Another Month

I noticed a while ago that since I began birding in December of 2006, I've been lucky enough to see a life bird each month following. Some have been stellar (obviously right at the beginning was pretty good), some have been by the skin of their teeth (...). I don't believe I'm going to keep it up forever, and honestly, considering how little I've been able to get out birding the past few months, what with promotions and a new house, I figured I was about due for a no-lifer month. In fact, last weekend my only goal was to meet my Bird RDA (20 birds). It was a weekend filled with barbecues, a sudden shift in my work schedule brought me in for a half-day on Saturday, and trying to fit in everything else that belongs in a weekend around them. But I was determined. A slightly hungover Sunday morning was cloudy with a slight chance of showers. I got up nice and early, eschewed food and drink, and decided to go for it. I went to one of my favorite haunts since last year, South Cape Beach State Park in Mashpee. It's pretty much my go-to place for shorebirds. The one mile walk through shrubby dunes to a stone jetty and the mouth of Waquoit Bay is pretty reliable for season-appropriate birds: Osprey, Willet, Mute Swans (arrgh...), Red-winged Blackbirds, goldfinches, Song Sparrows--you'd have to be tying your shoes the whole time not to notice them. I've been lucky enough to see Least Terns and Sandpipers, an off-season Brant, and any number of other things there. I've never seen a Piping Plover, however, even though they nest there. Of course, since they're protected, I don't get to get too close to the nests anyway, but it would be nice for me to see one there sometime. Where was I? Bird RDA! In the first half-mile I had eighteen species handily; it was high tide, so I missed some smaller sandpipers that I would have liked to see. I knew around the three-quarter mile mark was a great patch for seeing Horned Larks and as I approached I stopped when I heard a strange song. There was a lark, as close as I'd ever been to one, not caring about me at all, just preening and singing. Nineteen. Just needed one more. Out at the mouth of the Bay, I usually hope to see my sea ducks and waterbirds. Another local birder who frequents South Cape Beach often sees American Oystercatchers, but I've only seen one here as a flyover. I was really hoping for a Common Loon. However, a huge group of summer fishermen, -women, and -children were piled onto the stones of the jetty, and I didn't really feel like going all the way to the jetty. I scanned the waters--nothing, just the Common Terns waiting for a handout from the fishermen, and I had already counted them. I turned around and started trudging back to my car, knowing that I had to be gone in a half hour before they started checking for parking stickers. At the half-mile point, two surprises: a Carolina Wren, which I had never seen or heard here before, and a House Finch, likewise a new bird for my South Cape Beach list. My Bird RDA and personal goal met I picked up the pace and a sunny disposition returned to my face. As I approached the more traveled beach path a low-flying bird wheeled around me. The white wing bar that flashed instantly registered as yet another Willet, this time blissfully silent. I dutifully raised my binoculars to follow it only to catch a glimpse of a short orange bill and a dark eye staring back at me. Eep! Could it be? I noted the area where it landed about 25 yards behind me and pulled out my Petersen to brush up on field marks. I had been burned before with an incorrect ID of a late-season plover, I didn't want it to happen again. I waited patiently, and waited, looking for a sand-colored bird against a backdrop of sand, the possibility that it was hiding behind a patch of grass or beach rose gnawing at my mind, the sound of the tow truck's winch ringing in my ears. I followed what I thought was a quick movement, and stared and stared, like it was a puzzle that I could solve simply by concentrating. And then the questions and doubts starting playing in my mind: Did I miss it? Should I put down my binoculars? It's probably somewhere else, I should put down my binoculars. But what if it's in my binoculars already and I just can't see it? Did it fly away already? I decided to put down my binoculars and in that instant noticed a shape just to the left of where I had been looking. I focused in on it, and there was the head of the Piping Plover I had been tracking, fixing an eye on me, probably wondering why, of the two of us, it was the one that was endangered. It was a good morning indeed.

Robert Frost

The Oven Bird

There is a singer everyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past
When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
On sunny days a moment overcast;
And comes that other fall we name the fall.
He says the highway dust is over all.
The bird would cease and be as other birds
But that he knows in singing not to sing.
The question that he frames in all but words
Is what to make of a diminished thing.

A Promise Is a Promise

Someone kindly reminded me that I hadn't yet posted pictures from our trip to Florida. Actually, it was just an anonymous comment someone left saying "You're a loser," but let's turn that frown upside-down: I had completely forgotten about my promise of actual photos (i.e. not lifted from an open website)! The following photos are instead courtesy of my bro-in-law Joe. Enjoy.

A White Ibis, just chillin'.


Joe's firm built this building, luckily it's near a park and beach filled with birds.


Really, I swear.

A cool photo of my beautiful wife walking the trail at Brooker Creek Preserve.

A crocodilian we noticed as we were taking photos of the WHIB.

A Common Moorhen that seems a little too used to people.

Joe Jr., the newest birder and nature-lover in the family. Note to Mr./Ms. Anonymous: Call me what you will, but don't mess with Baby Joe.

Awww....

My wife is a wonderful woman. She's known for some time that I've always wanted to see an owl. I mean, come on, they're such cool birds. Her friend Andy Beet visited her at the library last week brandishing a photo of an owl in a tree just behind the building. When I got home from work, we took off to go see it. It wasn't a rare bird, there weren't scads of birders lined up looking at it through their scopes. Just the two of us at sunset staring up at an owl roosting in a hole in a tree. And now that I've seen one, I can't wait to see more. Thanks sweetie!

Photos courtesy of Andy Beet

The bird I saw was a red-phase Eastern Screech-owl. So there must be two staying there this summer!

Old MacDonald Had a Farm...

...and on that farm he had a Günther's Wrasse, E-O, E-O-L

The Encyclopedia of Life is up and ready for your perusal. And for the scads of qualified bird experts who read this here blog, please, please consider entering data for some birds. Since the EOL effectively calls the Marine Biological Laboratory in Woods Hole its home, it seems as though every fish species is taken care of, while everything else is sorely lacking. Nothing that can't be fixed with a monumental effort to centralize research and data and to present it in varying degrees of scientific detail. Spread the word!

6-word Meme-oir

I was tagged by Ivars of Ivars' Birds to participate in the six-word memoir meme. I thought and thought about how to whittle myself down to six words. As Mark Twain said "I can give you 3o pages in two days. I need 30 days to write two pages." So, as I tend to do a lot in my life, I will paraphrase The Simpsons:

"Nature embiggens even the smallest man."

So now I get to choose five more on this meme's way to conquering the universe. In fact, I think it's high time blogospheres collided, so I'll tag my wife Kellie at Cottage Knitting and send this meme into the knitting blogworld. And how can the other birders have missed Amila at Gallicissa? Are we so afraid of his Scrabble skills that we can't ask him to describe himself in 6 words? Oh, I see. He's out of town; I'm sure he'll have thirty of these waiting for him when he gets back from his tour. Fellow newbie birder and blogger BirdingGirl of BirdingGirl needs to show everyone what it's like to bird Mass and Cape Cod-style. Dan of Nervous Birds has been making sure Ram's Head in Annapolis hasn't gone out of business since I graduated, let's see if he can string six words together after a gig! Over at Hakodate Birding, S.C.E. supplies endless pictures of everyday (to him) exotic (to me) birds. Three words for birds, three for footy, which is what I assume he talks about at the end of his posts.

Okay guys, here's the rules:

>1. Write your own six word memoir
>2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like
>3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to this original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere
>4 .Tag five more blogs with links
>5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

William Butler Yeats

The Wild Swans at Coole

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

Mute swans, since he's Irish. Photo from Wikimedia. Is it wrong that I don't really care for Yeats?