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The view out my office window pretty much always includes juncos this time of year.


Yet another snapshot that looks like a horror movie still.


This is a stick blown down by the storm. The bluish green growth was there first, lichen soaking up sunlight while perched high in the tree. Then a wood-decay fungus invaded, eating the branch from inside, eventually producing the reddish-brown fruiting bodies fighting for space alongside the lichens. Weakened by the fungus, the branch fell to my curious hands.
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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
urbpan: (All Suffering SOON TO END!)

Decisions, decisions.

Walgreens, Harvard Street, Brookline.Read more... )

On this day in 365 Urban Species: Groundnut, a new discovery for my last year.
urbpan: (hawkeats)
The juncos are back. (At least at Drumlin.)
urbpan: (cold)


Urban Species #012: Dark-eyed junco Junco hyemalis

The junco is a distinctively colored sparrow, although its distinct coloration varies from place to place. (Pictured is the eastern variety, the slate-colored junco.) In fact, the various local color types used to be considered different species, but now they are all considered one. Juncos are notable for migrating south to northern cities like Boston for the winter, spending summer in Canada and Alaska. They are also known as "snowbirds," as their arrival comes at about the same time as snowy weather. Juncos are most often seen below birdfeeders, gleaning the seed that the messy chickadees and titmice have spilled to the ground. Their high whispered whistle is easy to recognize, as are their white outermost tail feathers, seen in flight.


Click for a much better )

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