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Wednesday, 22 February 2012 3:07 |
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Birds as Season Indicators
by Neil A. Case
A red-winged blackbird swooped in to my bird feeder on the 10th of this month, February, and began picking at the seeds I’d stocked the feeder with. A male redwing. A minute or so later a second redwing, another male, joined the first.
I’ve seen red-winged blackbirds in winter in northern Indiana before. But not this winter. Since I hadn’t seen any this winter I didn’t expect to see any until the end of February at the earliest and probably not until March. Redwings are among the earliest birds to arrive in spring, as much harbingers of spring to me as early robins, but the second week of February is still winter.
This has been a mild winter in northern Indiana. In other years when the winter has been mild I’ve occasionally seen redwings on and off throughout the winter. But, as I said, not this winter. These, I thought, must be early migrants, two of the redwings that came to my feeder daily last fall.
I have seen bluebirds occasionally this winter. None have come to my bird feeder but bluebirds never have. I’ve seen them perched on power lines along country roads. I’ve seen them perched in bushes and I’ve seen them flying. Did they sense somehow last fall that this was going to be a mild winter?
I’ve seen great blue herons this winter. That isn’t surprising. These birds feed primarily on fish they catch and for this they need open water, water that has not frozen over. There has been open water in the area all winter. The marsh at the west side of our property and the pond at the east have frozen over but they’ve only been ice covered intermittently. The ice has never been thick enough for me to walk out on, nor has it lasted more than a few days. Rivers and streams in the area have not been completely covered with ice all winter. Did the herons also sense that this was going to be a mild winter?
A friend called recently to tell me he and his son had seen a buzzard, a turkey vulture, earlier that day. Was that bird another early arrival like I think those two redwings were? Or has it been in the area all winter? If our marsh has not frozen over solid enough for me to walk on roadside carcasses would not have frozen solid enough for a vulture to be unable to tear into their flesh and feed.
I’ve seen mallards occasionally all winter, usually two together, a drake and a hen. Mallards, like many ducks, pair up where they spend the winter which is usually farther south than northern Indiana, then the pairs fly north together in spring. So did those pairs I’ve seen this winter get together late last fall and then not go south?
To confuse the issue more than it already was, two weeks ago I saw a flock of mallards. Nine of them, drakes and hens. With an uneven number they couldn’t all be paired. So were they early arrivals, one of them still without a mate? Or have they been around all winter? If they have they’ve not been where I saw them.
I have one other bird to consider while wondering if a few of the earliest feathered migrants haven’t already returned. The day after I saw the red-winged blackbirds at my bird feeder I saw a male hooded merganser on our marsh. That bird has not been in the area this winter I’m almost certain. If it had somebody would have seen it and I would likely have heard about it.
So were the redwings at my bird feeder winter survivors or early spring migrants? What about the great blue herons I’ve seen, the bluebirds and the mallards, the hooded merganser? by Neil A. Case A red-winged blackbird swooped in to my bird feeder on the 10th of this month, February, and began picking at the seeds I’d stocked the feeder with. A male redwing. A minute or so later a second redwing, another male, joined the first. I’ve seen red-winged blackbirds in winter in northern Indiana before. But not this winter. Since I hadn’t seen any this winter I didn’t expect to see any until the end of February at the earliest and probably not until March. Redwings are among the earliest birds to arrive in spring, as much harbingers of spring to me as early robins, but the second week of February is still winter.
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Wednesday, 15 February 2012 3:05 |
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by Neil Case
Three blue jays occupied the tray of the bird feeder outside my window, pecking at the seeds I’d stocked, scattering more seeds than they ate. Smaller birds, chickadees and titmice, nuthatches, cardinals, tree sparrows and house finches flew in from nearby trees and bushes, one or two at a time, each snatching a seed and flying away before one of the jays pecked at it. A red-bellied woodpecker flew in, defying the jays as it ate a few seeds, collected more seeds in its bill and flew away. It was the usual morning scene outside my window this time of year.
Fifteen or 20 goldfinches flew into one of the trees near the feeder, then started individually making forays back and forth between the feeder and their tree. I noticed but paid no attention, concentrating on my computer screen and the article I was writing.
A flash of yellow in a wing of one of the late comers caught my attention. Goldfinch? I though. But it couldn’t be.
Goldfinches, males, are bright yellow with black cap, wings and tail in spring and summer. This time of the year they’re dull colored, olive drab.
Pine siskin? I thought. It must have been.
Picking up my binoculars, always by my computer when I’m at my desk, I began inspecting each little bird as it flew, as it landed on the feeder and in the closest trees.
There were more than I originally guestimated, at least twice as many as I first thought. Most were goldfinches, as I had thought they all were. But there were pine siskins, too.
A pine siskin is the size of a goldfinch. It’s the shape of a goldfinch.
It’s brown, not olive drab, and it has streaks of darker brown on its back, breast and sides, but in a flock of goldfinches or a mixed flock of finches and siskins such as this was, the siskins look very much like the goldfinches. Except when they fly. They then show a patch of bright yellow in each wing. As I watched the goldfinches and the siskins and the other birds, now ignoring my computer, I wondered about the name siskin. Where is it from? What does it mean?
After the goldfinches and the siskins departed, I started reading about the siskins, trying to find the origin of the name. The pine siskin has a wide range. It’s a bird of coniferous forests of the north and at higher altitudes, in mountains, both east and west, in North America. There’s a second siskin, the Eurasian siskin, which is also a bird of northern forests, a bird with an even broader range than the pine siskin of North America, but none of my bird books gave any information about the name. In “Words for Birds,” however, Edward R. Gruson wrote succinctly, “the name is imitative.”
Imitative of its call or song, I presume. but the voice of a siskin is described in one bird field guide as “a loud chlee-ip, also a light tit-i-tit, a buzzy shree,” in another book as “a buzzy, rising zreeeeee, in flight a lengthy jumble of trills and whistles similar to a goldfinch.”
When conditions are right for siskins, they stay in their forest homes summer and winter. When conditions are wrong, presumably when there is a poor crop of seeds, siskins fly south in fall or winter. This means we see them one year and not the next or not for several years, or we may see them two years in a row. They’re described as erratic. And not just in winter. They may nest in a forest for a year, two years, several years, then disappear from that area. Just as they disappeared from my bird feeder that afternoon a few days ago and have not returned. by Neil Case Three blue jays occupied the tray of the bird feeder outside my window, pecking at the seeds I’d stocked, scattering more seeds than they ate. Smaller birds, chickadees and titmice, nuthatches, cardinals, tree sparrows and house finches flew in from nearby trees and bushes, one or two at a time, each snatching a seed and flying away before one of the jays pecked at it. A red-bellied woodpecker flew in, defying the jays as it ate a few seeds, collected more seeds in its bill and flew away. It was the usual morning scene outside my window this time of year. Fifteen or 20 goldfinches flew into one of the trees near the feeder, then started individually making forays back and forth between the feeder and their tree. I noticed but paid no attention, concentrating on my computer screen and the article I was writing. A flash of yellow in a wing of one of the late comers caught my attention. Goldfinch? I though. But it couldn’t be.
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Tuesday, 07 February 2012 8:55 |
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PROJECT FEEDERWATCH
by Neil A. Case
From Virginia north through Newfoundland, west through Illinois and north through Ontario chickadees were seen at more bird feeders by participants in Project FeederWatch in the winter of 2009-10 than any other birds. That’s black-capped and Carolina chickadees, reported together because they are so much alike in appearance and habits. The area delineated so broadly is the Mid-Atlantic, East-Central, Northeast, Great Lakes, Allegheny, and Atlantic Canada Regions of Project FeederWatch, reported together because, like chickadees, most of the same species of birds were seen at feeders across that area. This is one of six areas, covering all of North America, studied in FeederWatch.
This is a cooperative research project of the Cornell University Lab of Ornithology and Bird Studies Canada. Partici-pants are volunteers who agree to watch birds at their bird feeders a specified number of hours and days throughout the winter, make a list of birds seen during each observation period, count the birds and send copies of their lists either to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology or Bird Studies Canada. When all the reports are in the results are tabulated and published for each area. The latest report published is the one for the winter of 2009-10.
Dark-eyed junco was second in that area that winter in number of feeders where it was seen, mourning dove number three. Filling out the list of the top ten species were downy woodpecker, blue jay, American goldfinch, northern cardinal, white-breasted nuthatch, house finch and tufted titmouse. Two common birds, considered pests by many people who have bird feeders, starling and house sparrow, did not make the top ten list. Starling was number eleven, house sparrow fifteen.
A total of 15,699 people participated in Project FeederWatch in 2009-2010. They submitted 112,590 bird lists with a total of 5,855,881 birds.
I look at birds at and around the feeders outside the window behind my desk frequently. I identify and name them to myself. I don’t list them nor do I count them regularly. If I did I would undoubtedly watch more closely and be more likely to see the unexpected, a pine siskin with a flock of goldfinches, a purple finch with house finches, a song or chipping sparrow with tree sparrows, perhaps a bird even more unexpected. But I am not a participant in FeederWatch. Most years I could not be. Most winters in recent years my wife and I have gone south for two or three months.
Identifying and listing birds visiting my feeders would be interesting and fun. Counting them, however, could be difficult. Minutes ago there were three chickadees at the feeders outside my window and there were more in the trees and bushes nearby. With them flitting about as chickadees do it would have been hard to count all of them, assuming all of them would come to a feeder sooner or later. I’d have had to count quickly, too, for now they’ve all flown. There isn’t a chickadee in sight.
Those numbers compiled by FeederWatchers are good for more than the enjoyment of the observers. They indicate the most common winter birds in different areas of North America. They give an indication of the numbers of those birds. They indicate changes in numbers and in distribution. They tabulate rare sightings, birds out of their normal winter range such as a white-crowned sparrow currently coming to a feeder in north-central Indiana. They show changes in distribution, cardinals extending their range north for example, house finches spreading across the continent.
Finally, participating in FeederWatch would give a reason other than enjoyment for watching birds at your feeder. You can tell friends, particularly non-birding friends, that when you look at the birds on and around your bird feeder you’re participating in a scientific research project.
For information contact: Project FeederWatch, Cornell Lab of Ornitho-logy, 159 Sapsucker Woods Road, Ithaca, NY 14850.
by Neil A. Case From Virginia north through Newfoundland, west through Illinois and north through Ontario chickadees were seen at more bird feeders by participants in Project FeederWatch in the winter of 2009-10 than any other birds. That’s black-capped and Carolina chickadees, reported together because they are so much alike in appearance and habits. The area delineated so broadly is the Mid-Atlantic, East-Central, Northeast, Great Lakes, Allegheny, and Atlantic Canada Regions of Project FeederWatch, reported together because, like chickadees, most of the same species of birds were seen at feeders across that area. This is one of six areas, covering all of North America, studied in FeederWatch.
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Tuesday, 31 January 2012 6:11 |
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by Neil A. Case
“There are eagles along the Salamonie River,” a friend called and told our younger daughter. “I saw six of them today, three together in two different places.” Sara called and told me that evening, said she and her husband were going to look for the eagles the next day and asked if I’d like to ride along. She knew I would.
The temperature was below freezing the morning we went looking for the eagles, the sky was gray, there was haze in the air reducing visibility and making everything appear dull, and four inches of snow covered the ground. There were patches of snow on the roads we drove, all but a major highway we were on for a few miles.
Several flocks of small birds flew up from the roads or the sides of the roads ahead before we got to the Salamonie River. We didn’t stop to look at them. A few passed close enough to our car that we could see they were horned larks and we assumed that’s what they all were. A few crows flew over. Then we saw one other larger bird, bigger than the crows, flying erratically and low over a field by the road. A northern harrier, the first harrier I’d seen in months. “A good sign,” I said.
A larger flock of horned larks flew up. But as they flew we could see they weren’t all horned larks. Some of them had a patch of white in each wing. Snow buntings, the first of those I’d seen in several years. When I’ve seen snow buntings before I’ve often also seen Lapland longspurs. There might have been longspurs with these snow buntings but again we didn’t stop.
There were flocks of starlings along the roads too. We didn’t stop for those either. We did stop when we saw a flock of starlings with smaller birds along one edge of the flock. Some of the smaller birds intermingled with the starlings along one side of the starlings. In the dull light they looked dark as the starlings. But when they flew, as they did frequently though only short distances, some of them showed flashes of blue. Bluebirds, of course. As we stopped some of them flew into some cedar and pine trees by the road where we could look at them through our binoculars.
We got to the Salamonie River and followed it for a few miles, as well as the road permitted. The current was swift, the water ice free and dirty brown. I thought we’d see Canada geese on the water or along the banks. But we didn’t. Not one. Nor did we see a duck. But we did see three great blue herons, each flying up river just above the water.
Several places where we passed trees we saw blue jays, flying and moving about in the trees. Where we passed trees and bushes or brush we saw cardinals and tree sparrows and dark-eyed juncos.
We had a good list of birds seen that day. For me, and for Sara and Tim, they were an antidote to winter blues brought on by days of cold, dark, gloomy weather, days when we sat inside, watched TV, complained about the weather and found fault with the state of the world.
But what about the eagles. They’re what we had come out to see, that’s what we were looking for. We saw one. Tim spotted it. An adult, a bird with a white head and tail. It was over the river, perched on a branch of a big sycamore. That was early in our search, when we first got within sight of the river, before we got to the places where Sara had been told there were eagles. We went to both of those places, but there were no longer eagles at those places. by Neil A. Case “There are eagles along the Salamonie River,” a friend called and told our younger daughter. “I saw six of them today, three together in two different places.” Sara called and told me that evening, said she and her husband were going to look for the eagles the next day and asked if I’d like to ride along. She knew I would.
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Wednesday, 25 January 2012 9:30 |
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by Neil A. Case
A little hawk perched on the power line by the road as I drove past. It looked about the size of a robin though its head was much larger than a robin’s. It was a kestrel, of course. But I didn’t think of that name. I was preoccupied with driving and the road and the weather and I thought of a different name, the name I first knew for a kestrel, sparrow hawk.
Sparrow hawk is not an accurate name for the bird. It rarely catches or even pursues a bird. Its prey is small mammals, mice and voles. But being so small the man who first named it, undoubtedly a collector who shot one or more, not a bird watcher, someone who knew nothing of its habits, assumed from its size it preyed on smaller birds and called it sparrow hawk.
Partly following the same reasoning and partly because one did occasionally kill a chicken the much larger, common red-tailed hawk was called chicken hawk. That name was never the prescribed name, the book name, as sparrow hawk was. But I heard people say chicken hawk much more often when I was a boy than I heard anyone say red-tailed hawk.
Mourning dove was another bird with a prescribe name and a common name, turtle dove, when I was young. The flicker was even more mixed up it seemed. Where I lived in Iowa and in other states north and east and west approximately to the middle of the Dakotas, Nebraska and Kansas there was the yellow-shafted flicker. West of that was the red-shafted flicker while in the south the flicker, yellow-shafted, was commonly called yellowhammer. Now, officially, they are all together and named northern flicker. However Alabamans chose yellowhammer as their state bird and yellowhammer it remains.
A naming committee of the American Ornithologists Union decides and prescribes the official names of North America birds. These are the names of bird books. To be certain you have the right name, though, you need a recent edition of a bird book. Older books still list yellow-shafted and red-shafted flickers, for example.
Another example I find most interesting is the Baltimore oriole. That was the original specified name of this bird of roughly the eastern half of North America. To the west is a similar bird named Bullock’s oriole. The ranges of the two overlap and where they do there is hybridization. Because of this hybridization at one time the two were called one and named the northern oriole. More studies indicated the hybridization was not extensive and the two were once more divided into two species, Baltimore and Bullock’s oriole.
The Baltimore oriole is the state bird of Maryland. The Baltimore oriole remained the state bird of Maryland even when it was officially joined with the Bullock’s oriole and officially named the northern oriole.
There are many common or colloquial names for North American birds. Mallard ducks are called green-heads, shovelers are called spoonbills and pintails are called sprigs. The American wigeon was named baldpate when I was young and is still called that by some hunters, the long-tailed duck was named oldsquaw. The surf scoter, a black colored duck with two white patches on its head, a bird that nests in the far north and winters along the coasts, is frequently called skunk-head.
Nobody I knew when I was young called a coot a coot. It was a mud hen. The American bittern was a thunder pumper. A spotted sandpiper, a bird that bobs almost continuously when it isn’t flying, was called a teeter-snipe.
Home again after my drive, staying inside and watching birds outside my window, I thought of more alternate names for American birds. Wild canary for goldfinch and yellow warbler, English sparrow for house sparrow, rain crow for a cuckoo and myrtle warbler for the yellow-rumped warbler. And there are more. by Neil A. Case A little hawk perched on the power line by the road as I drove past. It looked about the size of a robin though its head was much larger than a robin’s. It was a kestrel, of course. But I didn’t think of that name. I was preoccupied with driving and the road and the weather and I thought of a different name, the name I first knew for a kestrel, sparrow hawk.
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