A Very Odd Chickadee

Drink, little hummingbird

Drink your fill

If you don't do it

The chickadee will.

--JDR, 7/21-12

So, one day early last week, I think it was, I looked out to see a chickadee on the dowel from which hangs the hummingbird feeder, and a hummingbird buzzing about above, the chickadee clearly watching the even littler bird and trying to figure out what it was and what it was up to. Then the hummingbird, deciding the chickadee was probably not a threat, zoomed in, lapped up a little hummingbird juice, and was off.

What happened then surprised me: once the hummingbird was gone, the chickadee launched itself at the little tube-feeder, clinging to the cap at its base with its little passerine feet. I thought it was going to be in for a rude surprise when it found the tube was full not of sunflower seed chips, like the finch feeder at the opposite end of the porch, but sugar-water. It pecked at the opening a few times and flew off.

But then the next day it was back. No hummingbird around this time, but I saw the chickadee on the dowel, looking all round to see if the coast was clear, then v. deliberately perch on the tube again and take a few sips before once again flying off. A day or two later Janice saw it too, and it's been back regularly since then (we see it about every other day or so, and it no doubt makes trips we don't happen to see).

So, there's something new: a chickadee with a sweet tooth.* More things, Horatio, indeed.

--John R.

P.S.: As for the hummingbirds, saw two go at it twice yesterday, most unusually inside the railing of the deck rather than out over open space. There was much tsking, and some helicoptering, and enough posturing and positioning to do a musketeer proud, but no actual contact (such is not the hummingbird way).

*not that chickadee have teeth, but you know what I mean.

While the Scholar's Away . . .

So, while we were away in the Arklatex, our neighbor Cathy dropped by each day to take care of our three cats (Feanor, Hastur, & Rigby), water the plants (including my pot full of magnolias and the sensitive plants I'd just gotten sprouted), and feed the birds (e.g., restocking the finch feeder and hummingbird tube as needed). When we got back, all seemed well: the cats happy to see us, the plants doing well, &c. The only discordant point was a note she'd left us about the cats having "had some adventure" but everything being "cleaned up", plus something about not being able to "find the bird feet", which I took as some sort of reference to not knowing where we'd put the bird seed.

Not the case, as it turns out. Now that Janice has had a chance to chat with her and catch up on things, we found out the awful truth. One time when she was over here, she let the cats out onto the balcony, which they love and which they're not able to jump down from. When she came back, she found bird parts scattered about our dining room: the inner predator had surfaced in at least one of our cats (probably Feanor, given his past history), with tragic results for at least one bird (probably a goldfinch, again given past history). She heroically cleaned up the mess, but wasn't able to find the little bird's feet. So either they're somewhere inside one of our cats, or we'll come across them at some point, way back behind some furniture or under a bookcase.

Cats. Always an adventure, and the unexpected more often than you'd expect.

--John R.

The first bumblebee

Today I saw the first bumblebee of the year -- a rather large and unusual one, maybe a new queen -- simply sitting on the floor of the balcony, where it'd apparently stopped to rest during a brief shower. I assume it was attracted by the nearby presence of the hummingbird feeders.

Speaking of which, yesterday or the day before I was standing near the feeder when the hummingbird came, and I actually got to see its tongue inside the tube as it lapped up the sugar-water ("hummingbird juice"). Interesting. It didn't seem to approve of my proximity, as it tsked between each sip.

And, just to wrap up sugar-water stories, both Janice and I have recently noticed a chickadee that occasionally visits the hummingbird feeder for a quick peck. I only saw it the one time, first sitting on the dowel and then going over to see what might be in these strange tube-shaped feeders on the opposite end of the balcony from the ones full of finch (and chickadee, & junco, & . . . ) feed; I assumed that, finding it to hold something so foreign and strange to its tastes, I'd had the luck to see its one and only exploration in that direction. But no; when I mentioned it to Janice she said she'd seen it there several times, so it's clearly developed a taste for the stuff. Chickadees hyped up on sugar water; now there's an interesting picture.

Finally, there was the amusing incident of a week or so ago when a finch was sitting on the dowel whose ends both support hummingbird feeders who saw a hummingbird go by, come back and hover briefly to examine this (for it) much larger bird, and then zipped away; the finch was clearly thinking something along the lines of what the blazes was that?

--John R.

So That's What They Were . . .

So, a few weeks ago I happened to look out the window and noticed a number of small, brown, v. active little birds feeding from the tight little cones in our stunted conifer on that side. I wasn't able to see them v. well, given my eyesight and their size and speed, but was certain they weren't a kind I'd see before, being even smaller than the chickadees, yet the tails were too long and straight for them to be wrens. Then a week or so later they came back and Janice and I were both able to see them. And now for the past several days they've been appearing on-again & off-again at the suet feeder out back -- quite an amazing sight, mixing freely with the occasional chickadee (which helped me confirm that they were definitely smaller than the chickadees, previously the smallest birds I've noticed aside of course from our hummingbirds).

So yesterday I asked the folks at Wild Birds Unlimited, where I'd gone to stock up on finch mix (there being heavy demand this time of year) what they might be. Small, fast, brown, thin, appearing in flocks of ten to twenty, attracted to the suet, longish tail. Ah yes, they said: bushtits. Except they would be grey, not brown. They showed me the picture in a bird-book, and they were right. A little research since revealed that bushtits, the smallest of all passerine birds, were first identified as a species in the Seattle area, so it's probably just chance I've never noticed them before. I did find one image online that gives a pretty good idea of what our suet feeder has looked like when they descend upon it:

http://ibc.lynxeds.com/photo/bushtit-psaltriparus-minimus/adults-suet-feeder

--John R.

The Visitors (Hawk & Swans)

So, Sunday we were rather surprised to see a hawk in the maple tree outside our dining room/kitchen. Clearly it'd noticed our finch feeder and suet feeder and interpreted this as a buffet for a hungry hawk (not that there are any other kind). Unfortunately for it, word had obviously gotten out and all the finches, chickadees, juncos, red-wing blackbirds, and less frequent visitors had all made themselves conspicuous by their absence. The hawk stayed a good half-hour, for a good bit of which it repeated the somewhat strange behavior of puffing out its wings over and over. I thought perhaps it'd been injured, but Janice was reminded of the way the hawks at the raptor exhibit at the zoo fluff out their feathers to cover prey once they've got it. Perhaps it was anticipating in hopeful fashion, perhaps it was just staying warm. In any case, the only bird it saw was our resident hummingbird, whom I've recently dubbed Goliath (who spent the whole of a bitterly cold week sitting on the dowel beside his feeder, scanning the sky for rivals -- whom I've collectively given the name 'Godot'). Goliath didn't hide but simply got higher up in the same tree as the hawk to monitor the situation, apparently feeling confident that he cd outfly any hawk that didn't get the drop on him. I daresay he's right.

And then, yesterday as I was coming home, I noticed four large white birds in the nearby lake that gives The Lakes their name. It was dusk and I cd only see them briefly as I drove by, but they looked like swans to me -- it might just be possible that they were white geese, but from the way they towered over the ducks they were swimming among I thought not. Then today I saw them again -- except this time there were ten in all. I pulled over and walked back to have a better look: despite the distance, my bad eyesight, and the fading light there was no doubt. I'm didn't know swans were gregarious -- I'd always thought them fiercely territorial, but maybe when they migrating the flock together. Now I'm hoping they stay around for a few days so Janice gets a chance to see them.

In the words of Fats Waller, it just goes to show: one never knows, do one?

--John R.

current reading: THE DREAM OF JOHN BALL, THE WOMAN IN BLACK, THE HOBBITONIAN ANTHOLOGY, THE LOST STRADIVARIUS

The Owl Walk

So, last night* we went on an owl walk, a thing I'd not done before. We'd learned about it from a piece in the HERON HERALD [Dec. 2008, page 5] around the time of Janice's birthday and arranged to take part, thinking it might be interesting and wd certainly be different.

When the night came, we were a little worried by the weather (in addition to turning quite cold it had snowed earlier and threatened to start up again) but still looked forward to the prospect of owling. We made it to the meeting place down next to the Soos Creek Trail, where we discovered that despite the weather they had a good turn out. Although the announcement had said group size was limited to fifteen, we had twenty-one counting the guide, so the little nature center building was packed. First we listened to an audiobook of Jane Yolen's little book OWL MOON, to get a quick course in Owl Walk Etiquette,** then we heard the calls of five owls that live in the area: a Great Horned Owl (the classic who! who!), the Barn Owl (a woman's scream), the Screech Owl (hoo-hoo-hooo-hoo-hooo), the little Saw-Whet (two cries: one rather like a chickadee's alarm call and the other like a crow's complaint), and thrown in at the last moment the Barred Owl (which I forget; I think it sounded a bit like cooing). Then after a little more talk about owls in the area and their habits, we were off, about an hour after gathering.

The actual 'owl walk' portion of the evening involved our walking a bit along the trail through the woods, then stopping while the guide played some owl calls on his little boom box, then looking into the darkness all around hoping to see an owl, all the while staining our ears to see if we heard an owl respond to the calls.*** Then after five or ten minutes we'd move on and walk a while before trying a new spot. Despite my being hopelessly night-blind (so much so that I avoid driving at night whenever possible) I actually didn't have much trouble seeing, between the gibbous moon and the snow on the ground. The stars were quite bright by the time we were done, though from where we were all I cd make out were the handle on the Big Dipper and Arcturus, plus the Gemini; I cdn't find Leo nor Perseus and Orion (the latter two being too close to the horizon behind the trees or already set).

The end result, after two full hours of this, was that the only owls we saw were the four stuffed ones back in the nature center building at the start of the talk, and the only owls we heard were the ones on the recordings and the audiobook. Still, it was a nice night for a walk, and I pretty much never walk in the woods at night (cf. nightblindness above), and I rarely make time to go out and see the stars, as much as I enjoy that, so I had a good evening. We'll probably go back for their Bat Walk this summer, but our next owl watch will probably be a quiet stroll by ourselves up at the Kent Wetlands just north of here.

It has been an interesting week for birds nevertheless: Thursday when coming back from having lunch with a friend I saw a bald eagle flying along the Green River (we do see them occasionally, but this is the first time this year). Then today while heading out to do groceries we saw either a v. large hawk or a smallish eagle sitting in a bare tree near the new bridge. Not quite as exciting as the Pileated Woodpecker Jeff Grubb has been seeing lately, of which I'm frankly envious, but welcome sights nonetheless (although the finches, crows, and chickadees we're feeding wd no doubt beg to differ).

--JDR
current reading: FINGERPRINTS OF THE GODS by Graham Hancock [1995]



(*technically late last night and early this morning, since it started at 10.30pm and ran till 1.30 am).

(**don't talk once out on the walk, don't use yr flashlight, don't make any noise you can avoid. Above all, don't come back another night and play owl-calls; it upsets the owls no end and can cost them a night's hunting)

(*** I shd have asked where we shd be looking -- i.e. whether owls tend to come in high, or low, or whether it differed from one type to another -- but didn't think of it until we were already in medias.)

Suet

So, so long as I've been talking about the hummingbirds, I might as well mention the other birds we've been feeding. The goldfinches continue to be the birds we see the most of, since we have a finch feeder full of finch mix, though some house sparrows also join them. Most of the juncos (snowbirds) are now gone, which makes the behavior of the pair who've stayed behind all the more striking. The chickadees haven't been coming around lately (since I had to give up leaving nuts for them on the balcony when the squirrel started coming around), nor have the red-winged blackbirds (the best singers of them all) -- but then the blackbirds come around more in the spring and winter, so that's not surprising. Recently the starlings returned, and the elegant grey-feathered grey-beaked birds that I think are young startlings have been around a lot down in the yard and in the maple. The crows are, as ever, in constant attendance, and follow me whenever I go on walks, in case I leak peanuts. I haven't seen the flicker (woodpecker), whom I once rescued from inside the townhouse (when we dropped by to visit it while it was still under construction, before we moved in), in a while, but she's a shy one and I might just have missed spotting her (and her visits also seem to be seasonable as well, with this being the off-season). There are also the ground-birds (sparrows, the occasional robin, and sometimes passing pigeons) who like to check out the area below the feeder for whatever falls below; these birds are of particular interest to our cats whenever they're outside.

In addition to the hummingbird feeders (two at present) and the finch feeder, I have a suet feeder hanging from a tree out back. This used to be a favorite of the chickadees
and the flicker; the crows are fascinated by it but don't have the right kind of feet to hold on to it. Sometimes one will land on it and hang upside down for a few seconds, pecking vigorously to get some suet to take with it when its hold slips, while one or two others will wait below for any loose bits that might fall.

The day before yesterday I made my own suet for the first time, from a recipe Janice found online for me. The birds seem to love it -- they went through three days' worth in the first day, so I had to make more tonight -- but this may just be because it's softer than the commercial blocks of suet I had been buying and it's easier for them to take off a chunk and fly away with it. Certainly the crows seem to like it. So here's the recipe I've been using: if anyone has one that produces a somewhat harder cake of suet I'd be glad to hear it.

Melt 1 cup of crunchy peanut butter and 1 cup of lard. Add 2 cups of oats, 2 cups of cornmeal, 1 cup of flour, a third of a cup of sugar, a half-cup of raisins, and a half-cup of sunflower seeds. Mix and spoon into empty suet containers. The recipe also called for a half-cup of safflower seeds, but I cdn't find any and it seems to work just fine without them.

--John R.