"Four and Twenty Blackbirds" X 10

Ah, the final entry about our backyard bird adventures here in a small patch of Knoxville suburbia. I have always told people they didn’t have to travel to far off wildlife preserves to find nature, that it was indeed, carrying on right out their door, if they would just stop a while and really “look”. This stay here has seemed like an experiment in that sort of “looking”. And I can’t get over how much we have “seen”, so my little pep talk to others came true for myself.

I may have mentioned in an earlier blog from here that a wonderful nighttime pastime was sitting on the back patio and watching hundreds of blackbirds, grackles, and starlings come flying in from all directions just prior to sunset. They first fill the neighbors oak tree, but then, as the sun goes down, spiral rather wildly down into the stand of bamboo that is in their yard. Not that these birds rank high on anyone’s “most enjoyed” list, what with their almost deafening, squawking, rusty-hinge sounds, but Elena and I are no bird snobs and just enjoy watching the show.

It was simply amazing too, how many of them could cram in there and not be seen. She and I peaked in from the bottom of the bamboo. There was a lot of rustling and waves of wing beats as they flew up and out again at our arrival. I realize they were really settling into the canopy and therefore hard to see, for where else is there to go in bamboo. I decided to do a little research into this, and what an amazing thing. I found that if these birds had to rate a habitat on a 1-10 rating, bamboo would get the max score.

It seems the folks at the Dept. of Agriculture have been looking into some way to draw the 1,000’s and they claim, even millions, of blackbirds that can settle near urban areas and drive the people mad with their noise and their droppings. Their habitat often consists of wet areas, cattail marshes, or where we are on the Cape, phragmites. They found, when given a choice, the birds would choose to make their reservations in a bamboo/cane patch. And so, they are looking into planting stands of bamboo away from residential areas and trying to draw the flocks there. And why bamboo, you wonder? For the tropical ambiance it gives?

It seems the reasons are many. First, bamboo has no lower branches for a would be predator to climb up to find a sleeping bird as a midnight snack, yet with its thick canopy, it can fit an amazing amount of birds in a small area. Large concentrations of birds means less chance for predation and in the colder months, a group huddling together gives off more warmth. Also, bamboo is so tightly packed that those hawks who make a living off catching birds, like Coopers and Sharp Shinned and Merlins, can’t get through the dense growth, so another plus for our squawking group. Maybe that is why they feel free to make a racket, zero need for stealth.

Also, other trees have a tendency to A) be overcome by forest succession and B) simply die from the abundance of blackbird droppings. Guess bamboo just eats it up and keeps on growing. No worry about succession, stands can last for 70 years or more, and they have all the height of a tree with none of the drawbacks.

I wonder if the neighbors ever knew any of this when they decided to put in a patch in their yard? I wonder if they knew you could never get rid of it? I wonder if they knew that all the neighbors around would have to DAILY knock over the bamboo shoots in their yard, as much as 50 ft away from the stand itself to keep it from taking over their yard? Probably not.

But there you have it; my daughter’s new home is adjacent to the most desirable blackbird real estate in town. I also read that they have been known to use the same roosting spot for up to 30 years. So Elena can eventually do her thesis on roosting behavior of blackbirds in a suburban setting. Maybe this blog will give her her start.

More "Birding in the Backyard" Entries

We have covered the Cardinals, we have followed “Jenny” wren, and now with only one day remaining before I must leave this idyllic world of all-play, all the time, I want to share just a few other back yard birding events that have so entertained Elena and I over the weeks.

One is being the main provider of soft yarn for what is a growing group of nesting robins and mockingbirds. We started putting string out about a week ago when I noticed a robin tugging resolutely at a clothesline and getting nowhere. Obviously nesting had begun and she was looking for material. Well I am such an Italian at heart, if I think they are hungry I instantly set out more food, if I see they need something like string, I dash to Wal-Mart and buy a cheap skein of yarn and begin providing it.

This turned out to be such a hit as far as keeping an 18-month-old entertained that we have done it daily. We cut foot long lengths of soft, sage green yarn and drape it over nearby branches and then see who comes to take it. Well, we began last week, and to make this educational, we always cut 10 pieces, counted them out, then counted out how many they took and how many remained. Delight comes in seeing a bird actually make off with one. Amazingly, as the word has obviously spread in the bird world that a Home Depot for nest building has opened up in our yard, what began as perhaps 10 a day disappearing, yesterday jumped up to 43 pieces of yarn being removed from the bushes! Incredible! So what this tells me is that, either a pamphlet has gone out to the bird world advertising our yard, or that nesting season has really picked up, at least among robins and mockingbirds for they are the ones we have seen taking them. Many disappear when we aren’t looking. But what fun! Anyone can do this. Once nesting begins in your area, just snip and drape the yarn and see what happens. I used sage green because I was thinking it would be tastefully invisible in the trees.

If you are doing this with young children, then the counting becomes a wonderful way to teach, not just counting, but subtraction as we kept seeing how many pieces remained and how many were gone. I must convince my daughter to keep this up in my absence, at least until the nesting season is over. Oh, and here is a wild thing that happened, when I went out on the patio after putting her down for a nap, a part of a grass nest was on the table! Go figure! Was a bird making a trade? Was her nest all yarn now and no need for this grass or was it a token of thanks? Really, there was no place it could have blown down from. This shall remain a mystery but a delight to Elena who has it in a little plastic bucket now.

Well, I seem to have done it again, gone on so long about these nests that I will have to write and yet another entry about the many, more than, “four and twenty blackbirds” who come each night to sleep in the neighbors bamboo patch. One more nap, one more blog entry!

Living with "Rhyme and Reason"

People are always saying, “Life has no rhyme or reason” but it dawned on me that these weeks with my granddaughter have been all rhyme and reason!
I was blessed as a child to be given an amazing collection of children’s literature that would carry a child from nursery rhymes through Greek epics in a 12-volume set. It was called “My Book House” and was first published back in the 40’s. My favorite volumes are the early ones that have nursery rhymes from all over the world, and wonderful 40’s style Kate Greenaway illustrations to go with them. Also, all the classic children’s stories in their pre-politically correct form. They are wonderful. They were read to me when I was a child, and then I read them to my three girls when they were young. It appears they had been stored on a disc in my brain somewhere just waiting for someone to hit “Play” and now, with Elena, someone has.

Truly, we go through our day full of rhyme and reason. If it is raining, as it is today, well it’s a “misty moisty morning” and, if we cross a stream on our walks, then it is “Stepping over stepping stones one, two, three, stepping over stepping stones come with me. The river’s very fast and the rivers very wide but we’ll step across on stepping stones to reach the other side.” Now that I think of it, I still even say that to the 4th graders I teach a forest lesson to, when we are crossing a brook. The language of the old rhymes is so incomparably rich that I am beyond grateful that someone taught them to me, and I am equally thankful that I can teach them to her.

If you remember, a few days ago, I said she and I had been quietly stalking about after “Jenny wren” in the after-supper time. That too, comes from a nursery rhyme reference, although one I have altered a bit. The “Four and twenty blackbird’s baked in a pie” one goes on to the sad conclusion of a “maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes, when down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose.” I think I thought that was a rather dismal ending, so I added, ”along came Jenny wren and put her nose back on again”. Which is how Carolina wrens became “Jenny wrens” in our lexicon.



For several nights now, she and I have followed the antics of the wren pair that grace our yard. (Finally, dear reader, we will get to the natural history of the thing!) The reason it is rather easy to “stalk” a Carolina wren is that they are so predictable. They sing with great gusto in the morning and again in the evening, although, the truth is, they sing throughout the day. But you could set your watch by the morning and night song; that rollicking “teekettle, teekettle tee”. Bless them, they also don’t head to the highest branches to sing, but are found in low shrubbery and on your railings, and your fence posts, so they make for easy spotting. And they are territorial, so, whereas in the woods, their territory may cover more space, in suburbia they are content to claim your little patch of yard, as their little patch. And the male will defend it by singing from every corner, again, making the “stalking game” pretty easy for even the youngest, toddler-in-arms to follow.

And as if their cuteness weren’t enough to endear them to you, with that perky tail and white expressive line through their eye, then their sterling qualities should win you over. They mate for life, a thing I think that is fairly rare in songbirds, only re-pairing after the death of a mate. Also, they stay within their home range all year unless the food supply is really lacking, so my wren pair at home on the Cape is a delight to me year round. Plus they know how to speak their mind, so you will know when something is “rotten in Denmark” by the loud “jeer” call they make.

Just last night, Elena and I watched our pair take verbal aim at a yellow cat that had strayed over from the neighbors. Both wrens gave him a royal scolding and that, combined with Elena and I adding to the suggestion he leave, had him trotting away. I have noticed there are several cats that are loose in the neighborhood and that might explain why I don’t have a dozen or so squirrels devising clever ways to get to the seed we have put out. Cats on the prowl as I have said before, along with our pane glass windows are responsible for many a bird dying before his time.

One other thing I have read about them, but not been scientific enough to test out, is that they are so set in their ways of going to and fro, that they will even arrive on a branch the same way, from the same angle each time. I note them hopping from place to place pretty regularly, but as for taking account of angle, wind speed, and compass bearings, well that is a little beyond me. If you have such an inclination, you can try it out and let me know what you observe. Always flying in S to SW at an angle of 45 degrees?

And now, I hear my little bird waking up for the promised big adventure to the Zoo today. And you just know that that will morph into a musical, starting with “Momma’s (Nona’s) taking us to the Zoo tomorrow, Zoo tomorrow, Zoo tomorrow, Mommas taking us to the Zoo tomorrow and we can stay all day.” to, “I went to the Animal Fair, the birds and the beasts were there, the Old baboon by the light of the moon was combing his auburn hair”. Let the people stare, she and I will have a blast, a day full of “rhyme and reason”!

The Glory of God Day-Thanking God for the Flexibility of Trees

“Changes in attitudes, changes in latitudes” doesn’t always lead to Margharitaville. In this case, it seemed to be leading to Oz, or a close encounter of the Dorothy/Toto kind. I was innocently checking the online forecast to choose the best day to go to the Zoo, when one of those nasty red exclamations showed up on the screen. WARNING! WARNING! It seemed a whole plethora of nasty things was headed my way. Severe storms, golf ball size hail, microbursts, but the one that sent my little Ozometer into overdrive was Tornadoes. They were predicting the kind that lingers and carves a name for itself instead of popping back into the clouds. Yikes!

I was feeling a certain vulnerability being new to this place, and the only one in the house with a toddler under my care, but yea for God who is the best at calming me down at these times. I try to read a few chapters in the Bible each morning, and where did I happen to be yesterday? In Mark, right at the part where Jesus calms the storm. (Mark4: 35-41). I, being human was reacting pretty much like the apostles did in that story. “YIKES”, we were all saying. Jesus, being God, was not going “Yikes” but instead, with a word, calmed the storm. Now watching the wind and waves come to a halt at his command, seemed to make them go “Double Yikes!” but then he said, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”. Again, that is a little easier for him to say, and I know he understands that we are only human and are often afraid, but it was the calming thing I needed to hear. So waiting out the night when this storm would hit wasn’t so bad.

Around 1:30 AM is when the storm really came charging through, but then it was just with wild wind and thunder and lightening but not the, lift-your-house-and-dump-it-on-a-witch, kind of wind. Thank you God! The lightning showed how tossed about the branches were and I half expected many of them to be down this morning, but only the ones that were already dead were strewn about. A good job of pruning God! I remember reading somewhere how trees that had to contend with wind had much stronger roots, as though doing these wind-bending exercises strengthened them. It was generally the trees that had led a pampered, windless, existence that were the first to snap in a storm. Seems a pretty apt parable there for life too doesn’t it? All the promises that, as hard as difficult times are, they often result in a stronger person. Stronger in faith, stronger in character. So, I believe my first Sunday sermon came from the trees surrounding the house.

And was it glorious today? Indeed, a world washed clean of pollen, and with temps in the high 70’s,the 20-30 mph winds that linger still, made for sheer delight as Elena and I took her stroller to a park that borders the Lake (hmm think it is a dammed up part of the river). 2 miles of up and down paved trails with this incomparable view of sparkling river/lake with the Smokies as a back drop. I know my daughter and husband are having a wonderful time in Germany, but you know, this Nona is having a pretty grand time here herself. Most everything is in leaf here now and the trail was bordered on one side by huge sycamores and on the riverside by flowering honeysuckle. So many people were walking dogs that I felt like I was in a Sesame St. moment teaching, big dog/small/dog, white dog/black dog. Look a polka dot dog! So is the Glory of God all around me? Absolutely, and I hope wherever you are, you have seen it around you too.

Romance All Around Me- In TN it's Bird Betrothal Time

As much as we have taken trips to parks each day, and that lovely walk through the mountains, there is nothing like your own backyard, even in the midst of suburbia, to witness more bird action than on any forested trail.

Since I arrived a week ago, I have been watching the comings and goings, the wooing and the skirmishes between several competing male Cardinals. Also having fun with my toddler granddaughter, creeping around after “Jenny” wren, actually a Carolina Wren, who has entertained us no end. We have watched robins gather nesting material and listened to the “toohee “ of what appears to be an abundant Towhee population. To say nothing of the hundreds of Blackbirds and Starlings that come flying in from all corners as the sun sets to roost in the neighbor’s fairly extensive bamboo patch.

But by far, the most entertaining have been the Cardinals. When I first arrived, there was the usual dive bombing of male against male as one would try to intrude into the others space, and at one time there seemed, though I could be wrong, to be three males trying to win the hand of one lady. I mentioned in my last blog, the rather pathetic sight of one male that had lost all his head feathers, yet was still gamely trying to win this maiden’s hand, or claw as it were. Sad to say, although we hoped for awhile that she might look deeper than just external beauty, I think survival of the fittest has kicked in, for it seems the most dapper, is winning out. I have seen them passing seeds back and forth, a sign of courtship in Cardinals, so I think Bachelor number 2 has been sent packing. Including a photo here might indicate why.


Ah, poor guy. And what it is that could cause a bird to “tear his hair out” in this way you may ask? Is life that stressful for them? Well, for captive birds, in a confined space, or hens in a hen house, there can be a “pecking order”, that’s where that term comes from after all, but not in the great outdoors. I have always been told it was due to a mite infection. A small insect that eats through the shaft of the feather which, of course, would cause it to drop off. It has been reasoned that mites on any other part of the body are removed easily during preening, but YOU try to preen your own head clean. Apes and monkeys are always offering that kindness to one another but I am not aware of birds doing it. So, the reasoning goes, the head is vulnerable and when the mites run out of head feathers they have to move on to another bird or risk being preened to death themselves if they get on a beak accessible feather.

Well that makes good sense to me, but you know there are always those with another opinion. Some insist it is an overactive molt if you will. Birds need to molt to replace worn feathers; their life depends on it. For flying, for keeping warm, and this usually happens a few feathers at a time, but some will say it is simply a molt gone into hyper-drive. Cardinals in particular, do molt after the mating season; once you have impressed your woman you can let your looks go, kind of thing. You see these frazzled looking birds now and in the summer when they are raising the young birds. I used to assume it was the stress of child rearing that did it. As a mom of three young children at the time, that made the most sense to me. So perhaps it is just a issue of molting.

Others will claim it is dietary in nature, for there are anecdotes out there of Blue Jays (another bird who gets this “Vinny the Vulture” look going from time to time) who have been fed a vitamin supplement and came out looking like a successful Rogaine ad. So whatever, chose your position, or postulate a whole new one if you like. But when all is said and done, our pterodactyl mimic didn’t win the day. Survival of the fittest might lead you to not choose the most mite ridden after all.

And now, look what we have done, we have prattled (we Pat?) on so long about Cardinals that we will simply have to leave the other bird antics to another day. Elena has been hopping up and down in her crib, obviously not napping, throughout the writing of this. So, off to the yard so she and I can spread some yarn for the Robins to find. We watched one today tugging on a clothesline so determinedly that I thought I had to provide something that wasn’t tied down. But, more on that another day- happy, day-after-Earth day, to you all. Wherever you are planted, may you find some delight in the world out your backdoor.

The Purple Pathway: Additions and Corrections

Why does it not surprise me that, after a trip to the library, looking through three butterfly books, going online searching, rather ineffectually for Eastern TN butterflies, and still not being positive about the ID of the ones we saw, my daughter goes online and zap, within 5 minutes, has the answer! Color me humbled!

And the answer, for you, the wondering reader, if you even remember the question, is that these clusters of brown butterflies we encountered throughout our walk were, and I love this name, Dreamy Duskywings (Erynnis icelus).



All the facts fit, they fly from April to August, they love trails and clearings in the woods, their host plants are poplars, which we were surrounded by, and their picture, when held side by side to ours, seemed identical. There’s the part I didn’t know how to do, hold our picture on the screen, blow it up and slide it next to the one online. Child’s play for her, for most of you I imagine, but out of my skill set.



And shazam, the black swallowtail I mentioned, my son-in-law pointed out, may very well have been a female tiger swallowtail for here in the south they often have a black form that mimics a noxious one called the Pipevine Swallowtail. And he has a Ph.D. not in natural history, but in computers. Humbling again. There is a black swallowtail, but he probably is right. So, that’s pretty cool. And while we are on the topic of Tiger Swallowtails, let’s throw in a picture of their larval form.



You may have run across them in books that talk about unusual mimicry as a way of protection. Tiger Swallowtail larvae try to avoid becoming a meal by looking like bird scat. And if any animal is odd enough to fancy bird scat, they will go a step further and rear up trying to look like a scary, albeit small, snake. And if the attacker still isn’t convinced, they slip out something that is an approximation of a forked tongue. If that doesn’t work, well, there will be one less swallowtail flitting by, but you can’t say it didn’t try.

Now, God willing, my daughter and her husband will be off to Germany tomorrow, and I will have to rely on my own stinted computer skills to continue the blog from here. But we do have other things to talk about. We have several male cardinals fighting over the love of the one female I see out front and this will be interesting to see how it plays out. Especially since one of the males is unfortunate enough to have that “vulture cardinal” look going on, where they loose all their head feathers and look more like a throw back to the Cretaceous than our lovely VA state bird. Does he stand a chance with the maiden looking so prehistoric, or can she look pass that to the bird he is inside? Guess you will have to stay tuned, and Elena and I will have to stay at the window, to find out.

The Glory of God All Around You- A Path of Purple Through the Cumberland Mountains

If only we could have added a backdrop of a castle, the hike we took yesterday would have been every bit as beautiful as one through the Bavarian Alps. Well, the Bavarian foothills perhaps. It was a beautiful Sunday, with that wonderful, no-humidity air and bluest of skies that means it is mandatory to be outside, so we headed out for a hike my daughter and family had taken before to a place called “Frozen Head” in the Cumberland Mountains.

Although they have only lived here a few months, they had been to this particular spot before, in search of their favorite habitat, mountain waterfalls, but the leaves hadn’t been out then. Now, it was awash in that wake you up, brilliant green, plus, how fortuitous, we arrived in the midst of “Wildflower Weeks”. In addition to the vibrant green leaves and bright blue sky was a pathway lined with a profusion of purple flowers. Violets, Wild Geraniums and Crested Dwarf Iris, a diminutive Iris that is found along wooded hillsides and ravines, which describes exactly what we were walking along, made up the bulk of the purple flowers.



There was also an abundance of Trillium, wonderful spring flowers that are pretty rare on the Cape for they like a richer soil. Here they had the Large Flowered Trillium, which starts white and ends up pink as it ages. The underground roots of these were ground by Indians for medicinal uses, but today these are protected plants, no picking, grinding, eating etc. They also had some of the more rare Yellow Trillium along the path and a Purple Trillium enchantingly also known as Stinking Benjamin. Which is a clue to its odor, think skunk cabbage or any other plant that wants to attract flies as their pollinator and knows the closer to rotting meat smell, the better. Thankfully, these weren’t that abundant along our path.

To seal the deal of feeling like “Paradise Lost”, the air was full of butterflies. Tiger Swallowtails and Black Swallowtails flitted along ridge lines and over pools of water. But it was this medium sized brownish black butterfly that I can not seem to identify, that was there in droves. That was the magical part. Watching my granddaughter, who was finally let out of the backpack when we reached the waterfalls, tossing rocks in the water with so many butterflies circling around her. Melted my naturalist/Nonna heart!



And doesn’t that drive you crazy, when you see about a million of something, and you think, surely I can identify this when I get back, its just brownish black after all, but NO, after Goggling images of “medium brown butterfly”, “butterflies of Eastern TN”, “wood nymphs” etc, (eeks that brought up pictures I never expected, Make that “wood nymph” butterfly!) I couldn’t find it! I didn’t bring any of my insect books along with me, (What an oversight! Never leave home without it, for I have seen so many cool bee, wannabes that clearly aren’t bees but are nectar eating something or others and other insects I wish I could look for.) I will, however, eventually get to a library and see if I can find some local TN natural history books and will amend this later with info if I can. But whatever they were, they are doing fine, bazillions of them, and making bazillions more is probably what this whole congregating thing was about.

So to all of this, on this Sunday, I say, “Thank you God!” That I was here, with them, at this time, Thank you.

Plate Tectonics Spoils the Plan

I arrived in Tennessee just a few days ago, ready to take over the care of my granddaughter while my daughter and her husband took a trip to Germany. However, Iceland and its explosive ways have altered the plan somewhat.

Ironically, I used to teach elementary students about plate tectonics with a slide show called, “I feel the Earth Move under My Feet”. In it, I explained how cool it was that, in Iceland, you could see the “sea floor spread” of the North Atlantic Ridge happening right before your eyes. Well, at the moment, with their flight canceled, it doesn’t seem quite so cool! If only the proverbial dust would settle, they may be able to try again later next week.

But meanwhile, it leads us into a discussion of plate tectonics, which really is an interesting and easy to understand concept. One worth pursuing as it seems to be in the headlines every other week! In a nutshell, and you probably know this already, the earth’s crust is broken into several major plates and many minor ones, and they can move in various ways. Understanding their movements is a good way to understand many of the more dynamic things we see happening on and in the earth.

For instance, two equal size plates crash together and you have mountains rising, AKA the Himalayas which are still ascending to greater heights as we speak. Two plates grind past each other in opposite directions and the results are earthquakes, when one side finally makes the jump, sending shock waves through the ground. This is what has been forecast for California for so long, but seems to be happening everywhere else. Two unequal plates meet together and the heavier plate sinks beneath the lighter one (subduction). The resulting melting rocks find a way to come exploding back out in the form of volcanoes, as we see in the Ring of Fire around the Pacific plate.

In Iceland you are seeing the opposite of subduction. Instead of one plate plunging beneath another, two plates are being pulled apart and new crust is forming. This generally happens at the bottom of the ocean floor and it is referred to as the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Due to the great water pressure above it, this magma doesn’t explode but instead oozes out. To see it, you would have to be in a high-pressure submersible sub like “Alvin” from Woods Hole. Then you could travel down and see the smoking vents and fissures that have extreme high temperatures and entire ecosystems around them.

But if you are in Iceland you are on the one spot on the Ridge where this is happening above water. The plates are spreading, the lava is gushing, the dust is rising, and planes aren’t flying. To make it even more exciting, all of this is happening under a glacier, so you have steam shooting up hundreds of feet and glaciers melting. Yikes! And it has only happened like this 5 times since the 9th century. What were the chances it would happen the day her plane was to fly!

On the plus side, Iceland is not covered with snow and ice as it would be otherwise, the people enjoy affordable geothermal power, lots of free hot tubs, and vegetables that grow year round in hot houses powered by rising magma heat. But on the down side, you just may have to evacuate in the face of an onrushing flood of melt water, or noxious gasses or flowing magma. Maybe the Realtor forgot to mention that when you bought the property.

And for your folks worried about global warming, volcanic ash has a tendency to reflect the sunlight back into space and cools things off a bit. In 1815 Mt.Tembora erupted with so much ash in the atmosphere that there was no summer at all in Europe. Not that this is that bad. And so, tempted as I am to complain about the inconvenience, this still is a pretty amazing event, not that I expect my daughter to see it that way, if next week, the flight is canceled again. More than volcanoes will be erupting!

The Silence of the Crows Part 1

Here is your mission, if you choose to accept it. When you are outside, start paying attention to what you DON’T hear. If you have a lot of crows in your area, have you noticed you aren’t being as deafened by the caw-cawing going on? Or if you do hear them, is it mob rule, or is it just one, lone bird cawing?

Here on the Cape, nesting season is just beginning. And for this generally loquacious group of birds, they suddenly go silent. Stealthily silent, maybe because they are afraid other birds will “do unto them as they have done unto others” a.k.a. nest robbing, they go about like CIA undercover agents. Slipping from tree to tree without a word, acting totally innocent if you happen to see them. I saw a crow just a moment ago with nesting material, which he dropped when he saw me. Could have just been accidental, but then I saw three others, with leaves, and sticks in their beak, and they winged away without a sound.

The one, lone bird cawing, is what I noticed as I walked the bog this morning. Usually this 5-acre bog is watched over by two families of crows. And generally, they are diving at each other, feeding on the bog etc. But for the last two days, just one crow on one side of the bog and another on the far side, is all I saw. Sentinel birds, watching and giving warning when Tuck and I make our appearance, but no mob joins them to hurl invectives at us.

The crow group that you watch through the year is generally made up of the breeding pair which I believe they stay attached through most of their lives, and along with them, are several generation of their offspring. The family that caws together stays together. And it is probably one of the reasons they are so successful. More crows to stand guard, more crows to help build the nest, more crows to bring tidbits to this years prodigies. Seems to be working for them doesn’t it, for who are some of the most prolific birds around? Crows. Which is exactly why I decided to start paying attention to them. When I am out with school groups or adults, I can be sure I will see some, so why not have more to say about them then, “Say, there’s a crow!”

But I will spare you the “More to say about them” part. This is part 1 after all. I will be gone for a couple of weeks and when I return the nests will have been built and perhaps the lovely green and black speckled eggs laid. I will try, quixotically, to find their nests with my binoculars, but I would have better luck again, if I had a helicopter. Top of trees, but well hidden is where you would find them.

All right then, you have your marching orders. Listen for the silence of the crows and if you are so inclined, let me know what you see or don’t see, hear or don’t hear. For that matter, I just added my email to my profile, so if you want to add to the body of knowledge, perhaps it will be easier now. What are crows doing in CO I wonder, in NM, in KS, in Nebraska, all the places you live and I do not. Remember “Each one- Teach one.”

Sunday-God Blogs "The Nature of God"

At work, I occasionally offer a workshop for teachers called “The Nature of the Story”. I encourage them to use children’s books as springboards to the nature lessons behind the story. Well, as I was walking the other day, the thought came to me, how wonderful it would be to be able to take a class on the “Nature of God”.

In Bible studies we often study the character of God: his faithfulness, his omniscience, his compassion, his grace and forgiveness. In others we learn those fabulous Hebrew names for God that I have such a hard time remembering: Jehovah Jireh, the Lord will provide, Jehovah Raah, the Lord is our shepherd, El Shaddai, the Almighty, all-sufficient God. So, how about a study on the “Nature of God”, one that would rekindle in us awe and wonder at the work of his hands.

The sort of amazement so often expressed in the Psalms. David when he proclaimed, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” Ps 19:1. Or, Isaiah, “ You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills will burst into song before you and all the trees of the field will clap their hands” Isaiah 55:1. There’s a “Yea God” hike for you!

And, wouldn’t I have loved to take a walk with the author of Ps 148! I think he and I are on the same page. In that psalm he has everything and I mean everything from the sun, the moon, the whales, and the mountains, the wild animals and small critters praising God. That’s exactly the way I feel when I am outside. Just today I was thanking God for the thrill of seeing my first Mourning Cloak of spring. A butterfly that, amazingly, survives our harsh winter in his adult stage, under the bark of some tree and then, with the thaw of spring, flits by as though no big thing has happened.

Tying in with this theme of awe and wonder, there was pertinent and surprising, considering the leanings of our local paper, editorial the other day entitled “Can Science, religion coexist?” by Erik Wikstrom and he too was talking about the need for a return to wonder. Here is a quote from his piece that is all too true,

“Our ability to experience true, deep reverential awe seems to be deteriorating. As our collective cynicism increases, our capacity for full-bodied soulful wonder seems to be decreasing.”

Which is sad isn’t it? He also included a quote from Albert Einstein

“The one who cannot experience wonder is as good as dead. A snuffed out candle.”

So, on this Sunday, I urge you to keep your candle burning. Get outside, look up, look around, see the Nature of God all around you, and breath in some awe and wonder. I can guarantee you will feel more alive for having done so.

Meanwhile, Back at the Bog...

It seems like it has been awhile since I actually wrote about the doings at the bog. Between being out of town, and walking at the beach on these glorious days, I hadn’t taken my normal morning route in over a week. It is amazing how many things change in so short a time.

The cranberry plants themselves, are in the act of transforming their cranberry colored leaves of winter,to their OD (olive drab) green leaves of summer. Not the bright Kelly green of new maples, or the Easter grass green of new grass, but this subdued army issued looking color. Perhaps that is because the anthocyanin (the pigment in the plant responsible for the maroon color)is so prevelant in these plants. Personally, I prefer their winter look. The flowers themselves are probably another month away. The flower is what gives them the name “cranberry”, which was originally, Crane berry. And that is because the flower looks strikingly like the head of a heron, which the colonists, called cranes. I will have to dig up a picture of said flower for a later posting.

The pond and the “slough” were devoid of ducks, although some mallards lifted out of the ditches around the bog. But the rattle of a kingfisher was a happy sound, and one of our returned ospreys flew over. I have never seen them nest here, this is probably the one from nearby Scorton creek. If you can fly after all, why not tour the neighborhood rather than simply hang out at your own creek. Phoebe’s are back, doing their New “Joisey” feee beee with guttural accents. One or two toads trilled but nothing compared to the ear damaging trills of the DC crowd.

Speaking of that, I finally got to take a group out to see the woodcocks display, in this case, woodcock. One lone soul who took off time and time again but the female approval was lacking. At least no one stepped out of the shadow to reward him for his effort. Perhaps, if she were a modest woodcock, we might have been the problem. But we didn’t linger forever, not wanting to spoil his chances and headed over to the swampy wetland to see the peepers. Wow, after much straining we finally saw them, right at our feet, with their little bubble gum throats fully extended, but oh, the noise! Painful. When we were done, our ears were ringing like we were at a rock concert. How do they make so much volume out of such a little throat sack! Did I mention the other day, when talking about peepers that scientists have noticed the females are better able to hear the “peep peep” the male makes, than he can. And they say, it may just be that he is deafened by being at one too many peeper concerts. I can fully believe that now. Take heed you adolescent peepers, wear ear protection! Little round discs over your circular tympanums!

Next week I head to Tennessee for the delight of watching my granddaughter for ten days. When I return, I can imagine the bog will be altered again. The leaves on the tangle of briars that fill the forest around them will be out and the curtain will be closed on animal trails that I can see now. Birds that are hard to find on bare branches will be impossible to see behind a curtain of leaves. But the green herons may be back by then and they are easy to spot. The wildflowers around the edge may be up, or then again, there may be snow on the ground! This is New England after all.


Whatever, you can be sure, I will keep you posted. And expect to hear some southern blogs from TN, “greenest state in the land of the free” when time permits. They will be further along in their spring than even DC was so perhaps baby birds, and full blown flowers will be about. The world is full of grand surprises wherever you go. Hope you get to discover some on your own. Guaranteed to make your day a better day when you get out and see some wonder.

Waxing Nostalgic Over Skunks

I miss the skunks. It used to be that when I turned into the driveway late at night, I would check the yard before I let the dog out of the car. I haven’t done that in awhile now. I also remember finding largish holes in the grass and thinking I had overzealous squirrels, only to realize, no, it was skunks, looking for and finding grubs. Now, even though it has rained hard enough to consider planting rice, I still have dead patches in the grass that are, no doubt, caused by grubs. I miss the skunks.

And what happened to them, you wonder? Well, they used to put out bait along the canal, laced with a medication to prevent raccoons, skunks etc. from getting rabies, but then budgets got tight, they missed a few years and rabies somehow slipped in. I can’t be sure, but I think that is why skunks aren’t nearly as plentiful as they used to be. Remember that crazy song “Dead skunk in the middle of the road”? Maybe not, but I haven’t seen many of those either.

Now, I know there probably a percentage of you out there who would say, good riddance. Especially if you have a dog who has tangled with them, and you know that no amount of tomato juice really does the job. But I also get nostalgic for skunks because a million years ago, when I was just graduating from college, I raised a pair of skunks. I worked at a small natural history museum at the time, and the kindly head ranger there, in the spring, would take in the baby raccoons, opossums, etc., that people would find and bring to us. But it turned out that the “kindly” man wasn’t so kind after all. He “took care” of them all right, in a way that would make a pest exterminator proud. After that, no young animals made it past my desk to him but, rather, came home with me.

This particular pair of orphaned animals, were so young, they had yet to get their fur. And so, you can imagine my surprise when they did. Ah! Skunks! But adorable skunks and so young that any spats only ended in a slight musky odor. They do warn you, they would stamp their small feet, at each other mostly, then turn around, and if the one picking the fight didn’t back off, the other would let him have it. I was never the intended recipient of any of these temper tantrums. Using a fan to remove the air took care of things nicely.

But what was so memorable about them, was that their tender, young, need-to-be-fed frequently, age, coincided with my college graduation. And so, all in black and white, as they should be, they came along with me in a shoebox, under my chair. And today, they are probably the only clear memory I have of that ceremony. The speaker left no life-long mark on my psyche, not even the whole momentous idea that soon I would have to work for a living. However, what I do remember, was feeding those skunks with a bottle mid ceremony and how everyone around me was more amused then they would have been otherwise. I eventually released them both to a beautiful, way out of my league, woodsy neighborhood and I hope they had long and meaningful lives. After all, they were college graduates.

Tomorrow I will go to a preschool and entertain them with “Jimmy Skunk Looks for Beetles”, a classic Burgess tale that has been tweaked a bit by me, but is one of my favorite puppet shows to do. And I will wish I could tell them, to keep an eye out for the signs that Jimmy skunk was looking for beetles in their yard, but perhaps I shouldn’t get their hopes up.

But maybe I am wrong. Maybe they are flourishing in your neighborhood and you would send me some if you could. I hope that is the case. I do believe some private money was made available last year to leave some bait out, so with luck, they will repopulate the area. Until then, I will just quietly miss the skunks.

The Trip to Bountiful

To borrow a title from Horton Foote, our recent trip to DC was like a trip to bountiful. There were bountiful buds, bountiful blossoms, and even bountiful Bufo americanus (American toads).

First the buds; travel is an amazing thing isn’t it; especially if you are at the cusp of a new season. Spring is just beginning to think about coming to the Cape, the red buds on the Red maples are starting to swell, the willows are turning green and the forsythia probably popped while I was gone. As you travel south though, down 95, it’s as though you are witnessing one of those time lapse photography productions. The red buds are fully swollen in CT, the leaves are starting to unfurl in New Jersey and by the time you reach VA you have half the woods either in blossom or with catkins hanging down and new green leaves starting. When we reverse the trip home today, it will be equally amazing to watch those leaves shrink back into buds as we head north.

The bountiful blossoms of DC, of course, were the cherry trees that line the Tidal Basin and they were in peak bloom. We could not have picked a better time to go. Easter and the “glory all around us” coincided perfectly. I had also forgotten how prolific the Bradford pear trees are there, and they were white with blossoms. These trees don’t produce any pears, more the pity, for this would surely be a banner crop! It also felt like we were walking through one of those documentaries so popular in the 70’s that warned of the coming population explosions. I have never seen so many teeming masses, massing to see the beauty, but with so many cultures represented, they add to the palette too.

As for the bountiful bufo’s; there is a patch of woods, with a stream running through it, behind my daughters apartment. I heard the trilling of toads the first night we were there, and peepers, so to complete this perfect day, we headed down to the stream with a small flashlight. And Wow, there, where the stream spread out to marshy muck, was what seemed to be toads of biblical proportion! Somewhere on this Easter weekend people were no doubt watching Moses unleash a plague of toads on those stubborn Egyptians, while we had our own toad-o-rama right behind the house. More like “Animal House” than the “10 Commandments”, these toads, were like a frat house gone wild. Mating time, of course, and there was one female that obviously had a “Love Potion Number 9” thing going on. Spare us the details Pat! The incredible thing is realizing that all these toads are dispersed in these woods the rest of the year and we hardly come upon them.

And the peepers that were there, you would swear, all owned invisibility cloaks. It is astounding how they can be peeping no more than 1 foot away from you, yet search as you like, you can’t see them! At least we couldn’t. Although I have been on other night excursions were I saw them clearly. Go figure. What an unexpected treat though. I was also able to clearly demonstrate how toads defend themselves. If you pick them up, which I did, they pee abundantly all over you, which it did and is a good reason to let them go.

Now, a few questions this toady encounter raised were: 1) at some point in the night, did predators come through for easy pickings; snakes, raccoons etc.? After all, a better “fast food” place couldn’t be found if you tastes drifted towards all things amphibian and 2) Are there night shifts in the world of toad “amore”? I woke up a lot that night, and through the watches of the night, could hear they were still trilling on, right up until sunrise, and even then, one or two voices joined with the dawn chorus of birds. Amazing, their stamina, and to think, they will be doing this each night for about two weeks.

So, the toads are mating now in VA, but they won’t be trilling and calling until about mid April on the Cape, so consider this a preview of coming attractions and a reason to start listening for the trills, arm yourself with a better flashlight than I had and go look for yourselves. Females are considerably larger than the males, males have a swollen thumb on the front feet to aid in what is technically called “amplexus”, and if you pick one up, considering the aforementioned warning, you will see that the male has a darker throat then the female. Males also arrive a few days ahead of the ladies so wait a few days to let the whole gang arrive. Something to look forward to and I am glad I got a head start on spring so I could get you psyched!

Short and Pithy

Happy Easter!
It's not about the bunnies.