Changes in Latitude Changes in Gratitude

 
 

I am not proud of this, not one bit, but I haven’t written any blogs lately, partly for fear that all that would tumble forth on the paper would be a homesick lament from yours truly.  Fall has always been my favorite of favorite seasons. Here in Texas, fall is truly both a continuation of summer (it is still well into the 90’s) and, if it rains, a return to spring.  Many plants that have convincingly played dead all summer get a second wind and produce a new batch of flowers, lovely but disorienting.  But Fall; with pumpkins in the field, apples in an orchard or a Technicolor blaze of color in the trees-not so much. 

However, I do realize that seasonal memories spring from whatever your native area produced so, I wonder, what fall means to many of you who live not surrounded by deciduous trees but by cactus?  We just drove to New Mexico over the Columbus Day weekend to meet up with two of my daughters at the Balloon fiesta.  We had lived in New Mexico for a few years when they were young and here we were, 25 years later, seeing it again.   

 I remember how a New Mexican Fall was the smell of Hatch chilies tumbling in large roasters by the side of the road.  Plus for two weeks in October, the Albuquerque sky looks like a Jules Verne scene, full of vibrant colored balloons some with impossible shapes that don’t look terribly aerodynamic. Fall in Albuquerque.

The drive there took us through West Texas where for certain stretches you would have to say, Fall must mean white cotton balls coating the side of the roads.  It is harvest time and with nothing to break the wind you end up with cotton-coated highways. Further along was a stretch of rabbit brush with its yellow bloom contrasted against red-rimmed rocks. Fall in West Texas.

Or perhaps it is the monarch migration that means fall to the people here.  Here they come, heading to Mexico and although I only counted 15 as we crossed West Texas perhaps, back in the day, a sky streaming with monarchs meant it was time to stock up on Halloween candy. 

 Or it must be Fall if robins showed up in your stream bed as they did last week at our nature center, red breasts versus red leaves.  They are only passing through, so now I know to enjoy the chirrup while it lasts.  It is not the omnipresent bird here that it is in the North.   

Perhaps to a South Texan this season is marked by kettles of hawks soaring over the Texas coast to make their leap to Central America or the season is changing when hummingbirds take extra long drinks of nectar in an attempt to pack on the weight before their Gulf Coast crossing.  It probably just depends on what you grew up with.  

So I will buy apples at the grocery store to can applesauce and pretend they are from an orchard and exult in any day that might be under 80. My cedar elms are turning yellow from drought, but they would also turn yellow now even with rain.  So, Happy autumn to me, Happy autumn to you, however you picture it.

"Crime Scene" Season is Upon Us

I am finding more exploded puffs of birds these days, on my walks and in the yard.  I jokingly call them "crime scenes",  which gets children to pay attention.  But what it tells me is that it is the time of year that the hawks are coming through.   

Here in the Hill Country of Texas we are at the edge of the spectacular hawk migration that funnels thousands of hawks from their northern summer haunts, along the coast, to end up in their Central and South American wintering sites.  I know there are places near Corpus Christi that are THE place for spotting this “river of raptors” on their way south.  Huge collections of hawks spiraling in the sky like that are called a “kettle of hawks” and I really must get more organized next fall and get down there to see it. 

We are north of Corpus Christi and inland enough that one still can count mostly on vultures filling the skies but I had a beautiful broad winged hawk perched in the tree out my window a few days ago. Close enough for a positive ID. 

 (that's an Audubon picture but that is how close it was)

 Plus, over the last few weeks I have been hearing, not the impresario blue jay convincing me it is a red tailed hawk, but the real thing.  A common sight in most of the country, they are a treat where we live, as are the few Merlins and Sharp Shinned hawks that have been through the yard lately. 

You can sense when they are about; everything goes still. “Nobody moves, nobody dies” is the motto of many a feeder bird.  However, a puff of white winged dove feathers on the lawn the next morning, lets me know this predator didn’t go hungry yesterday. 

I never can truly sense what month it is here in Texas.  Everyone is exalting the “cool front” that came through, lowering the temps to the 80’s but that still spells summer to me.  In the North though, many of the southward migrants would have left by now.  However, the most densely packed “crime scenes” I have ever seen in my life were found in a winter juniper forest on the Cape. Some 80,000 northern robins hailing from Canada decided to make our densely packed juniper forest their winter roosting spot.  

 To arrive at dusk would be to hear all the raptors claiming their part of this fast food forest.  Walking the trails there in the daylight the next day would show that not all 80,000 robins made it down for breakfast; a poof of feathers at every turn.  Still, one has to be happy for the top of the food chain when it is able to meet its nutritional requirements so it was more amazing than disturbing.  I doubt I will ever see anything like it again.

If you happen to live along this raptor flyway then I bet you too might be coming across these obvious piles of feathers, too many to be molted, that lets you know the raptors are passing by and one was lucky enough to procure a meal.  Scientists calculate these broad winged hawks may travel more than 4,000 miles to their winter destination.  By all means, lets not begrudge them a snack on the way!