalist named Bridget Butler, at the point in her life that I’d been in mine when I started producing “For the Birds”—with three tiny children and a need to do something creative and useful while being the best stay-at-home mother possible—created a <b><a href="https://www.birddiva.com/">website</a></b> and <b><a href="https://www.birddiva.com/slow-birding-blog">blog</a>, </b>introducing the term <b><i><a href="https://www.birddiva.com/slow-birding">Slow Birding</a></i></b> to the birding community via her warm and inviting <a href="https://www.birddiva.com/online-courses">workshops and online courses</a>. Slow birding simply means paying closer attention to the birds we see, sometimes plopping ourselves down to watch or listen more deeply than when we feel obligated to keep moving on to the next bird. She told me:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">The essence of my Slow Birding practice is connection; connection with the birds, the land, with myself and with other people. That type of connection comes with an open heart and deep listening. For me, there's no room for gatekeeping or exclusivity. We're all born with the ability to observe and notice and connect and I receive great joy in helping others find that feeling by watching birds. </p></blockquote><p>On her website, she adds that she strives “to encourage folks to take that passion [for nature] and turn it into action, paying it forward for the landscape they love & enjoy.”</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGX78lnj5r9LsKX-zXGUnNflbjIpaw9JB0Z-HipVvTqy0xQRgKk1IMZdcbCuOjXiXhIjQln9IsyI36aSKVYaCII1DJP5sNLB4KgY6Obi0O3bUa9QrNrse_9rCmVIGy_3B8a13beCwZJ6sDne9R7mF3O1zVjfk-kvVM-31X8ZdY1ULpMRaQItm_8BA/s3774/BButler_sitting.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2516" data-original-width="3774" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGX78lnj5r9LsKX-zXGUnNflbjIpaw9JB0Z-HipVvTqy0xQRgKk1IMZdcbCuOjXiXhIjQln9IsyI36aSKVYaCII1DJP5sNLB4KgY6Obi0O3bUa9QrNrse_9rCmVIGy_3B8a13beCwZJ6sDne9R7mF3O1zVjfk-kvVM-31X8ZdY1ULpMRaQItm_8BA/w400-h266/BButler_sitting.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bridget Butler slow birding</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Slow birding is a very old concept even if Bridget is the one who introduced most of us to her wonderful name for it. In 2020, Bridget Butler was Nate Swick’s guest on the <a href="https://www.aba.org/secrets-of-slow-birding-with-bridget-butler/">American Birding Association’s podcast in a segment titled “<b>Secrets of Slow Birding with Bridget Butler.</b>”</a> Bridget and Nate’s easy banter gave the lie to the belief of some that the ABA is only about rushing and listing. Bridget created her own niche in a community that has many overlapping niches, and like a chickadee, she negotiates the birding world in a spirit of cooperation, not competition. As the ABA motto says, there’s “A million ways to bird.”</p><p>In March 2021, <a href="https://www.talkinbirds.com/archive/2021/3/21/824-march-21-2021">Bridget was a guest on <b>Ray Brown's Talkin' Birds</b> radio program</a>, discussing Slow Birding and a cool community science project. She also wrote a charming article for the June 2020 issue of the ABA’s magazine <i><b>Birding</b></i>, titled “Backyard Big Year: Family Style,” about how she and her small children keep track of all the birds they see in their backyard. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I recently learned of a new book published by Penguin-Random House, <b><i>Slow Birding</i></b>, and immediately assumed it was by Bridget Butler, but it wasn’t. Joan E. Strassmann, a biologist who studies the evolution of cooperation and the control of conflict in microscopic animals, says birders should:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Sit and watch the birds. You might draw them or take notes on what they are doing. Then when you see those birds again, they will seem like old friends.</p></blockquote><p>That's of course good advice, familiar as it sounds. Indeed, it's the style of birding I usually do and write about, focusing on my own backyard birds as well as those further afield. </p><p>But Strassmann’s book isn’t about how we do that—rather, she chose 18 species that could be found where she lives in St. Louis and wrote about a few scientific research projects about each. Her examples of “slow birders” are people who not only place USF&W bands on birds but also color band them, place RFID tags or geolocators on them, take blood and feather samples for DNA and/or parasite analysis, and collect preen oil by rubbing a small capillary tube on a bird’s preen oil gland. Some of the research she cites involves extremely invasive methods such as implanting time-released testosterone tubes on wild birds, putting split-shot fishing weights on the tails of nesting songbirds specifically to disrupt their balance and make flight more effortful, conducting laparotomies to look directly at internal sex organs, and slicing the delicate skin on birds’ heads to look at the skull for aging. One researcher even clipped the colorful feather tips from American Coot chicks to document that their parents stop feeding them or even peck them to death.</p><p>Every one of these scientific activities requires state and federal permits above and beyond standard bird banding permits, much involving highly sophisticated and expensive laboratory analysis. In other words, the work she focuses on in <i>Slow Birding</i> is nothing most of us birders can possibly do. Reading it wasn't a waste of time, but I so wish she’d titled it something closer to what she actually wrote about; maybe <i>Detailed Descriptions of a Few Specialized Ornithological Research Projects on Some Familiar Birds</i>. The birding community already understands the term “Slow Birding” thanks to Bridget Butler, who shows us how to engage with birds in our own backyards in ways that can both enrich our lives and benefit the birds themselves, individually and collectively. I can’t wait for her to write a book. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnnpaqYVakQ_0Nuqs3BGfRkjMupgqmSYcqWwucdK1xY_Bd8rq9Z7wIDRdKUVKxhW4RmUInSgLChlpe2yB0NNri91DajGQ4yXm5brx9ArSgCrcTfBYyaTI0rB8MAVi1EacHfM4Hoz-vYOUt60loHdb0H77OSyu62U6gwaGZwD25I9jNfkDQ0HW4yMS/s4600/BButler_walking.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3065" data-original-width="4600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnnpaqYVakQ_0Nuqs3BGfRkjMupgqmSYcqWwucdK1xY_Bd8rq9Z7wIDRdKUVKxhW4RmUInSgLChlpe2yB0NNri91DajGQ4yXm5brx9ArSgCrcTfBYyaTI0rB8MAVi1EacHfM4Hoz-vYOUt60loHdb0H77OSyu62U6gwaGZwD25I9jNfkDQ0HW4yMS/w400-h266/BButler_walking.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bridget Butler<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I hardly ever write negative reviews of books, but I'm making an exception. I realize that titles can't be copyrighted, but the birding community is so familiar with the term "Slow Birding" in the context of Bridget Butler's work that I am distressed that Joan E. Strassmann didn't acknowledge her at all. Plus, the book is not about Slow Birding, but about ornithological research. My more detailed review, which repeats some of the points already mentioned, follows.</p><span><a name='more'></a></span><div>Book Review: <i>Slow Birding </i>by Joan E. Strassmann</div><p>Joan E. Strassmann came up with her book title <i>Slow Birding </i>decades ago, inspired by the "slow food" and “locavore” movements. She writes in her preface: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Slow Birding </i>brings these ideas to birding. All too often, birding is something done racing around in automobiles, stopping for moments to pick up a species here and there, then driving on. I call it “motor birding,” the birding equivalent to eating fast food. </p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">What if instead we stayed close to home and watched the birds that intersect our lives? What if we learned more about our birds, building our knowledge more slowly through daily observation? It may take some practice to get more out of local birds. It may be hard at first to learn to watch birds instead of ticking them off a list. This book will help. </p></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;">Strassmann's book has some fascinating information, but would more appropriately have been titled <i>Detailed Descriptions of a Few Specialized Ornithological Research Projects on Some Birds. </i>She calls each of the researchers she cites a "slow birder," though every one of them is a graduate student or a professional researcher with a Ph.D., and all the work she describes, often in great detail, involves highly specialized research projects requiring state and federal permits. Strassmann highlights 18 species found near her home in St. Louis, but despite her emphasis on birding <i>locally</i>, virtually none of the research she cites took place anywhere near St. Louis. Her examples of “slow birders” are people who not only place USF&W bands on birds but also color band them, place RFID tags or geolocators on them, take blood and feather samples for DNA and/or parasite analysis, and collect preen oil by rubbing a small capillary tube on a bird’s preen oil gland. Every one of these valuable scientific activities requires state and federal permits above and beyond standard bird banding permits, work which usually must be done under the auspices of a recognized research institution. And analyzing DNA, blood parasites, and preen oil compounds can only be done at highly sophisticated laboratories, usually at great expense. In other words, the work she focuses on in <i>Slow Birding</i> is nothing most of us birders can possibly do.</p><p>Many of Strassmann's “true slow birders” capture and keep wild birds in aviaries or laboratories, at least temporarily, involving additional state and federal research permits. And many of the techniques she focuses on for field work involve extremely invasive methods such as implanting time-released testosterone tubes on wild birds, putting split-shot fishing weights on the tails of nesting songbirds specifically to disrupt their balance and make flight more effortful, conducting laparotomies to look directly at internal sex organs, and slicing the delicate skin on birds’ heads to look at the skull for aging. In one case, Strassmann condescendingly reassures her readers, “Don’t worry—she treated the birds humanely and held them in a cage until they had recovered from these procedures and could be let go.” Nowhere does she mention the additional permits, institutional support, and training this researcher needed to do this legally and ethically. Again, some of the results of these kinds of invasive experiments are interesting, but a title mentioning ornithological research would have been far more appropriate than "<i>Slow Birding."</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/3513800997/in/album-72157619463248854/" title="Banding stations"><img alt="Banding stations" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3557/3513800997_ce496b34d8.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><i><br /></i></p><p>The research Strassmann calls "slow birding" may involve years or decades of carefully studying a single species, but it's hardly "slow." Anyone who has participated in simple, ordinary bird banding, especially during migration, knows that. Some people scramble to retrieve birds from nets, a painstaking procedure that must be done both carefully and quickly as more birds continue to get caught, then place each one in a bag or tube and rush it back to the banding station where other people are processing each bird—that is, banding, weighing, taking other measurements, sometimes removing one feather, recording all this data, and releasing each bird as quickly as possible. </p><p>Even the best banding stations have some mortality, an issue not mentioned in <i>Slow Birding</i>. (I seldom focus on that either, because it's rare and banding operations are so important in both ornithological and conservation work.) But Strassmann also describes the techniques of some “slow birders” who know their study subjects will die <i><b>specifically</b></i> because of their research. Some changed the color of eggs or substituted fake eggs to document the reduced parental care given chicks who hatch (or seem to have hatched) from sub-optimal eggs. One painted the mouth edges of chicks to document which ones would get too few feedings to thrive, and one even clipped colorful feather tips from American Coot chicks to document that their parents stop feeding them or even peck them to death. </p><p>Strassmann’s first species account is about one of my favorite birds, the Blue Jay, one of the three birds illustrated on the beautiful cover. She focuses on their diet, going into great detail about a very toxic food they never eat in the wild—monarch butterflies and caterpillars—and one food item that makes up a significant part of their diet from October through March—acorns. She makes absolutely no mention of the many, many other things these omnivores eat, including berries—the very food item the Blue Jay on the book's charming cover is eating—nor of the fact that Blue Jays seldom eat acorns between spring and early fall. </p><p>Strassmann gets into the nitty-gritty of Lincoln Brower’s classic experiments from the 1960s on captive jays, showing how eating a monarch makes them violently ill. I assumed that after lavishing seven lengthy paragraphs on an insect Blue Jays avoid in nature, she’d let her readers in on what insects Blue Jays do eat, but she simply wrote, “There are plenty of other delicious insects for Blue Jays to eat, but insects are not their principal food,” despite the fact that insects make up 22 percent of the adults’ diet year round and a much larger percentage of the food parent jays feed their nestlings. </p><p>Year-round, adult Blue Jays eat more vegetal than animal matter, and the connection between Blue Jays and acorns is well known. I’ve mentioned on lots of radio programs and articles that Blue Jays are credited with “planting” acorns as glaciers receded such that oaks sprouted up much more quickly than trees with wind-borne seeds, and that jays select healthy acorns with about 88 percent accuracy. Strassmann doesn't seem to realize that even though acorns are an important part of a jay's diet for half the year, these omnivorous birds eat a lot of other nuts, seeds, and berries as well, and hardly any acorns once other food becomes easily available in spring until new acorns appear much later in summer or fall. Nor does she mention how much Blue Jays eat at bird feeders even as researchers are showing that widespread bird-feeding is altering Blue Jays’ winter distribution patterns. </p><p>For each species, she provides suggestions for slow birders, but except for including Cornell’s FeederWatch in a list with other formal projects readers might look into, she never suggests paying attention to what Blue Jays eat in our own backyards except acorns, and never mentions how interesting their behaviors at feeding stations are. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51520011252/in/photolist-2muDwq5-2mwDXzX-2mwJ2yj-2mwKhBR-2mNpwTG-2mNtoA8-2ncd3iL-2noEAzL-2nFMvaf-2nLBkL9-2nLGa2Y-2nLHnw2-2nLHLXm-2nLHM7p-2nQaZP8-2nQbHVZ-2nQcw1q-2nQd9Fh-2nQdRZA-2nRNvv9-2msaBGy-2mp9rmk-2mp9vGE-2mpdr6y-2mpdZmy-2mpeQQA-2mpf7Yh-2mpf8yk-2mphbCy-2mphBbT-2mphBcP-2mrXR5w-2mrY3Vf-2mrZgU9-2ms2Uyw-2ms2WB9-2ms36rZ-2ms44dq-2ms4jeF-2ms4jKA-2ms6whh-2ms6D3b-2ms6FDD-2ms7EAR-2ms7GJP-2ms4jPU-2jKEgoA-2jKEgrr-2jKEgz2-2jKEgHo" title="Blue Jays at feeder"><img alt="Blue Jays at feeder" height="328" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51520011252_bc62441a9b.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Even more surprising considering that Blue Jays belong to the family considered by most researchers to be the most intelligent of birds, she only indirectly discusses their spatial memory; her direct references to their intelligence are in the context of lame jokes. After telling a charming story about a jay in her yard who took silver-colored coins out of her small children's hands (something it apparently learned from being raised in captivity and then released by someone else), she writes that it was “smart enough to take our silver coins but not smart enough to spend them.” And her joke about how scientists must fool secretive captive jays to observe their caches fell flat, at least for me:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Blue Jays are smart and might not go to their caches if they knew they were being watched, even by a species as different from Blue Jays as we are. But they were presumably not smart enough to understand one-way mirrors. </p></blockquote><p>Understanding avian intelligence is complicated, but I was shocked that someone who taught college-level animal behavior could write this:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">The jays are smart enough to cache and smart enough to find most of their acorns but not quite smart enough to find all of them.</p></blockquote><p>Nowhere does she cite a single study that suggests that Blue Jays <b><i>forget</i></b> their caches. Researchers have established that Blue Jays cannot subsist on acorns alone, and even in banner acorn years, they find fresh food sources throughout winter along with retrieving the many other food items they've cached. The fact that oak trees sprout from acorns “planted” by jays is not at all related to the jays’ not being “smart enough to find all of them"—it's simply that they cache away more than they'll normally need, just in case.</p><p>In her account of the Great Egret, Strassmann focuses specifically on the “slow birders” who not only observed siblicide in egret nests but swapped chicks from one nest to another to see which chicks would be killed. Doug Mock, one of the researchers she cited, told her about a newspaper interview he’d once done:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">…she asked, “How can you stand it?” And I replied, “The first step in studying siblicide is that your soul has to die.” I was being flippant, of course (as usual), but it really is pretty harrowing to watch . . . until you habituate.</p></blockquote><p>The research Strassmann includes is fascinating and, for the most part, provided valuable information at the time it was conducted—indeed, I myself have mentioned a lot of it in my own work—but her accounts focus on too narrow a slice of each species’ life history, with so many details about one or two studies that she misses nuances that have been picked up by other researchers studying the same questions. And her narrow focus gives short shrift to other aspects of each species’ life history, often some of the very aspects that St. Louis birders really could study in their own backyards. </p><p>Strassmann frequently mentions the slow food movement, so I guess it makes sense that her final recommendation for “slow birders” is to “Hunt Snow Geese in the spring…when the meat tastes better.” I do not at all oppose legal hunting, but hunting is <i style="font-weight: bold;">not</i> Slow Birding. Strassmann was specifically talking about conservation issues related to Snow Goose population surges on their Arctic breeding grounds, but in her entries about European Starlings and House Sparrows, two non-native species, she doesn't suggest that "slow birders" try to avoid subsidizing them at our feeders or nest boxes, much less shoot them.</p><p>The writing is far from elegant. Several times Strassmann drops a subject temporarily with a clunky phrase like “as we shall see.” In the Dark-eyed Junco entry, she grabbed my interest with this:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p>I could talk about the finding that males copy songs from neighbors, but those songs are of less value in attracting mates than a male’s own invented songs. Or I could tell of the study of Elise Ferree, who found that females with more white in their tail feathers had more sons. </p></blockquote><p>But then she didn't "talk about" either. </p><p>Strassmann is unsettlingly gossipy about researchers’ marriages and even about one's death by suicide. And one garbled sentence about two people in her neighborhood was utterly out of place. They:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">had the dream of grandparents down the block until he took an unfortunate medicine, went on oxygen, then ultimately both went to a retirement center, where he finally decided to go off the treatments and died.</p></blockquote><p>She goes off on many odd tangents like this, but her anecdotes about people seemed especially unseemly and off-putting.</p><p>There are many, many inspiring books out there about ways we can more closely look at the birds in our own backyards, and far more providing fascinating looks at our own backyard birds, with much more complete looks at their lives and behaviors. I'm afraid <i>Slow Birding</i> misses the mark on both counts. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-87681424639573697232023-01-30T17:00:00.028-06:002023-01-31T06:23:16.777-06:00Dawn Comes to Peabody Street<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/50908553177/in/photolist-2kyBDet-2kyDPju-2kz4rSh-2kz58zQ-2kz58LX-2kKfiot-2kKj2Dx-2kKj3as-2kKjxdZ-2kSkgin-2kTtmEY-2kUgfsJ-2kUjkK7-2kUtaD9-2kUPxib-2kV2MP8-2kx6zoH-2kx6zz9-2kx6zNq-2kx6A5x-2kx6AjA-2kx7awU-2kx7bYm-2kyhh22-2kyhhh7-2kyhhrL-2kykSPF-2kykTdb-2kymoa6-2kymoj4-2kympyD-2kymqat-2kymqyK-2kymqYh-2kypXTR-2kypYks-2kyq1Ap-2kyq1Mb-2kyq1Sb-2kyq2A5-2kyq2H9-2kyqAkV-2kyqDpA-2kyqDyo-2kyqDKA-2kyAXfz-2kyAXA4-2kyAXLu-2kyBC3k-2kyBCq9" title="Black-capped Chickadee"><img alt="Black-capped Chickadee" height="323" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50908553177_779dd20798.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>At this very moment, in the predawn twilight at 7:10 am on January 30, 2023, exactly 25 minutes before sunrise, the temperature is 13 below zero and the westerly wind is blowing steadily at 11 miles per hour. I’m looking out my home office window, watching a female cardinal down in my big platform feeder, a Dark-eyed Junco feeding on the ground beneath it, and a fluffed-out chickadee pecking at a sunflower seed from a boxelder branch. At 7:13, a male cardinal chases the female off the platform feeder. At 7:15, seven juncos are on the ground and in the lilac bush. One flies into the white spruce by my window. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51863933541/in/photolist-2n23dwH-2n23dBs-2n23zBA-2n23A3L-2n23CCF-2n24QnX-2n24Uwi-2n5ksoj-2n5qQJN-2n5qRG9-2n5s3zF-2n5tGPR-2n5tGWE-2n7GBvJ-2n7QCYW-2ngwvEt-2nVV83y-2nVXKAD-2mUCi1T-2jQEjHX-2jXc9kU-2jXyoc4-2jXyowh-2jQzUdD-2jQzUqY-2jQDryb-2jQEioN-2jX8vkz-2jXuHwB-2jXyosu-2jYrwx5-2jYrwE9-2jYsr55-2kx2UAk-2kx2V1D-2kx79XY-2kRW4fu-2kSc3Mc-2kSdFEq-2kSdGay-2kSetEA-2kSf9yv-2kSiXk9-2mHR5ZS-GARTsD-2hsbSjc-2hsbSCU-2hsbSTP-2hsbTeJ-2hsbTMh" title="Dark-eyed Junco"><img alt="Dark-eyed Junco" height="336" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51863933541_5dd3793590.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>When cardinals are in the neighborhood, they’re invariably the first species to show up, quickly followed by the juncos. I have no idea where any of them roost at night—they're suddenly just there in the feeder, lilac bush, and ground beneath. Chickadees roost alone in their own small cavities and fly in from different directions as they each awaken. </p><p>These first birds of the day have triumphed over the long night, but survival for each is still tenuous until they’ve consumed enough calories to maintain their daytime body temperature. It's freaky to look at a chickadee and realize that just millimeters from that -13º F air temperature, its heart and the blood coursing through its tissues are a feverish 108º F. Chickadees “turn down the thermostat” at night, allowing their body temperature to drop down to the 70s or sometimes even lower. When they awaken, they shiver violently, metabolizing brown fat deposits to raise their body temp back to normal, but must quickly “stoke the furnace” with high-caloric food. When a bird succumbs to the cold, it’s usually right around the critical time after that long winter’s night when it most desperately needs food. We never see the chickadees who don’t have enough energy to raise their body temperature back to normal—they die inside their tiny roosting cavities.</p><p>By 7:20, still 15 minutes before sunrise, three more chickadees came in to grab a seed and flew off. Now a fourth is pecking at a seed while perched on the window feeder, protected from the wind. Chickadees don’t like eating near other birds, but this one has the feeder to itself. Nope—another chickadee just flew in and the first flies off too quickly for me to see whether it finished its seed, dropped it, or carried it off. I’m not worried—chickadees grasp a sunflower seed in their feet and peck a tiny hole in the shell, then take tiny bites out of the kernel even as they continue to enlarge the hole in the shell. This one had been working on the seed long enough to get most of the calories before it took off. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/46063377945" title="Black-capped Chickadee"><img alt="Black-capped Chickadee" height="310" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4871/46063377945_facdab9368.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Most cavity roosting birds stay put later than birds sleeping on bare branches. The cavity can be several degrees warmer than the open air, warmed by the birds’ own bodies. On the coldest days, I seldom see nuthatches, woodpeckers, or starlings until several minutes after sunrise, which today is 7:35. The hungriest chickadees come earlier. </p><p>At 7:45, ten minutes after sunrise, it still looks like twilight despite the clear sky. On these bitter cold mornings while Lake Superior is still open, the sun must rise not just above the horizon but above a thick cloud of steam over the lake before any sunbeams at all reach Peabody Street. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51682993317/in/photolist-2mK3RiF-2iSQKTS-2iVXtNz-2j6TBio-2j6TBq2-2j6TBFs-2j6TBUy-2j6TC22-2j6TCgA-2j6TCtQ-2j6TCxN-2j6Waq3-2j6Waxh-2j6Wb7o-2j6WbHJ-2j6Wc5A-2j6Wcym-2j6XEGD-2j6XESD-2j6XF2B-2j6XF8J-2j6XFo8-2j6XFZJ-2j6XGK6-2j6XHhi-2jFgvhr-2jFhqxf-2jFT7Kn-2jFWAXG-2jFWCa1-2jFWCMd-2jFWDii-2jFWDAC-2jFXq7s-2jFXqiu-2jFXqtE-2jFXqGk-2jFXqTs-2jG2a2E-2jG2aeo-2jG2aoG-2jGCYQm-2jGCZ3A-2jGCZia-2jGDocX-2jGDogj-2jGDoE5-2jGGsQg-2jGGt6b-2jGGta9" title="Banded Pileated Woodpecker"><img alt="Banded Pileated Woodpecker" height="408" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51682993317_f00f34573d.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Today the first cavity rooster other than those earliest chickadees is BB, my banded Pileated Woodpecker, at 7:48. I must see the band on his right leg to be sure he’s not a different male, but today he's holding his belly against his feet to keep them warm. He even lets go of the feeder with one foot to press his toes tightly against his tummy for a few seconds, then switches to the other foot. He's in the feeder for 5 minutes, and I get just one quick glimpse of his band. My home office window is frozen shut so I can't take photos. </p><p>A starling appears at 7:53, and my male Red-bellied Woodpecker at 8:04, followed by a Blue Jay. A flock of starlings flies in from the east at 8:07, and a female Hairy Woodpecker at 8:08. All three wintering Blue Jays are here by 8:10, so I take room-temperature peanuts outside for them and my squirrels.</p><p>At 8:13, while I'm still downstairs, I notice a bit of red in the boxelder at the far end of my driveway. BB, atop a broken limb, faces the not-quite-risen sun, body feathers all fluffed out. At 8:20, fully 45 minutes after sunrise, the sun crests the steam cloud over the lake and casts the first beams of sunlight in my yard. At that very minute, BB flies off.</p><p>Now it’s 8:30, I’ve finished my coffee, and it’s time to head off to babysit my grandson. I’m a little sad to leave before I can see for sure that my female Red-bellied Woodpecker made it through the night. I wonder what time my nuthatches will arrive, and if one or both of my Mourning Doves will show up today. </p><p>There aren't many birds for me to watch here this winter, but that just makes me pay closer attention to the ones I do see. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51458641596/in/photolist-2mpdZmy-2mpeQQA-2mpf7Yh-2mpf8yk-2mphbCy-2mphBbT-2mphBcP-2mrXR5w-2mrY3Vf-2mrZgU9-2ms2Uyw-2ms2WB9-2ms36rZ-2ms44dq-2ms4jeF-2ms4jKA-2ms4jPU-2ms6whh-2ms6D3b-2ms6FDD-2ms7EAR-2ms7GJP-2jKEgoA-2jKEgrr-2jKEgz2-2jKEgHo-2jKEhzP-2jKEhFv-2jKTTuU-2jKXuax-2jKXuhS-2jKYoLA-2jKYoPS-2jLTE5g-2jLTEtc-2jLXd4U-2jLXdNE-2jLXear-2jLY61p-2jLY6Yw-2jLY7ns-2jN9K6s-2jN9Kui-2jN9KxK-2jNdnG5-2jNe8HY-2jXc65F-2jXcZQr-2k4P92q-2kFSkkX" title="Blue Jay"><img alt="Blue Jay" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51458641596_dbff1cb94d.jpg" width="395" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>/<br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-7289392496645359502023-01-27T07:07:00.006-06:002023-01-27T07:10:40.263-06:00What to do BEFORE improving backyard habitat: Windows<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/3263402252/in/photolist-p63mRn-p6gzu3-epYFtq-nn5h3D-nMjxHV-o1SfEx-o4vLJP-p63osi-p63pnz-sbnJWV-sQJxPR-uk8NUH-uZoAtE-uZp1dw-veEwqE-veERrf-vgsiAu-81xKM5-81xSUL-81xSXQ-81xT2b-81xTgA-81xTnb-81xTsf-82E2ip-82Hc5Y-84cRZc-84cScr-84fWwy-84DHNT-84GQhE-8gqtE6-8gqtJH-8gqtUH-8gqtYx-8gqu2P-8gtKJU-8gtKMA-8gtL2Y-9Xj8r6-9XmZRU-9Xn1Au-c4TTpb-5YnMN5-5YnNfA-81uAvF-6emMZC-7ZooSt-81uAfB-81uAkg" title="Black-and-white Warbler"><img alt="Black-and-white Warbler" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3384/3263402252_bc44c2e2dc.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>One day in the early 1980s when I was out in the backyard with my preschool children, our young golden retriever Bunter brought me a dead Evening Grosbeak. As I reached down to take it, I said, “Oh, Bunter! What did you do?” She looked abashed, but as I took the bird from her, I realized she hadn’t hurt it at all—based on rigor mortis, it had been dead long before she picked it up, killed by our dining room window.</p><p>I’d been a birder for 6 years before we moved to Duluth in 1981, but until we got here I had no clue how lethal windows could be. Our dining room picture window was a horrible killer. Evening Grosbeaks and Purple Finches seemed to be the two birds killed most often, but warblers, sparrows, and once a Baltimore Oriole were also among the victims. I’d lose somewhere between 5 and 10 birds every year, a tragic waste, and finding a solution seemed hopeless.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/17661265964/in/photolist-sUEB4A-tRFzjT-tRNGKr-wWLUMV-wZrg6T-xB2W6q-xB3qQC-xDNWZ6-xDNZtK-xRkcPh-xRkemW-xSMWqY-2mbVTYr-2mc1Gi3-ey7qEo-ey7rko-nJ8w4A-ep2RYN-5TKz3k-5TKzQg-5TKCHp-5TKF7a-5TPV75-5TPVTq-5TPWc1-5TPYws-5TQ1iU-5TQ1Wd-5TQ3kq-6rvETn-6rzPkf-6rzPtd-7Zmwz6-7ZmwNz-7ZmwST-7Zmx4v-7ZpHbq-7ZpHhh-7ZpHpN-7ZpHxm-7ZpHHo-7ZpJ1G-7ZpJhN-2mbU6KF-c4TJzS-c4TJNE-dBsDMt-ep2v5q-ep2A5E-ep2Psb" title="Dead Canada and Blackburnian Warblers"><img alt="Dead Canada and Blackburnian Warblers" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/8894/17661265964_48d4c764ce.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>As soon as I started producing “For the Birds” in 1986, I started hearing from listeners with the same problem, making me think more deeply about ways we could prevent collisions. I spent a lot of time researching the issue at the UMD library but didn’t find any tested solutions until 1990, in a paper by Daniel Klem, “Collisions between birds and windows: mortality and prevention” in the <b><i>Journal of Field Ornithology</i></b>, based on studies Klem and his students had made on campus at Muhlenberg College.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/40285941044/in/photolist-HjTxe3-TiPonA-Um3dsN-246Ha4M-24jTLSG-24nVYJq" title="Laura and Dan Klem"><img alt="Laura and Dan Klem" height="457" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/40285941044_8ac0380147.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Klem noted that when feeders were placed directly on windows or set within three feet of the window, birds occasionally hit the glass but weren’t flying fast enough for serious injury, but if the feeders were set any further away, birds hit at maximum velocity. So for Mother’s Day that year, Russ and my kids built a platform feeder directly on our dining room window frame. That marked the end of the problem at that window. Still, one or two birds died at a window somewhere on our house every year.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/6026757837/in/photolist-abyH8T-abBqFA-abPULe-abPVx2-abSN1h-acsYkV-acvNaQ-acvNzQ-aetpg3-aetpvu-aetqes-ahynvC-ahyoaN-ahyoZo-ahyqmQ-ahyrbo-ahys17-ahysAQ-ai514a-ajxc3n-ajzYo9-ajDmXP-ajDpMR-ajDqqp-ajDrnc-ajDs4M-ajDtNn-ajDygi-ajDz1t-ajG88A-ajG92o-ajGaW5-ajGbKq-ajGevj-ajGfms-ajGgeU-ajGkab-b6WnkX-b6Wnx8-b6WnHR-b6WnUk-bkXnfq-dGZFzc-eGsmxg-eGspnk-eGstvT-eGsxWg-eGsA9B-eGsCCa-eGsHDp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Evening Grosbeak family group"><img alt="Evening Grosbeak family group" height="281" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6128/6026757837_809bd945b2.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About a minute into this video, a young male flies right up to the glass to inspect it. </td></tr></tbody></table><p>Over time, I picked up more ideas from Klem’s work, and put a lot of helpful tips about ways to protect birds from window collisions in my 2006 book, <b><i><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/book/101-ways-to-help-birds/">101 Ways to Help Birds</a></i></b>. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/book/101-ways-to-help-birds/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="529" height="400" src="https://media.lauraerickson.com/images/5a36efea-6668-435b-a0f9-c3c3eddba045_101.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><p>Those and more are listed on my website, lauraerickson.com. Click on “Ways to Help” at the top, and then go to<b><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/way-to-help/6/"> #6: “Make your windows safer for birds.”</a></b></p><p>Suggestions include suspending window screening on the outside of dangerous windows; hanging “zen wind curtains” made from para-cord; creating vertical lines from tape, soap, or waterproof markers no more than 4 inches apart; coating the window with one-way transparent film; and setting taut bird screening 6 or so inches out from the glass so if birds do fly in, they’ll bounce off. Decals on the exterior window surface only work when you cover the window with them, spaced no further apart than a person’s outstretched hand. You can see photos showing most of these in real buildings on my website.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/3315228868/in/photolist-63Xq3q-63XqxJ-TiPonA-6cTHUd-Um3dsN-8w2dxr-8w2fgt-8w2UXD-8w5gjS-8w5gSE-8w5WDd-8w5WWh-99bNmy-9ZbBfX-abyH8T-afEkA7-beBwqc-csWc6W-cJkEQG-G7AW-GdDq-dCYKu5-dCYL5W-dHVdnU-dHVeq1-oEEiiC-oEEC9b-oJKBB7-oJLs8p-oJLLZo-oJM7cP-oJM9nR-oZdjVQ-oZdndq-oZet77-p2f8tz-p2fcYM-p2ghwH-p2C3Vt-5VSQWq-63ymY2-63CC1L-63XpMN-63Xqhd-6A8B4i-9Zevxm-agsnHm-aHvUi4-aLzKMK-dHVfgG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Bird Screening"><img alt="Bird Screening" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3364/3315228868_6f6a213591.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span>Audubon's Rowe Sanctuary built this wonderful green welcome/education center overlooking the Platte River in Kearney, Nebraska, where cranes gather. At the building's grand opening, people were horrified by how many birds were crashing into the windows. Fortunately, one of those horrified visitors came up with a great solution, immediately got to work, and then started <a href="https://www.birdscreen.com/PowerStore/index.php">The Bird Screen Company</a>.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Window collisions weren’t taken seriously by most scientists despite Daniel Klem’s painstaking research until the past decade, and most prominent bird conservation scientists actually pooh-poohed the significance of the problem. I wish someone like Martha Stewart or the producers of “This Old House” would come up with lovely exterior window coverings that could withstand weather. Why couldn’t we have blinds on tracks on the outside rather than the inside? Or sturdy shutters that open and close securely with an inside control, so it would be easy to keep them closed when we're not enjoying the view? Along the East Coast and Gulf, shutters would also reduce the amount of plywood people buy before hurricanes. And they’d reduce heat loss at night in winter here in the North and keep buildings cooler on sunny days in the South.</p><p>Windows kill roughly the same number of birds that cats do—about a BILLION every year in the United States alone. I’m going to be devoting several upcoming programs to the importance of creating bird habitat in our yards. Making our windows safe will help ensure that these birds are not being lured to our homes simply to die.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52398114673/in/photolist-2nQf2Ye-2nx6oRv-2nxaBRG-2nxbysd-2nxcZfw-2nnkpJi-2nohzi9-2nohCM3-2nomGJh-2nopj5H-2noqrEv-2nvfbtj-2nvgqqw-2nvgqtN-2nvgqBd-2nnfa4h-2nnfagM-2nnkri2-2nnmyPP-2nnmyXj-2nnmC1o-2nohzat-2nonSJa-2nuCB6B-2nv9UQQ-2nvfbss-2nvfbBR-2nvfbEM-2nvgqEV-2nvmFFU-2n1Xjrp-2n23dwH-2n23dBs-2n23zBA-2n23A3L-2n23CCF-2n24dmR-2n24zUc-2n24QnX-2n24Uwi-2n25SGE-2n3gj5n-2n51d3f-2n5ksoj-2n5qQJN-2n5rX71-2n5s3zF-2n5tGPR-2n5tGWE-2n1YffM" title="Pileated Woodpecker at my window feeder"><img alt="Pileated Woodpecker at my window feeder" height="305" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52398114673_14680e6540.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-53162499868949386772023-01-25T07:03:00.001-06:002023-01-25T08:17:50.575-06:00What to do BEFORE improving backyard habitat: Cats<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/3166361089/in/photolist-n71n78-n7356S-rvspmW-GwPtUg-5PNqQz-5PSERS-5PSGFy-6cTDPq-6cTHib-6cTHUd-2dDQqRQ-9sykNA-9symcG-9sGySg-9sGzx4-9sGAaB-9sGAMM-9sKxRb" title="Kasey"><img alt="Kasey" height="430" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1076/3166361089_5cd63aeda0.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>In the coming weeks, I’m going to produce several “For the Birds” programs and blog posts about improving backyard habitat. But before anyone should set up bird feeders or add plants to attract birds, we must ensure that we’re not luring them to death traps. Two backyard bird killers each take out on the order of a billion birds in the United States every year—cats and windows. </p><p>When Russ and I were first married in 1972, I came upon a homeless cat sitting in a tree—he wasn’t wearing clothes, and when I came to know him, I realized he did not like following rules, so I named him Yossarian. This was before I started birding, but I didn’t need to know much about birds to know that cats kill them, and that outdoor cats, being subsidized by humans, can survive quite handily even when prey populations shrink so that natural predators would have to move on or die out. So Yossarian spent the rest of his life as an indoor cat, as did 5 other outdoor cats we took in over our lives. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/24788577123/in/photolist-DLtWmK" title="Sasha"><img alt="Sasha" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1461/24788577123_c6bfb32a27.jpg" width="310" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>When we moved to Duluth, a few cats prowled my neighborhood. Our dog kept them out of our yard, but on several mornings during a warbler fallout in 1991, my son Tommy and I found scores of dead warblers littering a sidewalk on our walk to kindergarten. One day when I couldn’t take it anymore, I picked up all the dead birds and deposited them in a big pile on the cat’s owners’ porch with a note explaining that if I ever saw that cat outside again, I’d take it directly to the pound. </p><p>Outdoor cats are the number one carrier of rabies among domestic animals. And every cat that feeds on, or even just toys with, rodents or birds can spread toxoplasmosis, which is exceptionally dangerous for pregnant women and their unborn babies, newborns, toddlers, and the elderly. Outdoor cats use flowerbeds and children’s sandboxes as litter boxes, putting gardeners and tiny children at risk. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/15623526525" title="Feral cat"><img alt="Feral cat" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3936/15623526525_d8c23c6fd6.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>When Russ and I visited Jekyll Island in Georgia a few years ago, one feral cat on a railing along a narrow boardwalk to the beach reached out to scratch me—I was walking tightly against the other side to avoid it, and its claw snagged my shirt rather than skin. A small child whose face was at my arm level could have been hurt badly. Feral cats are dangerous.</p><p>For decades, people have been touting “trap, neuter, release” programs for feral cats, assuring us that this provides a check on feral cat numbers, but there is absolutely no evidence that this is true despite how many decades these programs have been in existence. Outdoor cats who do have homes also take a huge toll, even the ones whose owners insist that <i>their</i> cat is too lazy or old to hurt birds or that <i>their </i>cat focuses entirely on mice, not birds. </p><p>Wherever excellent bird habitat exists, from small backyards to large swaths of public land, predators follow. A pair of Merlins nest somewhere in the neighborhood just about every year. Most winters, a hawk, Merlin, or shrike spends a few weeks hunting in my neck of the woods. And I live right under Hawk Ridge, a major raptor flyway. I’m always distressed when one of these predators takes out one of my little birds. Then again, I was pretty upset when a monarch I’d raised from a caterpillar was drying its newly opening wings and a chickadee took a triangular bite out of one. When we think at all about the caterpillars and other insects our treasured backyard birds take out, we don’t seem to extend much sympathy toward them.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51209627539/in/photolist-2m2dJ9K-2m2dJwZ-2m2fiss-2m2xFKq-2m2xGFU-2m2D8JT-2m2D8Px-2m2D8V9-2m2D9sx-2m2U25o-2m2XFHd-2m31YGY-2m34amy-2m3fQCc-2m3fQQw-2m3vMGE-2m3vN1v-2m3vPKn-2m3vQc4-2m3vRkg-2m3vRvm-2m3zqiP-2m3zsBw-2m3zsM6-2m3ztQJ-2m3zwpg-2m3zHcd-2m3zNe2-2m3Avsb-2m3Az5b-2m3AzwJ-2m3ARbQ-2m3Dm5P-2m3DmqD-2m3DmFZ-2m3EUxo-2m3EUGw-2m3F15q-2m5eeuZ-2m5eey6-2m5hPZi-2m5hQcC-2m5hQfi-2m5hSNz-2m5iPwE-2m5iVEw-2m5iXvL-2m5mMXY-2m8B2gs-2m8BVia" title="Black-capped Chickadees nesting in yard"><img alt="Black-capped Chickadees nesting in yard" height="368" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51209627539_46cf126542.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>But predation is natural whether the victim is a grub or a bird. And <i>natural</i> predators simply cannot afford to eliminate all the prey where they live or they’ll eventually starve or move away. That is the difference between natural predators and outdoor cats—thanks to people feeding them, cats are <b><i>subsidized killers</i></b> who get by just fine even as they kill far too many local birds. </p><p>To responsibly invite birds to our yards, we obviously must keep our own pet cats indoors, but we should also consider how safe our yard is from feral and stray cats in our neighborhoods. With so many strident, well-funded cat defenders organizing now, encouraging city councils to pass a cat leash ordinance is even harder today than it was when Duluth did it in 2000. Our own hard work can only be successful when we partner with individuals and groups concerned about birds, the environment, and human health and safety. That kind of endeavor is not for everyone, but at least make sure your own yard is as safe as possible before issuing invitations to birds to come visit. </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/6305305492/in/photolist-pNAE7Z-DjGy9C-Dn1gRZ-5PNqQz-2bB97aj-aBbkDE-aBboEA-g9P2js-g9PAZk" title="Feral cats in subsidized colony, Sacramento, CA"><img alt="Feral cats in subsidized colony, Sacramento, CA" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6019/6305305492_ee0891d2e0.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-18344893549804584432023-01-22T10:37:00.004-06:002023-01-22T12:21:08.306-06:00Mourning Dove!<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/33896996978/in/photolist-TDmYfo-Ufes6q-UP7x99-UP7xEj-Vtnxi9-Y5ZsoQ-Y9Ap4z-Y9ApQK-Z7YGPy-Z7YHnh-Z7YJTd-ZaJwj4-ZaJwCF-25arXeF-2eoDE84-2eoDEPK-2eoDFDk-PqdLED-nt6SUB-nvahnx-ukk2M1-uzArDw-uBtEis-uBVbEc-HQ5g79-HVCJj4-HVCMzc-JcD2VJ-JfDqMM-JGTrzb-JJbnGo-JJbpKS-JJbrPm-JJbF7d-JJbGaW-JJgxcp-JK7tix-KeARhN-KviUhq-KviWhs-KBSjEC-KEJG8V-2cws5Dv-2mfF8QZ-2mZ5Gmk-2n5WCCL-2na19L1-acGEog-acKENs-acKFxW" title="Mourning Dove"><img alt="Mourning Dove" height="320" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/33896996978_de121bc6cd.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>This week I heard from Kelli Alseth of Proctor, not too far from Duluth. She's delighted to be hosting a Mourning Dove at her feeding station. She’s been sprinkling sunflower chips on a flat railing and her porch floor specifically for it, and that's where the dove spends most of its feeding time. She sent photos her husband Jeffrey took. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP33-cori-zivFn-z_xqaCRoOSJhgFjo_SeZbR1y4uus9KXB3x1uqJ79OTzI-oU1pRfFzr6BMSJneQOmekLkJfJiofWugjdapPaSMnXpmVzkoGzNvbOJCG1dHcUv0Dm482CrK0pPJDzYxehu7h-MCs8bNgVlA6FCsPAqpO-ac-2a7zUbzCGXuA-fy4/s640/MODO1JAlseth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvhP4MfvbpG1_9g_7n0YU1gcxSI19G6OJyTj7V9RgLJnYE-CVp8rmI8PgZ_iESjmsxz30EtuRn8nZ2TGuE22CrtqRgr44RNAY6axhC7eQRYK0k2o-f-HLZKtKx78PcP7Vvx0Dy_l5KH7bE55NmM2rVbHhzQM_MvuzqTCfTO6csiToHfqXwpDiLjSF/s640/MODO3_JAlseth.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvhP4MfvbpG1_9g_7n0YU1gcxSI19G6OJyTj7V9RgLJnYE-CVp8rmI8PgZ_iESjmsxz30EtuRn8nZ2TGuE22CrtqRgr44RNAY6axhC7eQRYK0k2o-f-HLZKtKx78PcP7Vvx0Dy_l5KH7bE55NmM2rVbHhzQM_MvuzqTCfTO6csiToHfqXwpDiLjSF/w300-h400/MODO3_JAlseth.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mourning Dove feeding at Kelli Alseth's. Photo by Jeffrey Alseth.</td></tr></tbody></table></a></div><p>It’s very unusual for Mourning Doves to remain up here all winter—the vast majority head south. I’ve had them in my own yard only a couple of winters since we moved here 42 years ago. Duluth is north of the wintering range according to even the most up-to-date field guide, the 7th edition of the National Geographic, and the map on the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s <b><a href="https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Mourning_Dove">All About Birds</a></b> website. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikx-o9pRYkCYgtlWKF1WdmVun_rFLdSIwWcOolv_EJHvcSfvPqNSuN0Wy5j5zBkaGHpWghfDMESihGOnGDbbmiV8gfojYPtumQvdNB7d8-aI7err-Yc7SDvkkh0kNsa8jN-8rCGSz9QyJIlJyUF3h4vZ4yWogekYE8NySO4HU1fwvpLSboqBMVOLN8/s864/MODOrangemapAllAboutBirds.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikx-o9pRYkCYgtlWKF1WdmVun_rFLdSIwWcOolv_EJHvcSfvPqNSuN0Wy5j5zBkaGHpWghfDMESihGOnGDbbmiV8gfojYPtumQvdNB7d8-aI7err-Yc7SDvkkh0kNsa8jN-8rCGSz9QyJIlJyUF3h4vZ4yWogekYE8NySO4HU1fwvpLSboqBMVOLN8/w334-h400/MODOrangemapAllAboutBirds.jpg" width="334" /></a></div><p>But Mourning Doves are functionally illiterate and never read that information when planning their travels. I saw one a couple of times at the very end of December, over a week after Duluth’s Christmas Bird Count. I would have loved to see one for the Count, but it wouldn't have meant much—13 were tallied by other people that day. As it turns out, Mourning Doves have been reported on 42 of the last 44 Duluth Christmas Bird Counts. Indeed, <a href="https://ebird.org/map/moudov?neg=true&env.minX=144.00987154435677&env.minY=-11.569494366165546&env.maxX=55.41612154435679&env.maxY=72.27465227413998&zh=true&gp=false&ev=Z&excludeEx=&mr=12-2&bmo=12&emo=2&yr=all&byr=1900&eyr=2023">eBird’s map of Mourning Dove sightings from December through February</a> extends well north of Duluth into Canada in the dead of winter. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKoc8HCvoLhDPH7Z9x-bRpHsG-wrYy0ZsROwcjNaOjZjK42em1xqk5901eV0bDBRxHGrSjwjQP4RmnpPxQh7leZKCBl0JQafI4Ugb5Kg4RMwPfrO2mcqzSPygzCE9vgKVOGGOihQbBDFAchVc8XezCny-E6IaUPozF0_9BGWqRfkXdkWu9InN8N8G/s1584/Screenshot%202023-01-21%20at%203.00.17%20PM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="948" data-original-width="1584" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKoc8HCvoLhDPH7Z9x-bRpHsG-wrYy0ZsROwcjNaOjZjK42em1xqk5901eV0bDBRxHGrSjwjQP4RmnpPxQh7leZKCBl0JQafI4Ugb5Kg4RMwPfrO2mcqzSPygzCE9vgKVOGGOihQbBDFAchVc8XezCny-E6IaUPozF0_9BGWqRfkXdkWu9InN8N8G/w400-h240/Screenshot%202023-01-21%20at%203.00.17%20PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">eBird map of Mourning Dove sightings, all years, between December and February</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>So individual Mourning Doves do stick around up here just about every year, but there are excellent reasons that the vast majority head south. Unlike songbirds and even hummingbirds, Mourning Doves are vulnerable to frostbite, with a rich blood supply to their thick, featherless toes. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/37491300182/in/photolist-Z7YHnh-Z7YJTd-ZaJwj4-ZaJwCF-25arXeF-2eoDE84-2eoDEPK-2eoDFDk-PqdLED-nt6SUB-nvahnx-ukk2M1-uzArDw-uBtEis-uBVbEc-HQ5g79-HVCJj4-HVCMzc-JcD2VJ-JfDqMM-JGTrzb-JJbnGo-JJbpKS-JJbrPm-JJbF7d-JJbGaW-JJgxcp-JK7tix-KeARhN-KviUhq-KviWhs-KBSjEC-KEJG8V-2cws5Dv-2mfF8QZ-2mZ5Gmk-2n5WCCL-2na19L1-acGEog-acKENs-acKFxW-acKFKU-acKJx7-acKJVS-acKKZj-acKLfh-ae1K54-ajwnYR-ajwoLD-ajzcMd" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Mourning Dove"><img alt="Mourning Dove" height="350" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/37491300182_d6ce1c739a.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I photographed this young Mourning Dove in July 2017. The fleshy feet are even redder when the outdoor temperature is cold and blood flows to the extremities.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>The way they protect themselves is to pig out a few times a day, stuffing not just their stomach but a large pouch in their esophagus called the crop, and then to roost in a secluded, sheltered spot for an hour or so, digesting their food as their warm tummy presses against their feet. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/37491305282/in/photolist-Z7YJTd-ZaJwj4-ZaJwCF-25arXeF-2eoDE84-2eoDEPK-2eoDFDk-PqdLED-nt6SUB-nvahnx-ukk2M1-uzArDw-uBtEis-uBVbEc-HQ5g79-HVCJj4-HVCMzc-JcD2VJ-JfDqMM-JGTrzb-JJbnGo-JJbpKS-JJbrPm-JJbF7d-JJbGaW-JJgxcp-JK7tix-KeARhN-KviUhq-KviWhs-KBSjEC-KEJG8V-2cws5Dv-2mfF8QZ-2mZ5Gmk-2n5WCCL-2na19L1-acGEog-acKENs-acKFxW-acKFKU-acKJx7-acKJVS-acKKZj-acKLfh-ae1K54-ajwnYR-ajwoLD-ajzcMd-bX4AhV" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Mourning Dove"><img alt="Mourning Dove" height="358" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4452/37491305282_02bcc6b752.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The same young Mourning Dove is roosting comfortably. </span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Thanks to their very short legs, very long tails, and habit of feeding on the ground and flat feeders, doves face another dangerous issue during sleet and ice storms: if their tail feathers get coated with ice, they sometimes become frozen stuck against the icy substrate. Over the years, I’ve heard from a few Wisconsin listeners about finding two or three Mourning Dove tails stuck to their platform feeders, or tailless doves visiting after such a storm. Tail feathers do grow back in, but with only marginal food availability in winter, this takes several weeks during which their compromised flight maneuverability makes them more vulnerable to predation. When we are lucky enough to host one or more Mourning Doves in winter or during harsh springs or falls, providing black-oil sunflower seeds and white millet in places where they can eat comfortably—on platform feeders or a sheltered spot on the ground beneath a thick conifer—is a mercy. Kelli Alseth appears to be a perfect dove hostess.</p><p>I usually don’t see Mourning Doves in my own yard until March or April, but I did see one on New Year’s Eve.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52601233621/in/dateposted-public/" title="Mourning Dove"><img alt="Mourning Dove" height="325" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52601233621_fe2b6cc7f9.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>That made me hopeful that I’d add the species to my 2023 list on New Year’s Day. But no luck—I finally saw one on January 9 and two on January 12. They were a male and a female, which I could tell because one was noticeably larger than the other. Females are a duller brown with less iridescence, but I can’t see that without good light. </p><p>When Mourning Doves do winter up here, they usually visit more than one feeding station so they have backups if one food source dries up. The one they visit at first light in the morning and then as twilight sets in is usually their favorite. On Saturday, January 21, one visited my feeders on and off all day, and spent quite a bit of time roosting in the white spruce next to my home office, but it was nowhere to be seen the next morning. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52641464108/in/dateposted-public/" title="Mourning Dove"><img alt="Mourning Dove" height="302" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52641464108_c6e3facf5b.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Several people have feeders within a block of me, so I’m sure the two doves occasionally showing up here are more regular at at least one of those feeding stations than at mine. I’m very happy that Kelli Alseth’s visitor comes so reliably to her yard, and even more happy that her dove chose such a trustworthy person to count on. </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP33-cori-zivFn-z_xqaCRoOSJhgFjo_SeZbR1y4uus9KXB3x1uqJ79OTzI-oU1pRfFzr6BMSJneQOmekLkJfJiofWugjdapPaSMnXpmVzkoGzNvbOJCG1dHcUv0Dm482CrK0pPJDzYxehu7h-MCs8bNgVlA6FCsPAqpO-ac-2a7zUbzCGXuA-fy4/s640/MODO1JAlseth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP33-cori-zivFn-z_xqaCRoOSJhgFjo_SeZbR1y4uus9KXB3x1uqJ79OTzI-oU1pRfFzr6BMSJneQOmekLkJfJiofWugjdapPaSMnXpmVzkoGzNvbOJCG1dHcUv0Dm482CrK0pPJDzYxehu7h-MCs8bNgVlA6FCsPAqpO-ac-2a7zUbzCGXuA-fy4/w300-h400/MODO1JAlseth.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mourning Dove roosting in the sunlight at Kelli Alseth's. Photo by Jeffrey Alseth.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-70499360053309604762023-01-20T07:25:00.007-06:002023-01-20T07:37:21.641-06:00A Million Ways to Bird<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/6150621808/in/photolist-xAWn2z-5Qp223-QLYnbi-2a5cJzx-anvxFh-nFmyny-nXJVgb-nXJWU1-wDVhTf-wGjsbe-xyBHEu-DYRL5W-anvxzA-btnJjE-cDJZ6q-cDJZBs-dG6YpX" title="Laura's new binoculars!"><img alt="Laura's new binoculars!" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6191/6150621808_95c9b16525.jpg" width="372" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>I got my first field guide and pair of binoculars on Christmas 1974 and was thrilled by the very idea of becoming a birdwatcher. The only birdwatchers I’d ever heard of were the fictional Miss Jane Hathaway from <i>The Beverly Hillbillies</i> and, oddly enough because she was also played by Nancy Kulp, the equally fictional Pamela Livingstone on <i>The Bob Cummings Show</i>. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQAdwkz1gdAOP0Up44HVMka4-f7Ujq13aAkHXq1AppSX_lX5DGxiFrC7_vinB57AFJxG2zuoLxXcCZVUskbogguyobgC99N2JWw__l152AmhciKwLqsxtaD33UH2CCYZK-xAdWlTwrvc/s400/Kulp.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQAdwkz1gdAOP0Up44HVMka4-f7Ujq13aAkHXq1AppSX_lX5DGxiFrC7_vinB57AFJxG2zuoLxXcCZVUskbogguyobgC99N2JWw__l152AmhciKwLqsxtaD33UH2CCYZK-xAdWlTwrvc/s320/Kulp.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I didn’t have a clue how to be a bird watcher because it obviously involved finding and identifying wild birds beyond the only ones I already knew—pigeons, House Sparrows, cardinals, and robins. The field guide showed so many more, and according to the range maps, hundreds of them could be seen right where I grew up near Chicago and right where I was living right then, in East Lansing, Michigan. </p><p>The field guide would help me if and when I saw a bird, but meanwhile, I had to figure out how to find more, so as soon as I finished reading it, I went to the library and found Joseph Hickey’s <i>A Guide to Bird Watching, </i>originally published in 1943. What a welcoming invitation! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCkVlHDxhP263Un2wj764LptKlj9XER-kbCX_Nt8KU2RAWMgxU_x9Qh0w_PtUVtQUFdBMcm075_Tout8ctf4Ee4-dh6n--fK0awOKVuMQ83-psAwv0pa_KN5k6Rd4WraO7ET1dKFsieH1ddAg7burchBwgb82jPzkGep_uJCeNkzo13chjqSEj6hK/s2048/JoeHickeyCover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1319" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCkVlHDxhP263Un2wj764LptKlj9XER-kbCX_Nt8KU2RAWMgxU_x9Qh0w_PtUVtQUFdBMcm075_Tout8ctf4Ee4-dh6n--fK0awOKVuMQ83-psAwv0pa_KN5k6Rd4WraO7ET1dKFsieH1ddAg7burchBwgb82jPzkGep_uJCeNkzo13chjqSEj6hK/s320/JoeHickeyCover.jpg" width="206" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This is the Dover reprint I bought in Madison when I'd no longer be going to the MSU library.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTLblREb2sexcBZXfbxdm2Bqjl54aqPdYa6Cf-nt5pd5hvRHvNBCKxntBAGapxNioFiB6PsVVuOYynRb3GNvGkoyQOozJJnnxvgH4VObHT_JDuRcDIdZm2Qvb8SwLDyPwW4H5YQrZ6Y2kzdTqvzlrf7rIKFgqVc3IrrDJgQk09YOmlXVXALUo6_w8/s2048/JoeHickeyInscription.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1303" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTLblREb2sexcBZXfbxdm2Bqjl54aqPdYa6Cf-nt5pd5hvRHvNBCKxntBAGapxNioFiB6PsVVuOYynRb3GNvGkoyQOozJJnnxvgH4VObHT_JDuRcDIdZm2Qvb8SwLDyPwW4H5YQrZ6Y2kzdTqvzlrf7rIKFgqVc3IrrDJgQk09YOmlXVXALUo6_w8/s320/JoeHickeyInscription.jpg" width="204" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yep! Joe Hickey autographed my copy!!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>The very first paragraph said bird watching: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">can be taken up at any age, by the active as well as by the convalescent…It is packed with drama because it centers on the annual miracle of creation. It is rich in movement, since birds are among the greatest travelers on our planet. It combines the visual and the auditory, for there are beautifully plumaged birds and equally stirring singers. Most of all, its essence lies in the unknown. Birds travel to the ends of the earth and back, we know not exactly how. Much of their everyday life is still unrecorded. Countless new channels of knowledge still await exploration by enterprising bird students. </p></blockquote><p>Hickey explained how to keep a life list, so the first time I went out to watch birds, I started mine. After traipsing around Baker Woodlot for over an hour, I came home with a life list of one—Black-capped Chickadee—and was bubbling with joy. That tiny bird had made eye contact with me! Imagine that. Every bird I added was a revelation, its place on my life list a treasured milestone. </p><p>But I quickly learned that some people who were way more skilled at finding and identifying birds than I was didn’t keep a life list. One of my dearest friends, one of the best birders I know, who has traveled more extensively and seen more species than I have, never keeps lists at all. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52202093766/in/photolist-mXNQyg-mXNQJ6-mXNRjz-mXNW4H-sX7Xso-tcnhi3-wZkce3-wZkeUd-wZsAAD-xeCQgY-xeCYoQ-xgaztQ-xgXj5e-xhvPHK-xhw5tr-xhwaqF-QU39PE-2nwQfEL-2nwVnMq-9zCve8-eWayTU-n6Zzdp" title="Paula and Laura in Port Wing"><img alt="Paula and Laura in Port Wing" height="375" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52202093766_76a510fb6d.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Some of us bird watchers take lots and lots of photos, sound recordings, or videos. Some record every single sighting in eBird or a field notebook. But a great many people who enjoy birds every bit as much as I do immerse themselves in the moments when they are birding, savoring each avian encounter without the desire or compulsion to memorialize it on paper or digital media. Some bird watchers simply pay a bit of attention to birds when out golfing or looking at wildflowers. It's all good. </p><p>Hardly anyone reads Joseph Hickey’s book anymore—dozens of newer books provide more up-to-date information. Some emphasize travel and listing; others recommend savoring birds closer to home. Some birders get focused on a single approach while others bird in different ways on different days. I suspect a lot of avid birders never even read how-to books about it. The beauty of birding is that there is no right way. Hickey wrote in that inviting first chapter of <i>A Guide to Bird Watching</i> that birding is “anything you care to make it.” An American Birding Association slogan on their web page is “A million ways to bird.” However each of us chooses to enjoy birds, <b><i>that</i></b> is the right way.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-4856963148350945312023-01-13T11:16:00.004-06:002023-01-13T11:16:50.154-06:00Four Ways to Eat a Sunflower Seed<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52601233621/in/dateposted-public/" title="Mourning Dove"><img alt="Mourning Dove" height="325" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52601233621_fe2b6cc7f9.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>My little grandson Walter loves watching chickadees fly into his bird feeder, select one sunflower seed, and carry it off to eat in a tree. This week when he was at my house, we watched chickadees doing exactly that, coming and going from my big tray feeder even as the whole while, two Mourning Doves sat in the feeder eating seed after seed right there. He liked learning that some birds eat seeds in the feeder while some eat them somewhere else. </p><p>Sunflower seeds are exactly the same no matter who is eating them. The shell is not digestible—it’s the seed within that has all the nutrition. Different kinds of birds have entirely different approaches to how they extract that nutrition. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52623184808/in/dateposted-public/" title="Mourning Doves at Feeder"><img alt="Mourning Doves at Feeder" height="281" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/31337/52623184808_d3145d679e.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Pigeons and doves swallow sunflower seeds whole, leaving it to their powerful, grit-filled gizzard to pulverize both the shell and inner seed before they reach the intestines, where the nourishing elements are extracted and enter the birds’ bloodstream and the rest get pooped out. Doves are big and tasty, and every moment they spend in the open eating seeds, they’re vulnerable to predators. So when they come down to eat, they pig out, filling not just their large stomach but also a large, expandable pouch in their esophagus called the crop. When fully stuffed, they fly to a safe place to roost—it’s there that they digest their meal. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52104237349/in/photolist-2nogQtP-2noTRwa-2o9c5a4-2ob8ztN-TDmYfo-2eoDE84-2eoDEPK-2eoDFDk-2ezTUeL-PAjwbk-Ufes6q-UP7x99-UP7xEj-JJbF7d-JJbGaW-JJgxcp-JJgCGT-Kvj1d3-KBSumG-KBSxvh-KEJG8V-KEJU8X-PqdLED-S27tFa-Vtnxi9-Y5ZsoQ-Y9Ap4z-Y9ApQK-Z7YGPy-Z7YHnh-Z7YJTd-ZaJwj4-ZaJwCF-25arXeF-HQ5g79-HVCMzc-JcD2VJ-JfDqMM-2mfF8QZ-2mZ5Gmk-2n5WCCL-2na19L1-acKxdo-acKDN9-acKE1U-acKEgh-acKENs-acKFxW-acKFKU-acKGhb" title="Mourning Dove"><img alt="Mourning Dove" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52104237349_57bcc9b331.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>It’s easy to watch them swallowing the seeds whole, and if we’re lucky enough to spot a branch where they’re roosting, whether we realize it or not, we’re seeing them digest their latest meal. Pigeons and doves may visit our feeders any time of day, but they visit their favorite feeding station the two times of day when a big meal is most critical: at dusk, before they go to sleep—that bedtime meal keeps their metabolic furnace burning all night as they digest—and first thing in the morning, breakfast being the most important meal of the day for birds, when their stomachs are empty. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52601237401/in/dateposted-public/" title="Evening Grosbeak"><img alt="Evening Grosbeak" height="340" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52601237401_a94024e4da.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>With their large crop and relatively large body size, swallowing a large quantity of whole seeds isn’t a problem for pigeons and doves. Smaller seed-eating birds such as sparrows, finches, cardinals, and grosbeaks are just as vulnerable as doves out in the open, but being smaller, they can't afford to waste valuable space in their stomach and crop with indigestible seed shells, so they have special adaptations to extract the inner seeds quickly and efficiently. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/4001308366/in/photolist-arkfJE-as72Xf-as73kE-auA9QK-auBKmB-auBLv8-auBMbD-auBMsV-auCNXm-auEpp3-auEqBo-auKEwF-auNjAs-auNjKj-c4TKcd-dbArEN-dbARjU-dbARzQ-dcThi8-dcThKZ-dcTiCR-dcTjG5-dcTm2D-dcTmLt-dcTnjN-dcTnQ3-dcTo74-dcTo9C-nJ5yrM-p1LJ9U-9F69NB-9F962b-auBKMr-auBLHr-auBMDK-auEqn1-dcTkSF-dcTpz1-5TL8ZB-5TL9vt-5TQtdY-6cTHUd-6mvfnz-6s6W1N-76vPhR-76vPAk-76zKzh-5TL9X6-5TLapr-5XE9Pe" title="White-throated Sparrow"><img alt="White-throated Sparrow" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/3477/4001308366_ded12e7501.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>When one of these birds picks up a seed, its thick, muscular tongue instantly maneuvers it into a notch near the base of the thick, conical beak, which immediately cracks the seed open. In one quick movement, the muscular tongue pulls the inner seed into the mouth to swallow as the shell pieces drop to the ground and the bird grabs another seed. We can watch this firsthand with binoculars when a sparrow, finch, or grosbeak is eating at the feeder. Like doves and pigeons, sparrows, finches, and grosbeaks have a sturdy, well-developed gizzard to grind the inner seeds into a liquid before emptying the soupy meal into the intestines. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/50365566716/in/photolist-2jJCGgW-2jKD9ko-2jKD9V1-2jKDnCq-2jKDnJs-2jKDnMU-2jKEeMz-2jKEf4X-2jC8f4X-2jC8fcc-2jC8fi9-2jCbHRN-2jCctK5-2jCctVf-2jDFtgt-2jDFtos-2jDFutJ-2jDJTvY-2jDJU7n-2jDJVbg-2jDJVgr-2jDKL4s-2jDKLbX-2jDKLxZ-2jDKMeZ-2jENxjr-2jFiTvH-2jGCjD5-2jGHFnp-2jJyZJb-2jJDuym-2jJDuNE-2jKaz1D-2jKzy7m-2jKzyE5-2jKzzEm-2jKzHgt-2jKzLYo-2jKzMnu-2jKzMAA-2jKD93u-2jKD99B-2jKD9dE-2jKD9Gf-2jKDake-2jKDjsh-2jKDmaA-2jKDnix-2jKDnvm-2jKDo8J" title="At least 19 Blue Jays plus one on the squirrel baffle"><img alt="At least 19 Blue Jays plus one on the squirrel baffle" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50365566716_1b626df62e.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Considering how many sunflower seeds my local Blue Jays consume, it’s funny for me to realize that they do not innately recognize sunflower seeds as food. They must watch other birds, especially other Blue Jays, opening and eating them to figure this out. During my rehab days, one baby Blue Jay I called Lugwig collected sunflower seeds as toys, keeping them in a little cup with his buttons, a shiny broken watch, and other tiny trinkets. One day when I was sure he was watching, I cracked open a sunflower seed with my teeth and gave him the white inner seed. He recognized that because he’d already been eating sunflower hearts, and this discovery that he could get a delicious morsel from cracking open those blackish toys delighted him. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/7690921158/in/photolist-2kKiRzQ-2kKjn57-cHBYUW-cHC29A" title="Lugwig the baby Blue Jay"><img alt="Lugwig the baby Blue Jay" height="342" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/8013/7690921158_d38025e4ec.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>This was before I had children. My son Joey found some Starburst candies in his trick-or-treat pumpkin on his first Halloween. Thanks to the colorful wrappers that made each piece look like a tiny birthday present, he started calling Starbursts “present candy,” instantly bringing back memories of Ludwig’s delight opening tiny sunflower “wrappers” for the delicious “present” within. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/50343906567/in/photolist-2jGy1Vy-2jGy2fM-2jGCjqK-2jGCjD5-2jGCkoS-2jGHFnp-2jGHFt6-2jHwUnh-2jJyZJb-2jJz6Fm-2jJCAEv-2jJCFJi-2jJCG7T-2jJCGgW-2jJDuym-2jJDuNE-2jKaz1D-2jKzy7m-2jKzyE5-2jKzzEm-2jKzHgt-2jKzLYo-2jKzMnu-2jKzMAA-2jKD93u-2jKD99B-2jKD9dE-2jKD9ko-2jKD9Gf-2jKD9V1-2jKDake-2jKDjsh-2jKDmaA-2jKDnix-2jKDnvm-2jKDnCq-2jKDnJs-2jKDnMU-2jKDo8J-2jKE37a-2jKE3Cv-2jKEeua-2jKEeCm-2jKEeMz-2jKEf4X-2jKEfaJ-2jKEfga-2jKEgbw-2jtTr9y-2jtTrJM/" title="Leucistic Blue Jay"><img alt="Leucistic Blue Jay" height="297" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50343906567_302d1da3a7.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Jays are generalists with an omnivorous diet, their bill not specialized to open sunflower seeds and their gizzard not developed to grind the shell away. So to open their “present candy,” they hold the seed in their feet and hammer it open with their bill. That takes time and effort. My trail cam once made a 30-second video of a Blue Jay laboriously opening a seed only for another to grab the inner seed right out of its mouth. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/50327881921/in/photolist-2jFixU6-2jFiTvH-2jFiTWh-2jFiU8p-2jFni2H-2jFnibF-2jFnimA-2jFniDp-2jFniZ9-2jFnjvV-2jFoehs-2jFoepb-2jFACVa-2jFXpDJ-2jGy1Vy-2jGy2fM-2jGCjqK-2jGCjD5-2jGCkoS-2jGHFnp-2jGHFt6-2jHwUnh-2jJyZJb-2jJz6Fm-2jJCAEv-2jJCFJi-2jJCG7T-2jJCGgW-2jJDuym-2jJDuNE-2jKaz1D-2jKzy7m-2jKzyE5-2jKzzEm-2jKzHgt-2jKzLYo-2jKzMnu-2jKzMAA-2jKD93u-2jKD99B-2jKD9dE-2jKD9ko-2jKD9Gf-2jKD9V1-2jKDake-2jKDjsh-2jKDmaA-2jKDnix-2jKDnvm-2jKDnCq" title="Blue Jay cracking open seeds. Near end, another jay takes the kernel right out of its beak!"><img alt="Blue Jay cracking open seeds. Near end, another jay takes the kernel right out of its beak!" height="281" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/31337/50327881921_67179f609b.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Jays passing through our neighborhood, or local jays who want a quick sit-down meal, eat like this in our feeders. But many times, a Blue Jay seems to swallow a dozen or more seeds whole and then flies away. This is a neighborhood jay who uses the feeder as a grocery store. Blue Jays pop as many seeds as they can fit into a pouch in their throat, and carry them off to hide in a cache where they will find them to eat another day. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/41204443855/" title="Blue Jay"><img alt="Blue Jay" height="335" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/41204443855_cb05a2c5e3.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Like jays, chickadees are generalists who hold each sunflower seed in their feet as they hammer the shell. But chickadees, with their much tinier bill, don’t have to take off the whole shell before eating the sunflower heart. They peck a small hole into the shell and pick out and swallow tiny bits of the heart even as they’re enlarging the hole to eat more of the seed. If anything scares a chickadee off when it’s not done eating a sunflower seed, it at least won’t fly away empty-tummied. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/26496126048/in/photolist-Gnnzas-JDjoLg-JDjBtF-NuTbjN-RnAMVD-RUXBs7-Sr5maE-Sr5oMU-Sr5pgQ-SXyVCW-SXyVZN-SXyWXu-SXz22m-SZMRUA-SZMSgY-Uy4x7r-V55Nn5-V55Peq-Vg1vmC-XQUdad-XQUe4C-XUnJLF-YwUrpW-YwUxJQ-YRo8m3-YSTLAW-YSTMH5-YSTQhJ-YVwD2v-21K99yW-22dGSo6-22vqtU7-23A9JZD-23A9PPD-23A9QaZ-23XLCpD-24wts5B-27SsZP3-29f6ijx-29wWEfL-29wWFtN-2cdzpcg-2dbsQXT-2dbsRrt-2dtcAi9-2dU2s1N-2dYiDem-2euBoSE-2ez6uMV-2eVoiwA" title="Black-capped Chickadee"><img alt="Black-capped Chickadee" height="386" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4694/26496126048_cca82eab8e.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>It's almost impossible to see chickadees eat at our feeders because unlike most seed eaters, chickadees don’t sit in the feeders to eat—they take turns grabbing and flying off with a single seed to hide for later or to eat in a more protected spot. As a rehabber, I had the great privilege to watch chickadees eating sunflower seeds just inches away. I no longer rehab birds, but I can still watch chickadees eating when one flits from the feeder to a branch near my window. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/38556891590/in/photolist-21K99yW-22dGSo6-22vqtU7-23A9JZD-23A9PPD-23A9QaZ-23XLCpD-24wts5B-27SsZP3-29f6ijx-29wWEfL-29wWFtN-2cdzpcg-2dbsQXT-2dbsRrt-2dtcAi9-2dU2s1N-2dYiDem-2euBoSE-2ez6uMV-2eVoiwA-DWaeaM-FskipS-FskiP9-Fskjn3-FskjZW-ReAwEM-ReG8ai-RtpcpG-Vg1wnW-22dGTic-22dH6LP-23qi3n1-23rsuRP-23rzsCB-23A9BZX-24ovxPr-24ovB4x-24oGXn6-24ugtSv-24v5mdZ-24v5mKa-24v6G8M-27PgVMf-29tH3gW-29tH6r3-2cE7354-2cWUfzq-2cWUgXA-2cWUiPS" title="Black-capped Chickadee"><img alt="Black-capped Chickadee" height="377" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4713/38556891590_4ef64f6129.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Ever since I started birding in 1975, I've been very focused on what they do, up close and personal. Their behaviors in and near our feeders are the easiest behaviors to observe closely. I'm so glad that now I get to share this all with my little grandson.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/46063377945/in/photolist-2dbsRrt-2dtcAi9-2dU2s1N-2dYiDem-2euBoSE-2ez6uMV-2eVoiwA-DWaeaM-FskipS-FskiP9-Fskjn3-FskjZW-ReAwEM-ReG8ai-RtpcpG-Vg1wnW-22dGTic-22dH6LP-23qi3n1-23rsuRP-23rzsCB-23A9BZX-24ovxPr-24ovB4x-24oGXn6-24ugtSv-24v5mdZ-24v5mKa-24v6G8M-27PgVMf-29tH3gW-29tH6r3-2cE7354-2cWUfzq-2cWUgXA-2cWUiPS-2cWYsm3-2cWYtFY-2dbsQaa-2dtcAKw-2dU2oQ9-2dU2qES-2dU2rzC-2dU2t3N-2dYikyS-2dZQWau-2e1FMtd-2e34ZaE-2e3WdzH-2eKGN2W" title="Black-capped Chickadee"><img alt="Black-capped Chickadee" height="310" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4871/46063377945_facdab9368.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-9122346612737794942023-01-09T10:16:00.010-06:002023-01-09T13:59:45.988-06:00Strangers in a Strange Land: Adapting to a Novel Environment<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/34956780406/in/photolist-U5TyFT-UJgj11-V55VHs-V55YMo-V55ZzL-Vg1CWs-Vg1DiQ-99eiBX-9B4Mnz-9B4MwR-9B4N7p-9B7Fwo-9B7FFf" title="Sora"><img alt="Sora" height="438" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/34956780406_a710b387db.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Last week, I saw a video making the rounds on social media in which an adorable 5-month old beaver, at a rehab center since it was rescued as a 2-month old, pushed and pulled stuffed animals and other toys, wadded paper, and a small Christmas tree into a colorful dam, rearranging elements as it added new ones. (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jjIbHzJwAE" target="_blank">Here is a link to a different </a><b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DggHeuhpFvg" target="_blank">video</a></b> with a good explanation of how licensed rehabbers deal with baby beavers in a house, with the same adorable dam-building.)</p><p>Watching it brought me back to my own rehab days. I took care of a few baby squirrels and three orphaned baby raccoon siblings, but I had much more knowledge about and experience with birds. What the baby beaver video brought back specifically was how both baby and adult birds displayed some innate behaviors even as they adapted those natural behaviors to a very unnatural environment. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/5647671955/in/photolist-U5TyFT-UJgj11-V55VHs-V55YMo-V55ZzL-Vg1CWs-Vg1DiQ-99eiBX-9B4Mnz-9B4MwR-9B4N7p-9B7Fwo-9B7FFf" title="Sora"><img alt="Sora" height="342" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5261/5647671955_d6f1a87540.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>I once treated a Sora with a broken leg. I taped the leg at the break and splinted it with a plastic drinking straw I'd slit lengthwise with a razor and cut to the right length. Then I made a sling from a handkerchief to suspend the poor thing for a few days so she wouldn't put any weight on the leg as it mended, and kept her in a quiet room, coming in to offer her food many times a day. When the leg seemed sturdy enough to walk on, I brought her to our living room for a few days longer to make sure she was healthy and healed enough to release. </p><p>Soras are defenseless. While I was holding the poor thing, examining her body and then taping and splinting the leg, she never once tried to bite, and didn’t struggle hardly at all. Between her large, beseeching eyes and gentle demeanor, I fell in love with the little thing, instantly becoming more emotionally invested than was probably wise. My kids fell in love with her, too. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/34608832000/in/photolist-U5TyFT-UJgj11-V55VHs-V55YMo-V55ZzL-Vg1CWs-Vg1DiQ-99eiBX-9B4Mnz-9B4MwR-9B4N7p-9B7Fwo-9B7FFf" title="Sora"><img alt="Sora" height="355" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/34608832000_2878031ac2.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p>Soras are small rails, in the same family with gallinules and coots, and live in marshes. They average 85 grams or about 3 ounces, just about exactly the average weight of a Blue Jay and about the same as the very heaviest robins, making them a perfect-sized meal for a lot of predators. But unlike jays and robins, Soras don’t fly fast and don’t fight back. Hiding is their only defense, so they mostly lurk in dense stands of cattails. They look plump, but their bodies are rather flattened laterally so they can move between stalks without rustling them to give away their location. If I'm very lucky when I’m standing on a platform or boardwalk over a marsh, I might pick one out below, walking leisurely along picking at food items. When one must pass through an opening, it usually scurries across until it reaches cover again. Only rarely have I watched one in an opening for more than a few seconds. </p><p>My living room was also the place I often kept my education nighthawk Fred, along with any nighthawks I was rehabbing—they’d snuggle against Fred, whose calm demeanor put the others at ease. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/6856834855/in/photolist-24ccXS5-26WUjYa-2jdKCRf-2nouFC9-2nouFEy-2noA8fh-fAGZXK-fAH3JV-fAH43t-fAH4qK-fAH4Fz-fAH4WP-fAH5gp-fAXhY3-fAXiXw-cWpREy-cWpRNY-cWGNHm-fAGYXV-fAGZF8-fAH2tk-fAH3qr-fAXgn7-fAXhuw-pTeHiN-9B6Swh-afRruP-beGjHM-brV35c-brV3tx-brV3ND-brV49H-brV57B-brV5ya-brV5NZ-brV6ra-brV9m4-9B6SBL-afUcvq-cWpPYW-cWpQcE-cWpQm3-cWpQtJ-cWpQKo-cWpQZ5-cWpR8d-cWpRdC-cWpRnW-cWpRvQ-brV3j6" title="Three Common Nighthawks"><img alt="Three Common Nighthawks" height="342" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7046/6856834855_45c2c1796e.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Most of the time, Fred faced the room from under the piano bench, but when the sun was shining through the south window, warming the carpet in the center of the room, he’d waddle over there, the others following. That meant I needed to keep newspapers spread in two distinct areas. When I released the Sora in the room, I figured I’d need to spread papers throughout the room, thinking the Sora would wander more randomly than the nighthawks did. </p><p>But nope! I just needed to put papers down along the two walls where the windows were. Our living room is singularly devoid of cattails, and without dense vegetation, the little bird found the next best thing. Our draperies went down to the floor, and the Sora spent just about every minute of every day in the narrow space between a drapery panel and the wall. Our sofa and end tables blocked my access to the floor under the south window, but the east window was accessible, so I kept a shallow dish of mealworms and other food items behind one drapery panel and a dish of water behind the other. When the drapes were open, every now and then the bird would walk quickly through the opening between panels. Otherwise, we could go hours without seeing her. </p><p>My living room was also the place neighborhood kids gathered to play with Legos. Most of them walked right in, everyone careful to look where they stepped, paying attention to where the nighthawks might be. The Sora was in the living room for only a few days, but the kids got a big kick out of watching her pass from one drapery panel to the other. The moment anyone noticed her coming out, they’d call out. She was used to me and didn’t scurry away when I brought more food or water, even inches from where she might be standing, and she didn't mind children nearby, either. Her adaptability in this unnatural setting made her recover much more quickly than if she were stressed out or panicky. </p><p>Like that baby beaver constructing a dam out of stuffed animals when no appropriate building materials were available, this little Sora made the best of a bad situation to make herself feel at least a little at home while she healed. When I felt certain she was ready for release, my daughter Katie came along to the large marsh at Wisconsin Point. We walked to a nice stand of cattails, Katie carrying her. She gently set the little bird on the open ground right next to the cattails. The Sora blinked a bit, ruffled and shook her feathers out, and headed into the vegetation, not looking back. Within seconds, we could no longer see or hear her. </p><p>Knowing she was in there somewhere made the entire marsh seem suddenly richer. I’ve never been able to drive along Wisconsin Point without thinking of this little bird, so adaptable when she needed to be even as she never lost sight of where she really belonged. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/5343981841/in/photolist-U5TyFT-UJgj11-V55VHs-V55YMo-V55ZzL-Vg1CWs-Vg1DiQ-99eiBX-9B4Mnz-9B4MwR-9B4N7p-9B7Fwo-9B7FFf" title="Katie and Sora"><img alt="Katie and Sora" height="342" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/5043/5343981841_d4859816c2.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-28916700538233324262023-01-06T09:32:00.000-06:002023-01-06T09:32:56.310-06:00First Pileated of 2023<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52023339832/in/photolist-2ng8dt3-2ng93Pm-2ngMYk5-2nKPa7T-2nLhFSg-2nLiesr-2nMTqKf-2nNDXok-2nNJK1D-2nNKWpk-2nQ9WYN-2nQb7r1-2nQbsjN-2nQbHVZ-2kpKzum-2kpKLTE-2kFS8nD-2kKf5kp-2kKf8eq-2kKf8zL-2kKiMT1-2kKiQzt-2kKiQHE-2kKjkDr-2kKjkPb-2kKjmf6-2kKjmwD-2kMm1tv-2m3AykW-2mrZhTZ-2mrZi62-2ms4kTs-2ms4qNn-2ms7YHS-2ms7Z8u-2ms8JAm-2ms96gF-2ms96ki-2ms96RU-2msBWBo-2muCotW-2muCshc-2muD5Yo-2muHywn-2muJqSn-2muL2Ct-2muL3hV-2muM3iL-2muM44d-2muMc27" title="Pileated Woodpecker"><img alt="Pileated Woodpecker" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52023339832_40c79cf83f.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Every December, I start wondering what bird I will see first on New Year’s Day. I started out January 1, 2023, at 6:45 am, while it was still dark, meeting my friend Janet Riegle to drive to the Sax-Zim Bog. When I picked her up, Janet had already heard her first bird of the year, a splendid Great Horned Owl, but it wasn’t calling when I got there.</p><p>As I sort of expected, knowing where we’d be at first light, my own first bird was a Common Raven, seen along Highway 7 north of 133 in the bog. Janet got a decent look at a Canada Jay a little further down the road, from the passenger window side, too high for me to position myself to see it from the driver’s seat. We got plenty of good looks later, but meanwhile we soon saw my second bird of the year—Snow Buntings sitting and walking along the railroad track.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/5072977919/in/photolist-8Jhj7t-8JhjAr-8JhjXp-8JhkAx-8Jhmkc-8Jhny4-8Jknib-8JkquC-8JkrFh-axvqRf/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Snow Bunting"><img alt="Snow Bunting" height="341" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/4108/5072977919_b57f0ecf21.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not this year's bird, but this old photo is WAY better than the one I got on January 1!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>In most years, I’d be waxing euphoric about how wonderful my first two bird species were—a study in opposites—black and white, big and small—and a study in similarities, for both species are exceptionally hardy. I’d suggest that my first ravens, considered by people to be one of the most intelligent animals on the planet, and Snow Buntings, resourceful and adaptable, foretold that in 2023, I’ll be well equipped if I find myself in situations calling for intelligence or resourcefulness. We superstitious humans can’t help but imagine that ravens, Snow Buntings, and other birds are mystical links between heaven and earth, when the truth is they’re flesh-and-blood, mortal creatures eking out their existences as well as they can, the same as we. But even as I know that, it’s fun to play prediction games, and probably no less accurate than a Magic 8 ball or Ouija board.</p><p>But unlike most years, this past December, I didn’t think much about what my first bird would be. Instead, I found myself wondering who my first Pileated Woodpecker of 2023 would be. This is the first year in my life that I have four different, identifiable Pileated Woodpeckers visiting my yard.</p><p>First and foremost is BB—my beloved “Banded Boy.” He visits most days to feed from my big suet feeders. He almost always flies in from the box elder next to my driveway, often calling first. And he is the least skittish Pileated I’ve ever known. He doesn’t seem to mind when people walking dogs or talking loudly on their cell phones pass by right along the edge of the fence which is just 8 or 10 feet from the feeder. And he stays put when I crank open the window to take pictures.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52477094150/in/photolist-2nXdPPm-2mKy2PM-2mKy35r-2mKCxCR-2mLcMVN-2mLFZCX-2mLG3gs-2mTqn1n-2mTtiRC-2mYveYy-2n1K4iN-2n1REVp-2ng8dt3-2ng93Pm-2ngMYk5-2nKPa7T-2nLhFSg-2nLiesr-2nMTqKf-2nNDXok-2nNJK1D-2nNKWpk-2nQ9WYN-2nQb7r1-2nQbsjN-2nQbHVZ-2kpKzum-2kpKLTE-2kFS8nD-2kKf5kp-2kKf8eq-2kKf8zL-2kKiMT1-2kKiQzt-2kKiQHE-2kKjkDr-2kKjkPb-2kKjmf6-2kKjmwD-2kMm1tv-2m3AykW-2mrZhTZ-2mrZi62-2ms4kTs-2ms4qNn-2ms7YHS-2ms7Z8u-2ms8JAm-2ms96gF-2ms96ki" title="Pileated Woodpecker"><img alt="Pileated Woodpecker" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52477094150_ae783680aa.jpg" width="374" /></a><br /></p><p>There’s also SheB—the female bird who sometimes comes to the yard with BB, and sometimes on her own. For a while I was calling her Mrs. B, but then I realized she may well not want to make a commitment, and even if she is BB’s mate, her name should reflect herself, not her relationship to him.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51542468462/in/photolist-2mwCCam-2mwGDAo-2mwMpMF-2mH3Mhc-2mHbamQ-2mJuzmJ-2mJMZ6n-2mK3RiF-2mKtR7d-2jGCZ3A-2jGCZcU-2jGCZia-2jGDo6Q-2jGDocX-2jGDogj-2jGDoqN-2jGDoE5-2jGGsQg-2jGGt6b-2jGGta9-2jGGtz7-2jGGtF9-2jGGtKC-2jGGtNt-2jGGSo8-2jGGSHw-2jGGSL2-2jGGSXQ-2jGHhDJ-2jGHih2-2jGHFEZ-2jGHFP1-2jGHG2L-2jGHGiN-2jKDac8-2jKTT4J-2jKTTmn-2jKXteQ-2jKXtox-2jKXtCq-2jKYnTU-2jKYo4Z-2jNebzz-2jNQpmc-2jNTTVP-2jQch8u-2jQcmZd-2jRr8Zb-2jRrPxj-2jRs47j" title="Pileated Woodpecker"><img alt="Pileated Woodpecker" height="364" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51542468462_2649638e96.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>An unbanded male occasionally visits. Even before I get a good look at his right leg, I I recognize him by his behavior, because he doesn’t seem to have a clue how to sit on a suet feeder. When he comes to the side yard, with the suet feeders dangling from pipes, he sits on a horizontal pipe and leans down to take bits of suet from the top of the feeder. At the feeders in the back yard, with the suet feeders on either side of a small platform feeder, he sits in the platform to eat the suet.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52465356759/in/photolist-2nWbEGx-2nWcA7E-2nWd1kH-2nWd3GM-2nWd3N8-2nWd474-2nXdPPm-2mKy2PM-2mKy35r-2mKCxCR-2mLcMVN-2mLFZCX-2mLG3gs-2mTqn1n-2mTtiRC-2mYveYy-2n1K4iN-2n1REVp-2ng8dt3-2ng93Pm-2ngMYk5-2nKPa7T-2nLhFSg-2nLiesr-2nMTqKf-2nNDXok-2nNJK1D-2nNKWpk-2nQ9WYN-2nQb7r1-2nQbsjN-2nQbHVZ-2kpKzum-2kpKLTE-2kFS8nD-2kKf5kp-2kKf8eq-2kKf8zL-2kKiMT1-2kKiQzt-2kKiQHE-2kKjkDr-2kKjkPb-2kKjmf6-2kKjmwD-2kMm1tv-2m3AykW-2mrZhTZ-2mrZi62-2ms4kTs" title="Male Pileated Woodpecker"><img alt="Male Pileated Woodpecker" height="308" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52465356759_7a17bdefb7.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p>A second female visits, too. Her forehead is a warm brown, not like SheB’s colder dark gray, so I call her Brownie.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52397635265/in/photolist-2nQczsz-2nQczzo-2nQcV7N-2nQcWQc-2nQdcU6-2nQf2Ye-2nW7CBr-2nW7CSm-2nWaa7e-2nWacKW-2nWbEBx-2nWbEGx-2nWcA7E-2nWd1kH-2nWd3GM-2nWd3N8-2nWd474-2nXdPPm-2mKy2PM-2mKy35r-2mKCxCR-2mLcMVN-2mLFZCX-2mLG3gs-2mTqn1n-2mTtiRC-2mYveYy-2n1K4iN-2n1REVp-2ng8dt3-2ng93Pm-2ngMYk5-2nKPa7T-2nLhFSg-2nLiesr-2nMTqKf-2nNDXok-2nNJK1D-2nNKWpk-2nQ9WYN-2nQb7r1-2nQbsjN-2nQbHVZ-2kpKzum-2kpKLTE-2kFS8nD-2kKf5kp-2kKf8eq-2kKf8zL-2kKiMT1" title="Pileated Woodpecker at my window feeder"><img alt="Pileated Woodpecker at my window feeder" height="301" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52397635265_8cf33fe2f0.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p>I was gone all day on January 1, and family matters distracted me from the window most of January 2. But January 3, right at first light when I was at my desk, I heard a Pileated yell that I thought had to be BB, coming from his favorite boxelder, and in that first moment as he was calling, I looked down at the feeder to see SheB. I verified that BB was the bird yelling, and so my “First Pileated of 2023” turned out to be an amazing two-fer! This may or may not be a sign that I’ll have wonderful luck this entire calendar year, but it sure was an astonishing bit of luck at that moment–a moment I’ll remember long after 2023 is over.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52465356469/in/photolist-2nWbEBx-2nWbEGx-2nWcA7E-2nWd1kH-2nWd3GM-2nWd3N8-2nWd474-2nXdPPm-2mKy2PM-2mKy35r-2mKCxCR-2mLcMVN-2mLFZCX-2mLG3gs-2mTqn1n-2mTtiRC-2mYveYy-2n1K4iN-2n1REVp-2ng8dt3-2ng93Pm-2ngMYk5-2nKPa7T-2nLhFSg-2nLiesr-2nMTqKf-2nNDXok-2nNJK1D-2nNKWpk-2nQ9WYN-2nQb7r1-2nQbsjN-2nQbHVZ-2kpKzum-2kpKLTE-2kFS8nD-2kKf5kp-2kKf8eq-2kKf8zL-2kKiMT1-2kKiQzt-2kKiQHE-2kKjkDr-2kKjkPb-2kKjmf6-2kKjmwD-2kMm1tv-2m3AykW-2mrZhTZ-2mrZi62" title="Male Pileated Woodpecker"><img alt="Male Pileated Woodpecker" height="304" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52465356469_7813fd2200.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-36746422889589523582023-01-03T23:32:00.001-06:002023-01-04T13:39:39.094-06:00American Birding Association's 2023 Bird of the Year: Belted Kingfisher<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKBqArZNdAkkS3cRL8CTJ7TN2ZKuy2_zk4C7vKm5RkXN4QKasLI640YBC_rS5nbzJpHQWUj6TyhLZnLKU_ugGehQer-SbAlPxJIoaaYzZb7aGdztslWrlnrmhTrxwVLKmul2Q6gYEAv903toCCk8EeLwE0I0IN-DbJeaFbiTXfu1UoDoUSa2Zj05DF/s959/ABAKingfisherCircle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="959" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKBqArZNdAkkS3cRL8CTJ7TN2ZKuy2_zk4C7vKm5RkXN4QKasLI640YBC_rS5nbzJpHQWUj6TyhLZnLKU_ugGehQer-SbAlPxJIoaaYzZb7aGdztslWrlnrmhTrxwVLKmul2Q6gYEAv903toCCk8EeLwE0I0IN-DbJeaFbiTXfu1UoDoUSa2Zj05DF/w400-h400/ABAKingfisherCircle.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>In June 1975, after amassing a life list of 40 species during my first spring birding, I took a 4-week field ornithology class at Michigan State’s Kellogg Biological Station. I had to absorb a lot of new information as well as seeing a lot of new birds, more than doubling my life list to 90 species. The intensity jumbled my brain so much that most of the field trips are a blur in my memory. But one stop on June 30 at a lovely wetland bordering St. Timothy’s Church in Kalamazoo remains vivid, because that is where I saw my first Belted Kingfisher. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/7690874594/in/photolist-2eWxLYf-cHBKyQ-cHBK57" title="Little Golden Activity Book: Bird Stamps"><img alt="Little Golden Activity Book: Bird Stamps" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/8284/7690874594_7d000e15ce.jpg" width="417" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>My Grandpa had given me the <b><i>Little Golden Activity Book: Bird Stamps</i></b> when I was very little, and I was especially taken with the Blue Jay, depicted on the cover as well as its own page and stamp. I saw one at Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, when I was just 7 or so—one of my most thrilling childhood memories. The very last bird pictured in that book was the Belted Kingfisher, a blue, crested bird that somehow looked similar to yet profoundly different from the Blue Jay. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52606164734/in/dateposted-public/" title="Belted Kingfisher"><img alt="Belted Kingfisher" height="500" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52606164734_4d37236bd3.jpg" width="400" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>The text didn’t mention it, but the bird depicted was a female, replete with gorgeous orange flanks and belt. I hoped against hope that I’d see one in my lifetime. And now, less than four months after I started birdwatching, here it was! It flew by rather quickly, but I felt amazingly lucky to get any look at all. Within the very next week, I saw three more, including one I found entirely on my own on the Michigan State campus at Baker Woodlot. I memorized its mechanical rattle, making subsequent kingfishers all that much easier to notice. </p><p>The Belted Kingfisher is common enough to see regularly from spring through fall. Virtually all of them leave Minnesota in winter, but one was seen on the 2022 Duluth Christmas Bird Count—the 7th time that happened, and two other times one was seen during Count Week. On the 2018 bird count, two different individuals were counted! </p><p>So Belted Kingfishers are reasonably common, but the continent's Breeding Bird Survey indicates that from 1966–2019, their populations declined by an estimated 0.9% per year resulting in a cumulative decline of 38%. The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources has designated the Belted Kingfisher a Minnesota Species of Greatest Conservation Need. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYjRBsRlD58QzWEFsH_tJWyfUf0UTjlDua8PvvcFL94LMuvQiBQ7HDA9PXyQbVqEcmDwj15-dG1h2eJJJUt2R1lpS8jpS6m4_OM7JBNE0b1IlhYgdB0Q2u42zJULJZO_oT-dbcMr3YJxomwqY6c9J1u9RX6Z6pqVgZWg0dh8Jd3bLtTQ1_vBbIKke/s1425/ABAKingfisherRectangle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1425" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYjRBsRlD58QzWEFsH_tJWyfUf0UTjlDua8PvvcFL94LMuvQiBQ7HDA9PXyQbVqEcmDwj15-dG1h2eJJJUt2R1lpS8jpS6m4_OM7JBNE0b1IlhYgdB0Q2u42zJULJZO_oT-dbcMr3YJxomwqY6c9J1u9RX6Z6pqVgZWg0dh8Jd3bLtTQ1_vBbIKke/w304-h400/ABAKingfisherRectangle.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><p>The Belted Kingfisher is #70 on my life list, so I think it’s cool that in the final months of last year, while I was still 70 years old, the American Birding Association made the decision to name it the 2023 Bird of the Year. I’m delighted with the timing, because there’s a campaign at the college where I started out, the University of Illinois, to make this splendid bird their mascot. At this very moment, I’m wearing a sweatshirt that reads “True to the Orange & Blue” with a wonderful drawing of the kingfisher. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_RjSxNp3OGerGX0VozR8hKf3dt_XwSyyzxUNgVlVftFbm3onjymbMhh_K0YdLIbzeJgG4mlzlZ1rz1GK1-Z_GieuhvBTCwlf7ksgca-I6oh0lGq6iGznggIgcpm7_ERoytLpfYX7W_gu6AlG51j6eLiS3JIvmcH2zlUljWchjSD6y1e0LI8EWJA8/s4032/IMG_3673.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_RjSxNp3OGerGX0VozR8hKf3dt_XwSyyzxUNgVlVftFbm3onjymbMhh_K0YdLIbzeJgG4mlzlZ1rz1GK1-Z_GieuhvBTCwlf7ksgca-I6oh0lGq6iGznggIgcpm7_ERoytLpfYX7W_gu6AlG51j6eLiS3JIvmcH2zlUljWchjSD6y1e0LI8EWJA8/w300-h400/IMG_3673.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><p>It’s fun for me to see all the attention this cool bird is suddenly getting. I happen to be headed down to the University of Illinois this April to spend a weekend with three of my closest life-long friends—the four of us hung out together in our dorm, sharing two doubles, so we called ourselves the Fourple. During our Fourple reunion, I will definitely have to see and photograph a Belted Kingfisher. </p><p>It’s funny how one funky bird is suddenly bringing together so many lovely but disparate memories of my Grandpa, the two colleges I attended, and my ties with the American Birding Association. Since this is officially the year of the Belted Kingfisher, I hope the University of Illinois Chancellor gets with the program and makes this year-round Illinois bird who is orange and blue the official school mascot. It’s a natural.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4uLVaNjnmM4drLSkfh_cK1GFD4gpmqG4hnHK7Fn67GYro1czVy6S0PtoUYLrfMPKZ82vYOhWgDvc0fF0MEqxt3cx5Gv25-cNrlwlZE-qK7KRTFbhVBv1eUInNPJ-0AoE_gRMS3DVFi1vtYrnmAeAdm4HTtLXBlTXtvEQIhyQwXIeZBw-cHa599qS/s2223/full_body_mascot_nbkg%20(1)%20-%20Copy.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2223" data-original-width="2177" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4uLVaNjnmM4drLSkfh_cK1GFD4gpmqG4hnHK7Fn67GYro1czVy6S0PtoUYLrfMPKZ82vYOhWgDvc0fF0MEqxt3cx5Gv25-cNrlwlZE-qK7KRTFbhVBv1eUInNPJ-0AoE_gRMS3DVFi1vtYrnmAeAdm4HTtLXBlTXtvEQIhyQwXIeZBw-cHa599qS/w391-h400/full_body_mascot_nbkg%20(1)%20-%20Copy.png" width="391" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-47705418543565016112022-12-31T11:29:00.027-06:002022-12-31T14:06:52.287-06:00100 Plants to Feed the Birds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/book/100-plants-feed-birds/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="388" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvzGkJYvuDx5wdISpnnKUysWfiUpnUEJreNtbgHtg6wm9qcP_9SzqwTG1JhgUzj57s-qHdM-hIgUlA5bAZQajNT7bHzZjbSBZvfup7bX_VBRP9h-J_H_fAj-ScRPZk8f4lXzjL_eC2grwKIdGaboUDjsn7ww0BeLmQSbq0c5zBIGwvbmbb-WSB3KD2/w311-h400/100%20Plants.jpg" width="311" /></a></div><p>In May 2020, a month after my pregnant daughter and son-in-law refugeed from Brooklyn, New York, to our house during the pandemic, Deborah Burns, my editor at Storey Publishing, asked me to write a fourth book for them. (The previous ones are listed <a href="https://www.storey.com/author/laura_erickson/">here</a>.) The title would be <i>100 Plants to Feed the Birds</i>, because this book would be part of a series that includes <i>100 Plants to Feed the Bees</i> and <i>100 Plants to Feed the Monarchs</i>. I said if I wrote it, I’d have to include a lot of plants that do not feed birds directly. A great many of our most beloved songbirds eat little or no plant material, feeding primarily or even exclusively on insects that depend on locally native vegetation.</p><p>But did it even make sense for me to write such a book? I’ve been monomaniacally focused on birds since 1975 and do little gardening. Russ and I have protected the native trees, shrubs, and smaller plants that support birds in our yard, and have planted a few native plants here and there, but that is small potatoes compared to some gardeners on my own block. How could I possibly be qualified to write this book?</p><p>In some ways, my misgivings pinpointed some of my strengths. Bird study may have absorbed me since college, but I took enough botany, forest management, wildlife ecology, entomology, aquatic entomology, and even horticulture courses to give me a broad background and a sense of what should be included and emphasized in this kind of book. My birding experiences have spanned all fifty states and at least a few pockets of Canada, and I’ve tried to keep up on important issues affecting birds, including habitat. From my first spring birding, I've paid attention to the specific plants some birds are strongly associated with. I am far from an expert on any of it, but when it comes right down to it, who is? There’s no way anyone can list exactly 100 of the best of anything without leaving out some things that others would include. For every plant an authority would include that I wouldn’t, they’d leave out a plant that other authorities thought was essential.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/book/aba-field-guide-birds-minnesota/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="400" src="https://media.lauraerickson.com/images/e1e884c3-43bd-4546-8012-7276c59dfc39_ABA_field_guide.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><p>My internal debate reminded me of a previous book I’d done for a different publisher. When <a href="https://scottandnix.com/collections/all">Scott & Nix</a> asked me to write the <b><i><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/book/aba-field-guide-birds-minnesota/">American Birding Association Field Guide to Birds of Minnesota</a></i></b>, I refused, giving them half a dozen names of people I considered way more qualified than I was to write such a field guide. They kept coming back to me, and I kept giving them more names. I know I’m far from the state’s top birder in terms of species seen and quickness at identifying some species, and I’m less focused on identification than behavior, natural history, and conservation. And what the heck kind of birder could I be when I wouldn’t trade a season of watching a pair of Black-capped Chickadees nesting in my yard for wandering around to add much rarer birds to my state list?</p><p>But I had to admit, they had some good reasons to keep coming back to me. My previous books proved that I knew how to research, could be both concise and accurate, and worked well with editors. They could see from my having written <b><i><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/book/national-geographic-pocket-guide-birds-of-north-america/">The National Geographic Pocket Guide to Birds of North America</a></i></b> that I could fit my words into a prescribed layout. I might not be among the very top birders in Minnesota, but I am good. And somehow, my not taking myself too seriously as an authority on bird identification worked in my favor for a book directed to beginners—the publishers knew I’d make birding friendly and inviting, and that I’d share the easy-to-make and even stupid mistakes I myself had made as a beginner and still make. When they agreed to expand the number of species covered to 300, I relented. I still had misgivings, but I’m very happy with how it all turned out and proud of my work.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/48014585@N00/50142768612" title="Ruby-throated Hummingbird at bee balm"><img alt="Ruby-throated Hummingbird at bee balm" height="316" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50142768612_dca14beecf.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>This proposed book about plants and birds would take me even further out of my comfort zone than the field guide did, but Deb Burns’s faith in me was grounded in our having worked together on those three previous books for Storey. And the timing was perfect. The pandemic had eliminated all of my travel. I could focus pretty much entirely on this project for three months before Katie’s baby would be born, and I’d have a few more months while Katie and Michael were taking turns with parental leave before my grandma duties kicked into a higher gear. Even then, I could work evenings and during naps. </p><p>I spent a year and a half researching and writing, learning how much I did not know, and realizing that no matter where a reader lived in the continental U.S. or Canada, they'd need way more information that any single book could give them about their <i style="font-weight: bold;">local</i> situation. My treasured friend Ali Sheehey, an essential ally during my 2013 Big Year, took on the enormous task of researching and listing a native plant organization for every state and province, which makes the book ever so much more valuable and useful. I spent the next four or five months working with the publishing team as they made final edits, selected photos, and laid out the book, finalizing everything before it was sent off to the printers this past April. The book was officially “out” on December 20, meaning its gestation between final electronic version and printed reality was a little less than 9 months. My grandson was born a little past his due date, so the book’s and his deliveries averaged out perfectly.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/51661859211/in/photolist-6rvYkF-2hMS1Fk-2krg1bC-2kUPxib-2mx9Sjj-2mHbwSx-2mHcGZw-2ncd3iL-2ndRRSr-2ndRRTJ-2nkcstD-2npvFNS-2npCpjY-2npDFLE-2nFGpeb-2nKcYp4-2nNvk9B-2o4pW68-eVS7N6" title="Discovering milkweed"><img alt="Discovering milkweed" height="334" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51661859211_29f01744a9.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>I’ve been so consumed with being a grandma that I haven’t been paying proper attention to much else, so seeing my first copy was like seeing the book through fresh eyes, and I’m very happy with it. Plus it’s the only book in the known universe with a photo of Walter inscribed, “This book is dedicated to my grandson, Walter. May his generation inherit all the natural beauty and biodiversity that my generation did.”</p><p>I’m never comfortable promoting my own work, so this will probably be the last time I write a blog post specifically about the book, but in the coming weeks, I will be doing several posts about the plants birds depend on—material taken directly from <b><i><a href="https://www.lauraerickson.com/book/100-plants-feed-birds/">100 Plants to Feed the Birds</a></i></b>. January is when many gardening catalogs arrive, and I hope some of the information will inspire readers to grow at least a few plants this coming year to support your favorite birds.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/6094588990/in/photolist-ahymYw-ahynvC-ahyoaN-ahyoZo-auxsrg-b6VE3p-b6VEvF-b6VEJZ-b6VEWF-b6VFbc-b6WnkX-b6Wnx8-b6WnHR-b6WnUk-eaknpt-8TWuA9-abhYzH-abhZ9F-abi1CM-abi1SP-abi2xR-abjUgZ-abjV7a-abjWWi-abjXvH-abkN4s-abkNtY-abkNFs-abkPy7-abkQ27-abkQgA-abkQFb-abkQU7-abkRJ3-abnHj7-abnJkN-abnKiG-abnKz3-abnLk7-abnLKj-abnM3C-abnMoo-abnN5Y-abyH8T-abBqFA-abPULe-abPVx2-abSN1h-acsYkV-acvNaQ" title="Evening Grosbeak in box elder tree"><img alt="Evening Grosbeak in box elder tree" height="293" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/6086/6094588990_f2501c0c1b.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">(Note: The book, a paperback, has a LOT of photos and a beautiful layout. The e-book works out very well on a computer screen, and probably works well on a tablet (I don't have one to test it), but is hard to read on my phone, and both hard to read and just black-and-white on my Kindle.) </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814732764269427090.post-43392479333921140292022-12-28T13:37:00.001-06:002022-12-28T13:37:36.723-06:00Duluth's 2022 Christmas Bird Count<p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52570237688/in/photolist-2o6qUjk-2o6qUJU-2o6qV7H-2o6rMsZ-2o6rMBM-2o6rMJv-2o6scBi-2o6sd14-2o6sd7w-2o6sd9q-2cdzBET-2cdzF9M-2cdzHMx-2cviGEb-2cviMou-2cviR95-2dwLn5E-2dwLpLb-2dwLuBU-2dwLyf5-2dBeq6F-2dBeyHF-2kiLVmw-2kiLVA9-2kiQFPw-2mRJn9r-2o6n7wc-2dBexCe-2kiLUch-2kiLV3f-2kiQF29-2kiQFey-2kiQGmZ-2kiRc5S-2kiRcZT-jKHj6i-PR628P-PR6can-Rtpk5b-Rtpppy-RtpsGW-2aQFkej-2aQFm19-2aQFpgY-2cdzpcg-2dwLmnC-PR6f6x-RtpcpG-2cdztHk-9kTJNn" title="Townsend's Solitaire"><img alt="Townsend's Solitaire" height="324" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52570237688_3317cabbb7.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>The Christmas Bird Count was started on Christmas Day in 1900 by Frank Chapman, who wanted to provide an alternative to “Christmas Side Hunt” competitions. Birdwatching has never been in competition with hunting—indeed, there’s quite a bit of overlap between the two. I know many deer hunters who also participate in the Christmas Bird Count. </p><p>I also know lots of birders who have done the exact same bird count routes every year for decades, and many who have done two or more different Christmas Bird Counts every year for decades. Here in Duluth, several birders manage to do the "Big Three": the Duluth, Two Harbors, and Sax-Zim Bog counts, which are always scheduled on different days. </p><p>As much as I treasure both tradition and the Christmas Bird Count, I’ve not been nearly so faithful or energetic. I couldn’t go out the first year we were in Duluth, having a brand new baby. I vowed never to miss another one, but various parental duties including two more new babies, my publishers scheduling Christmastime book signings, my job in Ithaca, New York, one nasty bout with the flu, and probably a few more flimsy excuses have kept me from participating in quite a few Duluth Christmas Bird Counts over the years, and I’ve done only a handful of other counts since we left Madison, Wisconsin in 1981. </p><p>Yet somehow when I do participate in the Duluth count, it feels ever so homey and traditional. This year, it was held Saturday, December 17. We had to deal with deep snows and wild winds, but the temperature reached a balmy 30º. </p><p>My friend Janet Riegle has been doing upper Lakeside with me for quite a few years now, and being much steadier and more responsible than me, she’s served as our area’s count leader since I got my job at Cornell in 2008. When I’m around to participate, we always meet between 7:15 and 7:30 at my house, so while we’re getting organized, we can watch for birds at my feeders. Then we walk around the blocks above Peabody Street for 2 ½ hours or so, dividing them so our team can get the area between Colorado and Glenwood Streets completely covered before 10 am. We finish up the rest of upper Lakeside by lunch. Then those of us able to bird a full day head to our afternoon spot between McQuade and Lakewood Roads. We mostly drive that section, which is larger geographically while producing way fewer birds than we see in Duluth proper. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/6598038873/in/photolist-2cP5SRb-2dQssn1-2dQstpw-2dQsvBh-2dV3o4t-2dV3t7V-2dV3tFv-2dV3u3x-5TQw5E-2mfH8bW-2mfN8si-2mfN8vz-2miCULf-2miGPcf-2miJ9Sh-aErhG2-aErhZV-aEv8kj-aEv8vJ-aEv9o3-b43F5V-cJdZjh-dGYqk2-dGYqD8-dGYqLP-dH4QsS-dH4RcN-dH4Ri3-e9vuPz-e9BaHs-fcQPU4-5NduAk-5NhKNd-aHCtL8-cJe14m-cJe1MQ-cJe2sf-cJe3eq-cJe3VA-cJe5tu-cJkEgw-deVLzh-deVLLn-dGYr2k-dGYr8k-dGYrdz-dH4QLS-dH4QZ7-dH4REC-KEoF" title="Common Raven"><img alt="Common Raven" height="333" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/7149/6598038873_082ef0f0c3.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>This year, we split up our morning area so I could cover the southeastern quarter with Susan Relf and, for a while, Clint Moen while Janet Riegle and John Kelsey covered the southwestern quarter. A group of ravens must be roosting somewhere in or near Lester Park, because 22 flew over from that direction heading southwest in a loose flock a few minutes after we started out. During that first half of the morning, ravens outnumbered crows, but the littler corvids sure caught up. By day’s end, Janet and I had tallied 40 ravens and 53 crows; for Duluth’s entire count circle, a full 1,305 crows were counted, breaking the previous record, set in 2001, by more than 350. The total raven count for the day was 150—about an order of magnitude lower than the crow count. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/24616008135/in/photolist-DvetBn-DvezYk-PwEJ7a-PwP5C4-RbuYFW-2bUmPzZ-2n8pis1-2n8qU58-2n8sqFC-iJCSky-5Xk5WN-5Xk5XW-6abKz9-6cQnDi-6cQof2-6cUwJh-6cUxhN-6e83R9-6nAhLr-2dhoK1v-2n38hAD-2n3byXe-2n5zyJw-2n5zyNe-2n5zySs-2n5BcT2-9ztQqE-bmAjpG-bnvBhg-bxNpD6-bzvbMr-dYzvzP-iJCbFT-npvm3X-PwySCF-61kRTe-61kS6X-61q3RN-65nXHt-65sfow-65sg9L-67Ditp-67Dj76-6a7ztz-6abKiy-6aDE6w-6c4tda-6cPjut-6cTuGy-6s8faY" title="Mallard"><img alt="Mallard" height="388" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/1588/24616008135_69eb83c00c.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Mallards were very well represented. In the morning, Susan and I counted 20 in a single flock flying north, but then started seeing lots of smaller groups heading both south and north. We couldn’t be sure if they were new individuals or parts of the original large flock, so we didn’t add them. Our day's total was 36 while the full Duluth count was 1,171 Mallards. That was the most since 2017 but well shy of the record 1,862 counted in 2001. </p><p>Now off on a tangent: Three years ago, I got cataract surgery. The first eye was done a week and a half before Christmas, and the second two weeks later, which means the vision in my two eyes on that year’s Christmas Bird Count was extremely marginal. I set the diopter adjustment on my binoculars so when looking through them, both eyes were in focus, but looking for birds before I pulled up the binoculars was disorienting and even dizzying. And even through my eyes focused together through the binoculars, the image through the eye with the new lens was much much brighter than through the other eye, which was also disorienting. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/49213674171/in/photolist-2hYQWKD-2hYS92R" title="How my cataract distorts color"><img alt="How my cataract distorts color" height="184" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/49213674171_825dc7355e.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>A few days' discomfort, even though one of them was Christmas Bird Count Day, was totally worth it. Since the second eye was done, my vision has been not just very good—it’s the best it’s been in my life. I need glasses for most close-range vision, but don’t need them at all while birding. This year I did my morning count with Susan Relf, the very ophthalmologist who did that cataract surgery. </p><p>This year's count was lackluster, in large part due to weather. Saturday’s total for the Duluth count circle was a below-average 53 species, with six more species, including the second Eastern Screech-Owl ever found on the count, at least seen during Count Week. Janet and my total of 25 species seen in our areas was about average for us, though individual bird numbers were low. </p><p>After covering Lakeside below Glenwood the first half of the morning, we met up at my house at 10:00. Russ set out cookies and hot spiced cranberry/apple juice, and this year John brought a batch of chocolate chip cookies, too. Despite the fierce wind, the temperature was climbing up through the 20s, so we didn’t need to warm up much before we set out to cover upper Lakeside until lunch. Janet and John found the Townsend’s Solitaire she’s been keeping track of and got great photos. And I was thrilled when a Northern Flicker flew over my head, certain that I’d seen the rarest bird of the day. </p><p>At lunch, Janet and I did our afternoon area east of town between Lakewood and McQuade Roads on our own. We didn’t see much but did come upon a lovely little flock of Pine Grosbeaks close enough to give us some lovely photos. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52569711301/in/photolist-2o6n93t-2o6n99R-2o6n9mQ-2o6puaN-2o6pv9S-2o6pvjG-2o6pvxH-2o6pvEM-2o6pvMk-2o6qTk1-2o6qU9L-2o6qUjk-2o6qUJU-2o6qV7H-2o6rMsZ-2o6rMBM-2o6rMJv-2o6scBi-2o6sd14-2o6sd7w-2o6sd9q-2cdzBET-2cdzF9M-2cdzHMx-2cviGEb-2cviMou-2cviR95-2dwLn5E-2dwLpLb-2dwLuBU-2dwLyf5-2dBeq6F-2dBeyHF-2kiLVmw-2kiLVA9-2kiQFPw-2mRJn9r-2o6n7wc-2dBexCe-2kiLUch-2kiLV3f-2kiQF29-2kiQFey-2kiQGmZ-2kiRc5S-2kiRcZT-jKHj6i-PR628P-PR6can-Rtpk5b/" title="Pine Grosbeak"><img alt="Pine Grosbeak" height="321" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52569711301_bbab4e39c7.jpg" width="500" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52569710136/in/photolist-2o6n93t-2o6n99R-2o6n9mQ-2o6puaN-2o6pv9S-2o6pvjG-2o6pvxH-2o6pvEM-2o6pvMk-2o6qTk1-2o6qU9L-2o6qUjk-2o6qUJU-2o6qV7H-2o6rMsZ-2o6rMBM-2o6rMJv-2o6scBi-2o6sd14-2o6sd7w-2o6sd9q-2cdzBET-2cdzF9M-2cdzHMx-2cviGEb-2cviMou-2cviR95-2dwLn5E-2dwLpLb-2dwLuBU-2dwLyf5-2dBeq6F-2dBeyHF-2kiLVmw-2kiLVA9-2kiQFPw-2mRJn9r-2o6n7wc-2dBexCe-2kiLUch-2kiLV3f-2kiQF29-2kiQFey-2kiQGmZ-2kiRc5S-2kiRcZT-jKHj6i-PR628P-PR6can-Rtpk5b/" title="Pine Grosbeak"><img alt="Pine Grosbeak" height="357" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52569710136_ba254f1ce5.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>We finished up in time for Janet to bring me to the spot where she’d had the Townsend’s Solitaire in the morning, and the sweet little bird was close enough, and low enough, to give me my best photos ever. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52570155175/in/photolist-22h7Kh1-24Yh94S-24Yh9hs-2d6mXns-2o6n99R-2o6n9mQ-2o6qV7H-2o6rMsZ-2o6rMBM-2o6rMJv-2o6sd14-2o6sd7w-2o6sd9q-dTPWdZ-dTPWvD" title="Townsend's Solitaire"><img alt="Townsend's Solitaire" height="336" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52570155175_30b0b3e392.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p>Winter solitaire appearances in Duluth are growing more numerous. We’ve had at least one on the Christmas Bird Count or during Count Week in 7 of the last 10 years, and since 1980, we’ve totaled 2 on 5 different years. I was hoping we’d break that record, because Janet’s been seeing hers consistently for weeks even as Susan, living 2 ½ miles from that spot, had two individuals coming together to her crabapples several times, including just three days before Count Week began, and a few days after it ended. Janet’s bird was the only one seen on the day or week of this year's count, living up to the name Solitaire. </p><p>My flicker wasn’t as notable as I’d hoped—two other groups reported one, and this year’s total of 3 wasn’t even a record—4 flickers were counted on Duluth’s Christmas Bird Count in 1967. And at least one flicker has been reported on 18 counts since 1948. Those little details didn’t make my own sighting less exciting for me. </p><p>The only new bird seen on this year’s count wasn’t a species. The male Oregon Junco is a western subspecies of the Dark-eyed Junco. At the start of Count Week, at the same feeder, there was a “Cassiar Junco”—that one wasn’t a subspecies but a hybrid of the Slate-colored and Oregon Junco subspecies. </p><p>We broke three records. As I already mentioned, the crow count was the highest ever. The 394 goldfinches seen broke the previous record, set in 2013, by almost 100. And the 29 Red-bellied Woodpeckers not only broke the record of 23 set in 2018—this also marks the fourth time in the past 5 years that the Red-bellied count exceeded 20. </p><p>Also notable were the 117 robins, the most since our high count of 259 set in 2009. The 137 Evening Grosbeaks were the most counted since 2005. And this year's 10 Snow Buntings were the count's first since 2016. Also notable, but sad, we had only 7 Ruffed Grouse, possibly at least in part due to the heavy new snow. White-breasted Nuthatches and Northern Cardinals were both found in much lower numbers than recent counts. And this was the first count since 2000 when not a single crossbill—neither White-winged nor Red—was found at all. </p><p>A single year’s count doesn’t mean a whole lot in terms of increasing or decreasing populations, because each year’s weather makes a huge difference. This year’s numbers are entered into the database, more pieces of a gigantic puzzle that helps us see patterns, thanks to the many volunteer counters and Duluth's wonderful count compiler, Clinton Dexter-Nienhaus. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lauraerickson/52569249392/in/photolist-22h7Kh1-24Yh94S-24Yh9hs-2d6mXns-2o6n99R-2o6n9mQ-2o6qV7H-2o6rMsZ-2o6rMBM-2o6rMJv-2o6sd14-2o6sd7w-2o6sd9q-dTPWdZ-dTPWvD" title="Townsend's Solitaire"><img alt="Townsend's Solitaire" height="334" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52569249392_8c8dfaf70c.jpg" width="500" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Here's this year's totals:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Canada Goose- 6</li><li>Mallard- 1171</li><li>American Black Duck- 20</li><li>Common Goldeneye- 62</li><li>Common Merganser- 1</li><li>Red-breasted Merganser- 6</li><li>White-winged Scoter- 1</li><li>Wild Turkey- 2</li><li>Ruffed Grouse- 7</li><li>Rock Pigeon- 1025</li><li>Mourning Dove- 13</li><li>Ring-billed Gull- 2</li><li>Herring Gull- 516</li><li>Iceland Gull- 5 (All Thayer's Gulls)</li><li>Glaucous Gull- 2</li><li>Lesser Black-backed Gull- 1 (first cycle continuing in our area)</li><li>Great Black-backed Gull- COUNT WEEK</li><li>Golden Eagle- 2</li><li>Sharp-shinned Hawk- COUNT WEEK</li><li>Northern Goshawk- 3</li><li>Bald Eagle- 44</li><li>Red-tailed Hawk- COUNT WEEK</li><li>Great Horned Owl- COUNT WEEK</li><li>Snowy Owl- COUNT WEEK</li><li>Barred Owl- 1</li><li>Eastern Screech Owl- COUNT WEEK</li><li>Red-bellied Woodpecker- 29</li><li>Downy Woodpecker- 85</li><li>Hairy Woodpecker- 75</li><li>Pileated Woodpecker- 32</li><li>Northern Flicker- 3</li><li>Belted Kingfisher- 1</li><li>Merlin- 2</li><li>Peregrine Falcon- 2</li><li>Northern Shrike- 7</li><li>Blue Jay- 89</li><li>American Crow- 1305</li><li>Common Raven- 150</li><li>Black-capped Chickadee- 1794</li><li>Red-breasted Nuthatch- 99</li><li>White-breasted Nuthatch- 87</li><li>Townsend's Solitaire- 1</li><li>American Robin- 117</li><li>European Starling- 1309</li><li>Bohemian Waxwing- 1147</li><li>Cedar Waxwing- 140</li><li>Waxwing sp.- 22</li><li>Evening Grosbeak- 137</li><li>Pine Grosbeak- 89</li><li>House Finch- 89</li><li>Purple Finch- 2</li><li>Common Redpoll- 496</li><li>Pine Siskin- 2</li><li>American Goldfinch- 394</li><li>Finch sp.- 12</li><li>Snow Bunting- 10</li><li>Dark-eyed Junco- 33 (2 oregonus, Count Week cismontanus)</li><li>White-throated Sparrow- 2</li><li>American Tree Sparrow- 1</li><li>Northern Cardinal- 8</li><li>House Sparrow- 87</li></ul><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com