The Urban Pantheist

Species #13, Dark-eyed Junco (Junco hyemalis) looks for morsels on the freshly disturbed ground near one of our perennial beds. Juncos are ground-feeding sparrows that migrate south to our area in winter. Apologies for a less than stellar set of photos, but I figured I'd better post while they are still here. However, it's still pretty cold here, and the juncos don't show any signs of leaving for good. Alexis curses at the juncos, whether she sees the flash of their white tail feather margins or hears their distinct high chitter, because they are living symbols of winter's lingering.



Dark-eyed juncos appeared in this blog previously at 365 urban species #12.



Near the same patch of yard, in front of the snowdrops, an American robin (species #14, Turdus migratorius) looks for worms and insects moved by our shovel. At our old place, we saw robins year-round. The famously migrating thrush doesn't bother to go anywhere in parts of the city that have amble fruiting shrubs to feed on through the winter. We would laugh to ourselves when people would cry in amazement that they saw their first robin of spring, whether it was in April, March, or December. But we were in our new house for a month before we saw our first robin in the yard--I guess they really do go south for the winter and come back in the spring!

The robin and the junco were photographed on the same day, which shows the ambivalence of New England seasons. The American robin was 365 urban species #30. (I think the article I wrote for that entry is one of my better ones--I probably didn't write it with a head full of cold symptoms like I am doing now.)



The song sparrows (species #15 Melospiza melodia) have probably been around all year, but I've just started hearing their songs lately. The song has distinctive tones but variable melodies, here's a nice example of one. I often find what I think is a new-to-me sparrow species, photograph it, then examine the photograph at home to find that it's a song sparrow.

The song sparrow was also 365 urban species #357

As we walked the dogs around our neighborhood this sultry September evening, we were serenaded by singing insects.  We heard the temperature-measuring cheep cheep cheep cheep of the snowy tree cricket, the excitable clock tick tick tick tick tickticktickticktick of the greater angle-winged katydid  and the "cricket. crickeket." of the true katydid.  Whoever named them "katydid" after their impression of their dry scratching call had quite an imagination. 

Then I heard another call, which was entirely unfamiliar to me.  My first instinct is always is to try to imitate the new call.  It was difficult--I tried pinching a pocket of air between my cheek and molars to squeeze out an approximation of the animal's call with no success.  Fortunately at that moment I saw the new singer, not in a bush or a low apple branch, but high above the roofs of the triple-deckers.  Yes, as with the cedar waxwing, I had mistaken the sound of a bird for an insect.  There were two of them, with falconlike silhouettes darting around in a manner similar to chimney swifts, but with the burden of somewhat more mass.  I recognized the shape from my memory of field guide illustrations, and matched it with their descriptions of the call: a nasal "peent."  It was my first Common Nighthawk sighting, a pair feeding on insects on this warm evening before their long trip to South America.  (That last link includes a recording of their call.)

Over last weekend I saw my first turkey vulture of the year, and on Monday one flew over the zoo low enough for me to see the pink skin on its head. Also on the weekend, we were trying to pick out an unfamiliar bird song from a cacophony, but lost it in the cardinals, robins, titmice, chickadees, mourning doves, and blue jays that were all calling at once.

Song sparrows have been singing (and pretending to be red-winged blackbirds) and I saw one yesterday join the house sparrows in stealing food from the Keas. Also yesterday I walked from the punchclock across the maintenance yard to the tune of about 50 grackles in a tree, scranking and kleeking together, probably chattering about how much nicer the weather was down south.

In short, the birds think it is Spring, as does the calendar. It will take a few weeks to convince the plants, who are wisely huddled up, knowing that another snow and several more frosts are not just likely but guaranteed. Hardy cultivated plants like crocuses and snowdrops (and hybrid witch hazels) have been blooming for a while, and the daffodil sprouts are up all over. You can't blame people for planting these bulbs and other early bloomers. There aren't any insects awake to pollinate them, but it sure is nice to see some color in the landscape.

miz_geek posted pictures of skunk cabbage, the first conspicuous native flower to pop up in New England. It comes with its own heater, so that the few small bugs that are out have a warm place to hang out and help out with plant sex. I haven't seen any skunk cabbage blooms myself, but that's because I haven't been looking. Likewise, the Boston Birders google group has been reporting red-winged blackbirds (males only, of course) for a while now. I just haven't been actively birding--being a passive birder is more my speed. They also have been reporting armies of woodcocks, but again, these birders are deliberately going to likely spots at likely times (dusk) to find them and maybe watch their bizarre breeding displays. That's something that I should add to my "things to do before leaving New England" list.

Happy Vernal Equinox everyone! If it were up to me it would be xmas, new years, and earth day wrapped up into one, and we'd all get the week off. Enjoy it in whatever way seems best to you; may I suggest going outside and listening to bird song?