This Morning

Long before the winter's sun broke over the black horizon, just when the sky was turning its cold pink, the red-tailed hawk could be heard crying high in the sky over my house.  His piercing call was the only sound in the cold desert of the morning's silence. Was it in celebration of the new day or in sadness over the shortness of the day before solstice?

The Wildest that flows through a Population?

Rivers are the life blood of much of America.

We hiked along a river that runs through three states and one District.
 
It extends 383 miles from the Appalachian Mountains to the Chesapeake Bay and starts way up high in the mountains.

This river is the home to many many birds.

Both the great blue heron and the bald eagle live here.

The river has had a long relationship with man as well.  People lived along it shores 15,000 years ago.

During the American Civil War (1861–1865), the river traced the border between the Union and the Confederacy.  It WAS the line that divided the country.

People pull their canoes and kayaks out as they reach the gorge.  It is too dangerous to go on in some places.

For those who take the land the hiking along the shoreline is sometimes easy and sometimes difficult, But it is also beautiful this time of year.

Can you see hubby struggling with the rocks?

A waterfall from the Canal.

Do you know which river this is?

Polar Bear Plunge

Average morning temperature this week has been 27 degrees.  The bird bath is heated and we still have one or two of those birds that want to take a polar bear plunge.

They arrive nice and early as the sun hits the deck outside my bedroom window.

The sun hits the window and they cannot see we are still in bed watching them!  All they see is their handsome reflection.  "Looking good after that workout."

Bravely, this titmouse takes the plunge.  The water is nicely warmer than the air.

"Now, where did I leave that towel?"

Curiouser

The air smells of snow.

Cold and slate shadows permeate 

reaching even golden

grasses and turning them to soft gray.

The scanning eyes can see

a canvas bag with shredded strap

thrown against the base of the oak,

once hidden by leaves of brambled vines

but now abandoned

except for some faint memory,

perhaps,

of summer's busier days.

Abandoned now by all

except opportunistic and curious crows

peering carefully

through the net of the flap.

Singing a Song of Love

Like a warrior I am fighting to reclaim my time.  The quick sands of volunteerism slurp away at my ankles and I find I must use both hands to find a guiltless hold and step away firmly and walk to the knoll at the crest of the hill.  I live with someone for whom being busy is the same thing as breathing, and thus, I must dance alone some days.  For me watching the morning unfold and pruriently watching the evening undressing for bed is what fills up my breath and banks my fire.

On this early lime-green spring morning after the buckets of rain, I can still hear that male prothonotary calling and calling for his love.  His ardor is a little weaker, but the drive for reproduction is compelling.  He is not shy around us hopping from branch to branch at the edges where the woods meet the yard in his desperation to find that mate.   He even pauses at the top of our broken umbrella, looking for love in all the wrong places.

He is so handsome and has checked out several of the bird houses in between his arias.  He even started to bring mosses to the little woven bird house that hangs beneath my rain monitor on the front porch forcing us to use another door for our access to this house.

I feel like a matchmaker wanting to find him the lady of his dreams, and truly am a failure as I have no power in that venture.  We all want to help when there is that longing for love and companionship in a fellow living being, don't we?

There was a brief carnival-of-color conversation yesterday when an indigo bunting came by to sing and landed not far from the bright yellow prothonotary on the fence line.  They chattered back and forth ever so sharply.  I was holding back my dismay until I saw his brownish/gray mate perching nearby and relieved that he at least is getting some loving this spring.

The dots in the photos above are their wedding confetti thrown from the blossoms of the wild cherry trees.

The bunting navigates from its winter home in Central America by using the stars at night just like a sailor.  Both the prothonotary and indigo bunting are not strangers to the woods in this area, but they are truly novel things to see in my yard.  Is this my reward trying to use natural controls and natural methods in my gardens?

I read that the bunting is not really blue but reflects blue light from microscopic structures in his feathers.  Are not birds miracles and mysteries in so many ways? 

I am hanging on to these next few weeks with tenacity, since all too soon the song birds will have nested, raised their young, and moved into the far woods for their quieter summer lives and will be much harder to find and watch.

Back Away Slowly

My goodness, what is this hanging off of my suet feeder?  He is way too big to be balancing up there.  This first photo is not the most flattering, but it did catch my attention.  I see that he is a big bird, larger than the downy woodpecker that usually visits, but closer in size to the red bellied woodpecker. 

But he/she is not a woodpecker.  He stops for a brief moment to shake off the cold rain.  He is a rich rusty brown color.

He has bright yellow eyes with a determined look and above he appears to be long and thin...yet...

here he is thick and ball shaped.  This is what makes birds hard to ID unless you watch them for some time.

This photo above, in better focus, reveals his more normal shape.  It is the brown thrasher, which is most often seen 'thrashing' about in the leaves and looking for bugs under them.  Because of his coloring and the fact that he stays low under bushes he is often hard to see.  He has the most interesting song which can be heard here.  (Scroll down to the middle of the page in that link.)

OKAY, I will put the camera down and back away!

Meanwhile, back at the watercooler.

Yes, readers, it is that time of year again, when the elderly confine themselves to the safety and warmth of the house because they have no real life and fill the morning hours by taking photos of the birds at the bird-feeder through their windows leading to a blurry technique and not so funny captions.  Bear with me until better weather.

May All Your Birdies Feast Safely

Apologies for the blurred shots, taken through the double-paned glass window as I sat on my bedroom floor.  Have a good and safe Thanksgiving if you are celebrating such.

Getting tired of waiting here!

Be patient, Red, I am almost done.

Hey, did someone poop in the bath?

It wasn't me...really.

Oh...what was that?

Hawk!  HAWK!

Did he say 'Hawk'?

Hey, could you put down that camera and open the door and scare him away?

Thanks, you can go now.

The Bathhouse

Such a lazy unproductive day. I sit with my laptop on my lap casually reading blogs with one eye and with the other eye and both ears following the history channel on my television talking about some ancient ways to kill an enemy with an assortment of what they call "hidden" weapons. 

I have moved the bird bath from my front yard so that it now sits (a little askew on a lopsided table) on the back deck with the background of glowing fall trees allowing afternoon light to flicker across the surface of the river and bounce up to make a golden and red backdrop at the bird bath.  The bird bath is located with such energy efficiency that I can watch it without moving at all!  My head rotates from laptop screen to TV screen to window.  Such a fun and lazy way to spend a cold and windy fall afternoon. While birds visit on and off all day in the 44F degree weather they tend to gather more in the late afternoon.  I take photos through the window which gives everything a bit of a blurry watery edge.

I have placed the bird bath heater into the water since early this morning I saw titmice skating across the surface of the ice in search of a melted area for their morning drink.  They would peck at the hard surface and then tilt their head wondering how hard the ice really was.

The house wren that visits the watering hole often breaks into song, flooding my heart with memories of spring. How can their song be so full and happy at this time of year when they no longer need to attract a mate and their immediate future will be so cold and spare? How can they remain so lyrical and upbeat when the wind pushes against their feathers and almost lifts them off the table? 

The bluebirds come in threes.  One watches at the railing while two drink.  They dip low and then throw their heads back allowing big gulps to flow down their throats.  Their little dark eyes glance around for hawks before dipping again for a another long drink.  

The cardinals always drink alone and the females frequently argue about their space on the rim of the water dish and chase each other back and forth at the table.  There is sometimes a male cardinal waiting patiently until the bitching and moaning is finished.

This year the nuthatch has joined us!  He usually would hang out by the feeders and the suet cakes but never came close to the house for water.  I have seen him at least twice today.  

Then comes the chickadee.  And the funniest part today is watching the titmice dip their head in the heated water and spray drops everywhere in the sunshine and then jump into the pool and actually bathe.  They sit for a while before flying off to groom in some nearby tree.  I am amazed at the insulation of feathers for these little gray ones who do not seem to be cold.

Hey, do you mind?  I am bathing here!

Dipping his tail and flicking the water into the air.

A Crack of Thunder

Fall is fully here with sticky wet leaves spinning their way to the ground between the gray rain drops leaving better and better views through the woods.  It is our first really cold day today, hanging in the high 40's F.  Last night as we sat watching television we heard a large crack like that of thunder or a rifle firing.  The sound seemed to come from across the river.  Hubby is an outdoors-man and said right away that it was the dying oak down by the dock that had finally fallen.  It was this tree's base where I had taken a picture of the Jack-O-Lantern fungus in the prior post.   This oak had started to die within months of our moving into our house, and for some reason, we felt a bit intimidated by that death as if we had caused it in some way.  It had lasted so many years and we wondered if we were we the ones that pushed it over the edge?  It spared the oyster cages which we laid at its feet.

There were the remains of a hunter's stand nailed into the tree...which was perhaps the work that had eventually killed the tree.  We cut away all the dead limbs (widow makers)  that hung over the trail to the dock when we started living here.  Thus when this marvelous behemoth released his/her hold on the earth it fell away from the dock and toward the salt bush at the edge of the river.  It looked so much bigger when pushed to the earth.

A new meal for our resident pileated woodpeckers through this winter.

On a happier note, the last male osprey, Fred, left for warmer weather last week and I missed seeing, while sipping my coffee, his silhouette against the sky each day as he sat on the snag above his nest.  When the sun was out most days I saw the resident blue heron taking possession of the abandoned nest while grooming himself/herself.  (It is a terrible photo...taken in a rush!)

This morning as the gray day broke I saw the silhouette of larger bird on the same tree snag. At first I thought it was a vulture resting.  Then as the light grew brighter I grabbed my binoculars and saw that it was an immature bald eagle waiting for the heaviest rains to diminish or perhaps just waiting in a new place.  I hope he comes often in the months ahead even though they are very shy, but he/she will certainly move to another part of the woods when the osprey returns in the spring.  The arrival of nesting season in the spring will make these two top 'dogs' dangerous enemies.

The Gulls!

Many years ago, perhaps before some of you were born, there was a director that could terrify people with his movies. They still are somewhat thrilling when watched, although they do not have the blood and gore that makes one want to hurl nor do they have the psychopathic reality that makes you wonder if people are so crazy.   It does still have the horror.  The man's name was Alfred Hitchcock and one of those movies was "The Birds."  It was about an attack of birds on a small Northern California town, an attack that seemed to have no reason behind it which made it all the more terrifying.   The birds in my area have not seen this movie...thank goodness. 

Just stand and pretend she does not see you.  Don't move.  Patience is a virtue.

Its only the salad and wine.  Yuck!  Hope she is not on a diet!

Pretend you are waiting for someone.  "Oh, Hi, Evelyn, nice day for a fly about, isn't it?  Can't beat this fall weather!"

Walk ever so slowly and look every so sweet and gentle and maybe she will throw me that shrimp tail!

OMG, that looks so good!  I don't think I can control myself! Give her the 'cute' stare.

Look away...look away...she is getting ready to wave that napkin at you!

Patience....patience.

"Hey Freddie, this family has abandoned ship and they left hamburger buns!!"

"Outta my way, Dude.  I'm starving!"