Pollinators Divine

Just this and nothing more, one sunny morning in my front yard.  It was enough. 

Turn your volume up to hear the buzz. 

~dkm 9/4/22

Chirping Baby Raccoon

On July 19th, tbe raccoon that  has been night-marauding our bird feeders came again, this time with two kits, about 3 months old. Moe chased them off the deck, but one of the kits missed the exit to the steps and got stuck at the far end of the deck, causing it to begin emitting the most forlorn little bleat imaginable. While I’m not a fan of the raccoon night raids, I am a fan of babies, and this frightened little kit was breaking my heart. I had to go for the camera. Prepare to have your heart broken too. 

First video (12 seconds): Finding its way to the steps off the deck

Second video (23 seconds), shot from above: Searching for its mama, but not finding her 

Third video (8 seconds): Trying to come back up the steps (8 seconds)

If the raccoon I wrote about on April 15 was our July 19 mama,  I'm glad we released her in the yard instead of relocating her, even if it means we'll soon have three adult raccoons to outsmart. All of this begs the question: How many raccoons can one backyard support? 

~dkm 7/29/22

Lament for a Fledgling Bluebird

We were excited to meet you,

To know by your speckled breast you had recently fledged,

To watch your daddy feed you and teach you to fend for yourself,

To see your first attempts at perching on the worm feeder alone. 

You were brave and showed new independence each day. 

You can't know what joy you brought us, or what sorrow, 

when we found you on the pavement beneath the feeder,

Perhaps a victim of a hawk or the neighbor's cat.

If it had to be, I hope your demise was swift,

That you didn't feel fear or pain. 

I bury you in the future strawberry bed, twelve inches deep,

Remembering Nick's words for the cardinal he once buried.

"Here lies a good soldier."  

How did he know what to say at age six? 

I don't know what to say today. 

What is there to say about burying a baby bluebird?

Thank you for nourishing our strawberries?

It doesn't seem like enough. 

Twelve times Nick's age, and not half as profound. 

But just as sad. 

~dkm 

It's a Toad! It's a Bird! It's a Fledgling!

I spied it from the kitchen window, then was able to creep oh so close for a better look. 

Though I wasn't lucky enough to see the arrival, it was surely this youngster's virgin flight from the nest. 

The telltale signs–– that it didn't yet know to fear me or my camera––that it sat so long on the banister without moving––that it's tail had not yet grown out.

I'm not sure whose fledgling it was, but my best guess is a song sparrow, having heard one daily for the past two weeks. I'd be grateful if any birding experts who see this would offer a definitive identification. When I got too close, a parent swooped down over my shoulder and together they flew down into the hedge, too fast for me to identify. Brown back and tail feathers, possibly a stripe over eye. Song sparrow? 

 I often saw a single song sparrow foraging for sunflower seeds under the deck feeders, hopping in and out of the thick hedge along the driveway, but I thought it was just for cover near the seed source. Didn't know they had a nest there. Still don't, actually, but I read they do nest near the ground. Already, I don't see or hear them as often, just four days after this fledgling's debut. They've likely moved on to wider explorations in the world. 

That moment of fledge is sacred in bird world. To witness it is a gift from the universe. It comes only once in every bird's lifetime, as they don't return to the nest, once fledged.  

I've written often about nestwatches of bluebirds and house wrens, those that nest in visible places around the yard, and about that breathtaking first foray. It never gets old. Thank you for indulging me again. 

~dkm

Not Welcome Here

The dreaded

brown headed

cowbird. 

Wouldn’t fly away

even when

I clapped and shouted. 

Even when I left and

came back with camera.

You promiscuous parasite you.

You don’t have the decency

to build your own nest

or raise your own young.  

How despicable that your one-time mate has no place to lay her eggs and must place them in the nests of other species, causing that species to feed your greedy big babies to the peril of their own. 

Your photograph today, for just a few minutes,  had me admitting to your glossy beauty, until I read this from Wikipedia:

“Brown-headed cowbirds seem to periodically check on their eggs and young after they have deposited them. Removal of the parasitic egg may trigger a retaliatory reaction termed "mafiabehavior". According to one study the cowbird returned to ransack the nests of a range of host species 56% of the time when their egg was removed. In addition, the cowbird also destroyed nests in a type of "farming behavior" to force the hosts to build new ones. The cowbirds then laid their eggs in the new nests 85% of the time.^[22]”

You are unwelcome here, Mr. Cowbird, not that it makes a difference to you, not that I can do anything about your pillaging behavior. I feel as helpless about protecting my beautiful songbirds from you as I do about protecting Ukrainians from Russian invasion. You are the Putin of bird world, you are. 

~dkm  

Night Prowler

OR

Why the Bird Feeders Keep Getting Emptied Overnight

Night 1:

So, we filled a lid with peanut butter, set a cage trap on the deck near the feeders, and were awakened in the night by a terrible scraping sound followed by a deck-shaking rumble. I sat straight up in bed. Moe said, “ Caught him,” and went to investigate. Our thief had somehow dragged the cage across the deck to his entry point, and fallen all the way down the stairs to the patio below.   

Next morning:

We learned they have good memories for unpleasant experiences and avoid repeats. How pleasant could it be to fall down the steps and spend the night in a cage? Thought we’d seen the last of our thief. 

Night 2: 

Maybe he/she liked the thrill. 

Online advice said cayenne pepper is an effective deterrent. I bought a tub of it and spread a thick layer on banister under feeders. 

Days 3, 4, & 5: Feeders emptied again. 

He even tried to unhook it. 

And, for the record, I saw a squirrel sniff the cayenne, bat his nose with his front paw a few times, and climb right onto the feeder. So much for that theory. 

 Don’t want to take the feeders down and deprive the birds during mating/nesting season, but our seed bill is out of control, as in $150/month. Don’t want to relocate caged raccoon in case she's feeding young. 

Next best option: Bring all four feeders inside at bedtime. Wonder how long I’ll have patience for that?

Whole thing reminds me of an old New Yorker cartoon with a picture of a woman standing on a chair in her plant room and the husband saying, “If you’re going to live in a jungle, you’ve got to expect snakes.”

~dkm 4/15/2022

Small Wonder

 Is a squirrel strong enough to wreak such damage as this to a pencil? 

A mechanical pencil, I mean. 

All plastic and metal, except for the graphite and eraser. 

Forgotten outside overnight on the swing.

Maybe he could chew the ends off,

and splinter them so.

But to force the metal clip from its groove 

and slide it to the other end?

To shove the broken eraser end into the ground

hard enough to pack it with red clay and dried grass?

So many unanswerable questions large and small in the universe...

Today I'm grateful to wonder

who did this to my pencil.

A welcome distraction from

What will climate change mean for my grandchildren?

What is happening to democracy in this country?

                                                            ~dkm 11/10/21

New one for comparison

After one overnight outside on swing

Packed with clay and grass

Lucky Life Gift

 …that I was taught to make my own music…

                            ~dkm 8/23/21

Lake Jackson Reflection

On a solo writing retreat

one of the first things I do 

is determine the best place and time

for viewing the sunset, 

then set a phone alert, 

for that time every day,

that I don’t miss the show.

Pour a glass of wine and go there.  

Tonight it’s as good as Hamilton.

The water color.  

~dkm 8/22/21

New Challenge

Today, at Lake Jackson, while on another solo writing retreat of silence and solitude, as the guest of one dear friend, and while parallel writing with another from a distance, I begin a new yearlong challenge for Backyard Spectator. Only one rule: no rules. Except to record in words an observation made in nature, but for the simple act of paying attention. 

Might be a haiku… a free verse…a short essay…a line…a single word…

May or may not be accompanied by a photo…

Might be daily, weekly, monthly, or oddly…

Eager to see what the year will bring. 

Today’s observation on the lake:

      NOW

Ten Canada geese 

lined up on the railroad ties

alert and ready for yet another

day of surviving the world 

at the water’s edge.

Tall black necks, unseen eyes,

stark white cheeks, heavy oval bodies,

sturdy stick legs, wide webbed toes curled

around the top corner of the top tie they stand on.

In unison

watching, craning, preening, 

alerting, stretching, squatting

until some imperceptible signal says

 “Now.”

In a sudden noisy flapping burst they take off and

fly low over the glass, spread-winged

and together

in the safety of their ten.

~dkm  8/21/2021