Canoe This

Few things in life match the smooth quiet release of a canoe as it is maneuvered away from the shore to glide smoothly past the Memorial Day fishermen hanging patiently on the dock.  It takes little effort to move swiftly across the river between a few holiday boaters and the noisy ski-doers into the quiet marshlands where only the shallowest of floaters can go.  Some may find the mud and the prehistoric water plants too strange for beauty.  But, of course, I know that all you have to do is keep your eyes open for treasures along the way, like this gaggle of butterflies playing in the mud...

...or this Red-winged blackbird that gave the most piercing call above us as we scooted beneath his tree.  The whistle was so loud and clear that at first we did not recognize the normally familiar song.

Soft grasses in bloom

Fragrant honeysuckle that takes your breath away

Wildflowers across the pond

Now aren't you glad you came along and you didn't even have to paddle, or wear sunscreen, or spray on insect repellent!

My Alarm Clock These Days

Here he sits early in the morning in my kaffir lime tree which sits in a pot on my deck.

 

I think he is checking carefully to see if that movement he saw was me or just the shadow  of the sun.  

Next he begins his morning grooming. One has to look good, because these males are sometimes singing for a new mate while his old mate is still brooding on the nest!!

 

My goodness!!

 

And then it is full throttle four hours...and hours...and hours!

The Lost One

Everyone loves blue birds.  Right?  I mean what birdwatcher doesn't put up at least one mathmatically designed bird house that has just the right opening for a bluebird?  This doesn't mean that other birds will not use it, nor does it mean that the bluebird won't rent out a totally un-metric place to raise his/her young.  There are tons of posts on how to build a bluebird house and how to make the hole the exact optimum size (1.5 inches) and where to place it in your yard.

Last year the bluebirds used our ceramic house beneath the deck with its three inch wide hole.  Photos are here from that post.

This year two males and perhaps one female went in and out of that jar throughout February and March, but never settled on it.  Instead this year, a bluebird couple picked the brand new bluebird house that we had mounted on the arbor in March.

The female laid at least 4 eggs 9possibley more) that I could count on my quick peek, but everytime I went around the arbor to weed, or plant, or pick flowers, the male would 'snap' his wings with a click and then chirp and dive bomb me.  I tried to stay away as much as possible.  He was fearless and fearful.

This morning when hubby opened the front door to look at the front yard, we saw this little fledged bird on the porch looking tremendously lost.  

At first we guessed it might be a blackbird or cowbird because it looked pretty big.  Then when I studied the eye shape, I thought it might be a robin.  It did not fly away and allowed me to get close and snap a front view.

You can see from above that it is a little blue bird.  Its legs seem deformed, but I am not an expert on bird anatomy.  We tried to perch him in a nearby tree and he tottered over and then flew to the ground under the flowers.  I waited and watched for the parents for almost twenty minutes and they never showed.  All summer the parents had perched on this trellis or the fence posts, but they must have moved their young into the deep woods.

We put the fledge back in the house and actually brought it some caterpillars, but we did not see it feed.  Finally a bird rehabber told us to release it where we had last seen a parent.  We did and it flew through the fence into the woods only inches above the ground.  I hope he/she makes it, but I think this forlorn baby was the last of the group to hatch and is deformed in some way.  Sad, but it will be food for something else, and the bluebirds will probably build a second nest somewhere else.  We have a number of houses, so I will keep my eyes open for another clutch before the summer gets too warm.

3,000 Words

"Hang in there, little one, your time will come."

Iris Noir

Noisy Neighbors

House Wren, Troglodytes aedon

The wrens have taken over.  They have tried to build in my bicycle helmet and my garden tool tray and my husbands canoe...all because we left the garage door open one day.  They are noisy and attract a lot of attention to their nest, which makes me wonder how smart they are anyway!  

This one above is building a nest in the former blue bird house from last summer.  The bluebirds spent most of cold spring darting in and out of this jar, but never began a nest.  The wrens took advantage of the empty space over a week ago and then declared it home.  She is not shy in moving in larger decorative items.

This house is just outside my bedroom window and this is the time of year that I leave the windows open to take advantage of the comfortable fresh air.  She or he is very noisy...very early!!

Spring Dancers

These fairy ballerinas in their silken costumes last way too short a time dancing in the spring winds.  They swirl and twirl and waft on grape perfume and then are gone almost before the wind dies down.  You must click on them to feel the breath of a spring wind on your face.

Honeymooners Re-run

A few of the readers to this blog have asked about Fred and Ethel.  Are they back?  How are they doing?  Any photos?  If you do not know about Fred and Ethel you can go here  and for more here.
Or if you are stuck in bed today you can also check out the whole series on these two fish hawks by typing "Just Excellent" in the Blogger search window and working your way forward for several additional posts.

Fred and Ethel are my seasonal residential osprey.  Hubby and I in our expensive project of putting in a living shoreline, both to protect our river's edge from further erosion and to improve the environment of the area, also included an osprey platform.

I think that this platform cost us $300, in supplies, labor and permit application.  We did this so that the pair of osprey that visit each year can safely nest somewhere.  For a couple of years they would nest on the high crane that is parked across the river.  This was neither large enough or safe enough in wind storms for them.  Then two years ago they decided to nest on the roof of the cabin to our motor boat and when I kept removing the sticks they moved to our neighbors canvas top to their boat.  That nest was destroyed and they lost their eggs.





Last year was the first year they returned to find the osprey platform and they claimed it without hesitation.  The female, Ethel, has been banded.  The male seemed to have some dyslexia in performing his manly duties that year and we surmised that perhaps she had lost her original mate and this fellow was new to the task? Was this Fred II?   At any rate, if she eventually laid eggs or  not, I never was able to determine.  Her nest sitting was uneven and no young osprey ever appeared.

This year they arrived within days of St. Patricks Day which is the time we look for them.  They carefully added sticks of all sizes to the nest and mated.  I was so busy this spring I did not have time to really study them and their courtship.  But each day this week she has sat with regularity on the nest, so there are eggs on that soft green algae from the river. 

She clearly remembers me as the person who destroyed her nest in the past and she angrily flies off and on the nest when I am at the dock sitting and enjoying the sunset on our new benches.  She cries and cries until she finally sits back on the nest and then just chirps with disgust until I eventually head back to the house.  As a result, I have not attempted much in the way of photos.

But, since Fred and Ethel have a fan club I will try to be more generous in sharing their drama in the coming weeks and make an attempt to get photos.

Survival

Dozens of hundred-year trees have made their large and impressive farewells within the last three years in this yard.  With or without a storm too many have fallen across the raven and across the lawn!  Last year our little (10 foot high) dogwood faced a duel with a large tulip poplar and lost one side of itself.  It looked sad and forlorn with a torn wound throughout the winter and we wondered how it would fare come spring.  But like those who have faced battle and lost something precious of themselves and yet lived and gained strength, our dogwood came forth.  In one version talking about this tree it says the dogwood got its name from the hard wood which the American Indian used to form "dags" or daggers and arrows and it was first called dagwood.  This wood was so hard that it also was used for tool handles, wine or fruit presses, loom shuttles, mallets, butcher blocks, cutting boards and even knitting needles!  Its scientific name is Cornus florida [flowered horn].  It also has inspired legends about reminding the early Christians of the Passion of the Christ with its petals forming a cross like pattern and the very tips of the bracts blood red like the piercings of the hands and feet in the crucifixion.  The original American dogwoods are white with this red marking, mine is a hybrid that glows pink.

My dogwood came forth this spring branches unsymmetrical but with perfect pink blossoms to glow another day.  It is close to my tiny arbor and I sit and watch it stretch in the evening sun with its flowing wavy bracts that surround tiny innocuous little yellow petals in the very center.  Even the leaves with early growth have flowing lines and a pink glow.  I watch new growth on the vacant side and know that in years to come, only a small scar will remain from its battle.

Wake-up Calls

The morning is still too cool after last night's rain to sit on my damp chairs on the deck, but I am newly impressed with spring and wrapped in my warm winter bathrobe I take the laptop outside and try to become inspired for something to write...and I listen... and then I hear...

...the sound of a large creaky hinge on a barn door, but since I have no barn with a door in my back yard, I know that it is the familiar creak of a heavy tree branch that leans against another.  If the wind hits it just right it has a second sound like a sputter that a 6-year-old might make when he feels bravely arrogant.

This sound is followed the rush of wind briefly caught in the new spring leaves.  Wind has a much richer sound now that the trees are all dressed in lime green flags.

I hear the sudden sound of a splash and plop in the river.  The fish are back!

Then there is the sound of a distant machine backing up...not the tinny beep most commonly heard but more like an old bell clanging a half dozen times.

There is the sound of the osprey giving out his morning call to his mate.  This familiar chirp is sharp and piercing and high on the wind sounding almost childlike.

The above sound is followed by the loud and raucous crow who calls boldly to no one in particular and everyone in general.

Next is the flat and disdainful yawp of the mallard that stays on our side of the river, but can never be seen when I head down to the dock. 

If I listen ever so carefully I can hear the intermittent clang of a halyard on one of the boats at a distant dock.

Then as the sun begins to warm the view, various tiny birds share their territorial chorale with me.  Some short and lilting and others distant and lyrical.  They sound like cheerleaders on distant teams calling and re-calling their team spirit.

Species Interaction

The sacrifices that some make to preserve a rare species.  You will enjoy this if you have not seen it on the BBC.

Four From One

I got only one red tulip from the dozens that I planted after the raccoon dug and threw them across the deck for several nights in a row!  So I made a bouquet of four from the one while killing the better part of an afternoon when I should have been doing so many other things!  I reduced the size, but if someone wants a higher resolution, let me know.

The Original

The one in the rain.

The one that glows in the dark.

The one made of lace.

Feeling Full

I have come to the conclusion that apples on the tree are almost as filling as apples in the stomach.

The New House

I can actually find the entire drama of spring without moving my butt from my living room couch.  I just keep an eye on my deck.  I had a pot of some annual that had hung on throughout the entire winter and only died in late February when we finally got a normal freezing winter week.  The remains of the plant were brown and scratchy and I was going to pull it out of the pot and toss it into the woods that very week.  But this one morning, I changed my mind.

Above is the female house finch pulling at the twigs of the dead plant.  The photo is grainy because it was taken through the patio window (unable to use flash) in the dark of the morning with the sun still hidden behind the trees.  She worked quite industriously for some time before she had success.

Ta da!  I watched her go back and forth with twigs and sticks for some time.  The bright red male would land on the railing of the deck, but made no effort to help.  She seemed to be flying to the roof of my house and not into the woods, so I had to open the door to see where this architectural wonder was being constructed.

I actually recognize that green grass and know where it came from!  The above photo shows one of the two speakers that we installed above the deck when we built this house so that we could listen to music from the player inside the house.  It does not get as loud as the boombox from the teenager across the river, but if there is only competition from the birds, I can enjoy the style of music that I like.  Except this discovery makes me think we will be limited in that enjoyment for a while!?

Above is the young "music loving" couple catching their breath as the morning moved on.  The male gave a good impression of ignoring all the work the female was doing.  There is always a sidewalk superintendent on every major project it seems!

"Hey Hun, do you need some help with that?"

"Ooops!  I think you dropped some!"

Curiouser and Curiouser

What a bargain!  A big bag of tulip bulbs for over 50% off.  Yes it was mid-March and the chances of all of them blooming was  a long shot, but I did this a few years ago and got some lovely tulips to push spring on my deck.  I would watch their bonny heads bob in the cold spring air through the window in the warmth of my living room.  I was going for an encore.

A few days later I find holes dug in the pots where I had carefully put in new potting soil and buried the bulbs at a nice depth.  Some bulbs chewed on while others were tossed hither and yon.  I replanted them...twice...determined old lady that I am.  Whatever squirrel was eating my bulbs I had about 30 in the pot and he should soon get tired of that diet.

This week I went out to investigate how they were doing.  Having been planted and then replanted several times, you know that they looked very, very sad.

It is late in spring and my forget-me-nots and my daffodils are already putting out a show to warm my heart winning the race with the tulips.  I am not as disappointed as I was at first.  It will be interesting to see if these even put out buds!

Then, just yesterday, while reading my new book on American wine on the deck I happened to rest my eyes on the smudged lower corner of the patio window.  (Yes, I am one of those who can spot dirt anywhere!)

Guess it was not the squirrel that had dug up my bulbs multiple times .  Can't you just picture this raccoon pausing to rest his muddy hands against the window and peer into the dark living room during the night while wondering what tummy treasures were inside waiting for him?

Time Out

He sits high on the top budding branches of the rose arbor reviewing his domain. The rain is steady but not heavy forcing him to shake his head and then his tail in spasmodic determination sending drops into the air. He cannot leave his watch post in any weather for it is now spring.  This is his new mockingbird territory which he found and claimed at the end of last fall and he has held it steady through the winter since then.

But this month the bluebird has returned to inspect the house he used last year.  The chickadee has returned to review the inside of the small green birdhouse beneath the devils walking stick where he fed his young last year.  Various cardinals also decorate the fence with red showiness near the strawberry patch and near the trees where they had nested.  They all wait and watch the mockingbird and seem just a little tense.

This mockingbird is larger and more determined than all the others giving all the others pause as they wait nearby.  His territory is too large.  There are at least four birdhouses within his range.

I remember a battle once long ago in another yard between a mockingbird and a blue bird.  I had to go outside and actually throw rocks at the  mockingbird every time he dived at the bluebird.  I would wait until the mockingbird rested on the roof of my house and then pelt him with a rock.  I am not an accurate thrower, never really hit the dignified gray bird, and probably did more damage to my roof, but I eventually got the message across.   I left the mockingbird alone when he left the bluebird alone.  This method worked after a few days.  They ended up summering together in the my yard.

I hope I am not going to have to be the referee again?

Once Again

There is an accustomed spring tapestry

That has now renewed its threads

As it does each year

When the days are the perfect length

And the air is soft as baby's breath.

One patient starling

Sits on the branch of the oak

Crisp silhouette against the western sky

Close to the nest

He has faithfully been building

All afternoon in the high oak.

Thick bouquets of dried grass

And whatnot pinched in his bill

Disappear behind the trunk

Of the brown un-leaved tree

Into some hole or V.

The osprey, the two,

Both together in their majesty

Proud on the snags of the dead tree

Close to the edge of the river

Overlook their scraggy nest

On a platform above the water.

The setting sun catches

Their snowy breast

Making them seem proud

And more self-assured

Than they actually are.

The bluebirds are in

Their usual spring disarray

Flitting to a different bird house

Each day.

The males, dashing and arguing,

And determined to win

Even if blood is drawn,

And the females looking lovely

And coldly distant

In their pale patient colors.

The chickadees pick the smallest

Of the bird houses that remain

And scold me often

When I weed beneath them

In the late afternoon

As the sun turns the sky peach.

The cardinals sing

The strongest song of all

And perch in the stark leaf-starved trees

Like alien rosebuds

Fat from the winter feed.

All is ready for

The grand first act.

Sproing!! It is Monday!

Tree Hugging

The marshes in South Carolina were alive with color and pungent smells when I was there.  I could almost feel the pulse of renewed life as it moved across the water and grasses.  Then this past week I watched a program about plants, their blossoms, their root systems and their defense mechanisms that seemed to tie into what I was feeling.

Most people know that many plants can put out toxins to prevent complete eating of all of their leaves by a predator.  But did you know that they send out a gas that attracts the predators of the predator?  Did you know that they may evolve to form two types of blossoms to attract non-predator pollinators at different times of the day?  And even more amazing they can have two types of root systems.  One that is more conservative when they are growing next to young plants of their own progeny and one that is more aggressive when growing next to competitive plants of another species.  Some plants can also send out a toxin through the root system that kills the competitive roots of other plants.  Plants do not have a brain or nervous system...so how do they have this sentience...awareness of who they are and who other plants are?

One experiment where a radioactive carbon gas was injected into a sealed plastic bag that had been placed around the lowest branch of a tree proved days later that the radioactive nutrition that was absorbed by those leaves actually was distributed several feet away to other small trees of the same type.  There is a whole network of communication and nurture going on underground in the woods.

All I know is the next time I hug a tree, I will not feel so stupid.

Does this angle of the sun make my rump look yellow?

Yellow rumped warblers were in migrating abundance on Hilton Head. One or two winter over in my yard, but there were dozens everywhere in South Carolina. The ones in these photos do not have the yellow patch on the top of their head so perhaps they are females.

This red algae was in bloom on one of the ponds spreading like a royal velvet carpet. It must have hidden small midges or water insects, because the warblers were all over it balancing carefully on any stick and reaching their bills into the water.

They are one of the few birds that can eat poison ivy berries and digest the waxy berries of wax myrtle.  

In the shadows of the woods they appear a deep blue-gray rather than a dull gray.  They will leave this area and head up north to breed in the pine woods.  They do not sit still for long and capturing a photo is a challenge.  (It is even a greater challenge when a Canadian grannie walks to your side and begins to quiz you on the celebration of holidays in America!)