Last week a snowstorm clipped our area as it funneled down from the north. This week a snowstorm is barreling up from the south.
After complaining my way through two mild winters, I’m trying to focus on the happier aspects of a “normal” winter. Fresh snow is pretty, hard freezes mean fewer insect pests in the summer, and icy walks renew my gratitude for warm blankets and hot water.
What do you love best about winter?
Carolina Wrens are rare visitors in the yard, so I was excited to see a pair of them last week.
With vivid eyebrows and down-curved bills, these little wrens always look a bit grumpy to me. They are active foragers, and the pair in our yard spent hours sifting through the iris beds in search of insects. They tossed leaves and other wintry debris out of the beds as they hunted, and I couldn’t help imagining a dialogue of fussy disapproval.
“Just look at these irises! Have you ever seen such?”
“Never! They’re buried in leaves!”
I was tempted, watching the wrens, to pull on my gloves and give the iris beds a thorough cleaning. But winter is far from over, and the irises need their blanket of leaves. Especially on nights like tonight, when wind-driven snow is swirling through the yard…
Tomorrow I am going on an Adventure! I’m so excited about the Adventure that I bought new shoes, which I decided to test by going for a walk today.
I pulled into Ashville Park barely thirty minutes in front of a line of rain, so I didn’t have time to walk very far. I had enough time, though, to find the resident pair of domestic geese. These geese were featured in our local newspaper in 2010, “Sit back and enjoy the tale of Jack, the lonely goose,” and I’m happy they are still thriving.
Further down the road, I spotted an unfamiliar silhouette on a long, narrow pond. Before I got close enough to try for a photo, a sparrow began sounding an alarm and the slender diving bird disappeared. I waited a while, but the mysterious diver never returned.
While I was photographing the sparrow (I believe this is a Song Sparrow), I spotted some unusual activity in a nearby stand of trees. Several vultures were resting together, at least five, and two more joined the group while I watched.
(The three in the bottom photo are definitely Turkey Vultures, but I can’t decide if the top photo shows a Black Vulture or an immature Turkey Vulture.)
More vultures were circling in as the rain arrived and chased me back to my car. My camera got a bit wet, as did my new shoes, but both have already dried and are waiting by the door for tomorrow’s Adventure. I may not be able to sleep tonight!
When it comes to identifying ducks, I am woefully inept. For that matter, most water birds are mysteries to me, though there are a few exceptions. Like Mallards.
And American Coots, which were one of my mother’s favorite birds.
I confess this flock confused me at first, because I am not accustomed to seeing American Coots in such numbers. I usually find single individuals scattered among flocks of geese or gulls, rather than an entire flock all on their own.
I was bemused by their tight formation. Were they alarmed by something beneath the surface of the water? Were they trying to stay warm? Or is this normal behavior, when American Coots gather into flocks?
In order to identify a water bird that isn’t a Mallard or an American Coot, I need several clear photos and a prolonged session browsing Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s All About Birds website. That’s how I learned two new ducks on Wednesday.
Ring-necked Ducks have distinctive rings around their bills, much more easily seen than the faint, reddish rings around their necks.
And Redheads are not the only ducks with red heads, but it seems they are the only red-headed ducks with gray backs and black-tipped blue bills.
Two new ducks should add up to a fulfilling walk with my camera, but, inevitably, each discovery is accompanied by elusive riddles. For every bird that strays within my camera’s reach, many others stay too far away to capture in enough detail for identification.
For example, I’m reasonably certain this is a loon, but which species of loon?
And a rather nondescript pair of ducks teased me with glimpses of white wing patches.
That might suggest Gadwalls, but what about the hint of a collar?
These photos simply aren’t clear enough. Another entry for the “Unknown Ducks” folder in the archive.
Sometimes the photos are clear enough for identification, but only just so. Wednesday’s walk added a new pair of Belted Kingfisher images to the archive, but one photo is out of focus and the other is underexposed.
As with everything else I attempt, success is rare and fleeting. Near misses and utter failures are far more common. It all adds up to happiness, though, because misses and failures mean I get to try again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that…
A few days ago I noticed a group of Hooded Mergansers on a pond near our house. I didn’t have time to stop that day, but today’s mild weather convinced me to spend a few hours with my camera.
I counted eight mergansers on the pond today (four males and four females), as well as a pair of Mallards and a pair of Northern Shovelers.
On the banks, a Great Egret watched from one side and a Great Blue Heron from the other.
This was the day’s smallest pond, and it had the most birds. A much larger pond (more lake than pond) a few miles away was mostly deserted. Three seagulls rested in the middle, and two Pied-billed Grebes fished near the shore.
Finally, we drove through a growing neighborhood that was landscaped with several mid-sized ponds, each populated with sleepy mallards.
All afternoon clouds gathered and thickened in the sky, and by the time we returned home wind was beginning to blow the day’s warmth out to sea. Now rain is on the horizon, followed by icy cold. I’m sure many of the smaller ponds will freeze over, and again I find myself wondering about the birds. Do they know what is coming? Do they already know where they will go, when ice drives them out? I know where I’ll be–curled up with my blankets and books and cats, grateful as always for the luxuries of home.
Rae Spencer 