Frenzy

There are many words for a flock of quail - drift, flush, rout, covey, pack, bevy - but in my yard this winter, the term frenzy best describes their antics.

I do love my California quail, and I've never been shy about welcoming a few to the yard. Until this yard and this winter, however, I've never had the occasion to welcome a few dozen at once. They've discovered that my broad, deep deck provides exceptional shelter, and they regularly roost beneath it (as evidenced by the maze of tracks that lead about the yard but all return to the deck - some of their trails are so popular they've carved their own tunnels through the snowfall), but they're not shy about coming out to feast. At any popular mealtime, I've had up to 30 or more quail feeding, split among the different feeding areas in the yard. The first area they typically encounter is the elongated bench on the deck where I have three levels of cracked corn - on the bench itself, on the deck, and on the ground under the edge of the deck. After sampling that, the quail move to the back fence and particularly enjoy scratching beneath the three hanging feeder stations, especially the two filled with hulled sunflower seed. They also eagerly scratch around the platform ground feeder sheltered underneath an oversized glass patio table in the middle of the yard, even uprooting tufts of grass in their eagerness to find the next morsel that may be mixed seed or additional hulled sunflower seeds.

Of course, I'm happy to oblige in providing those morsels. Not only do I refill the feeders every 2-3 days at least, but when I do, I sprinkle extra handfuls of seed directly on the ground for the quails' convenience and feeding pleasure. Of course, it's my pleasure too, and I delight in seeing the covey visit. They spread out with each feeding area hosting a dozen or more birds at once, and their plump little bodies are sometimes so thick beneath the feeders that neither snow nor grass is visible, it's just a roiling mass of quail and quivering topknots.

It's hard to get a photo that accurately shows the extent of the flock, but I'm so amazed at its size that I count it nearly every time they all arrive - and each time I'm stunned to have so many visitors. All are welcome, of course, and I'm glad I've found a good deal on cracked corn... I'm going to need it!

These tips can help you attract your own flock of backyard quail!

Christmas Carnivore

Birds can give us wonderful gifts, and my latest - other than the nearly daily joy of their visits - was a sharp-shinned hawk that first arrived in the yard on Christmas Day.

Of course, that's just when I was able to first confirm the raptor's identity and verify its presence in the yard. The neighbor's yard that adjoins our rear fence has been visited by several raptors - both Cooper's hawks and sharp-shinned hawks - but I don't count a new yard bird until it actually touches my property (picky, I know). Then, of course, I have to know precisely which species it is, and these urban accipiters can be particularly tricky.

For once, this bird wasn't so hard to identify, thanks to its lack of a contrasting nape, shorter tail, barely visible white tail tip and relatively small head, all of which are fairly confident signs of a sharp-shinned hawk. This bird was fairly large for a sharpie, however, but that likely indicates it as female - females are larger than their male counterparts.

Not only did I get great views as the bird settled on one of my feeder hooks looking particularly grumpy, but she returned for several consecutive days looking for more meals. Once, we saw her pluck her prey right from a branch - a branch about 15 feet above and maybe 25 feet behind where she'd been perched - an amazing hunting feat and a well-deserved meal (most likely of sparrow or finch). Admittedly, there may be several sharpies frequenting the yard, since they show slightly different white mottling on the mantle, but that could be a factor of posture, feather position and wind ruffling as well.

I feel privileged and honored to have a raptor in the yard - while the random piles of feathers, amputated feet and bloody bill remnants I've found occasionally tell me it's not the first, it's the first I'm certain of, and a new visitor is always welcome.

Can you tell the difference between Cooper's hawks and sharp-shinned hawks? Learn how!

A Life on Fire

New is always a chance for optimism, whether it is a new year, new month, new week, or simply a new day. With that optimism, however, has to come a new attitude.

I gave up a great deal in 2015 - time, energy, hope, emotions. I gave it up to grief, to work, to depression. I gave up enjoyment, relaxation and pleasure to deadlines, expectations and accusations. Gone were good meals, small indulgences, smiles, laughter, and most of all, gone was the fierceness that threads its way through all of me. I gave up, in the end, too much of myself.

Not so for 2016. I'm through living my life on terms I did not set, for dampening the fire I know smolders within me. I'm through seeing my dreams from afar rather than striding toward them, and I'm through giving up on living the life I can. I look out my office window and see the mountains burn twice a day - with the new rays of the sunrise and the last embers of the sunset, and each day I want this to remind me that the light of what living ought to be is never finished. No matter when, or where, or how, it can and always should be new.

There is much that will be a part of this - health, satisfaction and birding, travel and music and books. Stamps in the passport, scars on the hands, tears of joy. The wind snarling my hair, sore muscles, awestruck smiles, study sessions, new tastes and exotic sensations. But what will be part of it most of all is me - the me I've lost for far too long.

Let's fly.

Taking a Thrashing

It's hard to be enthusiastic about birding - one of the small pleasures of life - when life continues to give you a thrashing. Between dramatic shifts in family dynamics, increased work loads from contract alterations, uncommunicative communities, rampant societal entitlement and all the little catastrophes that occur on a daily, weekly, and monthly basis, there never seems time left for even the least of birding.

Still, birds are there, and while I may not have time to get out into the field to see more of them, I can still remember with great fondness my favorite of birding walks. It's a roughly two mile loop, stretching from my childhood home, along a very familiar route to what was once my grandparents' house (and is now my uncle's), then along a delightful trail alongside Bear River. The trail winds through a variety of riparian habitats with varied vegetation that nurtures a wide range of avifauna, to the waterfront of Little Traverse Bay, which provides delightful inland coastal habitats. The return leg is through the charming downtown area, where different urban species often make an appearance.

The route may be short and the area compact, but I can easily spend hours enjoying the birds it hosts, and still I often feel rushed with obligations that keep me from lingering as long as I would like. My greatest regret is that during my childhood when I had nearly unlimited time to spend along those trails, I was more interested in getting from point A to point B as quickly as possible, often biking without regard for the feathered life that would surely have been flying all about me, even then.

Still, the only thing we can do with past regrets are to keep them past, and strive to make the future a better one. Every time I return to my old habitat, I take advantage of the opportunity to walk that trail again, and it never disappoints. During an emotionally turbulent visit this past spring, the trail nurtured me as much as the birds, and when paused in a clearing to watch warblers flitting in the trees or stepping into a thicket for a better view of the riverbank, I was still able to appreciate its wonders. It still didn't disappoint, as I saw a lifer palm warbler along the trail, reminding me that no matter what type of beating life has in store for you, there is always more of life to discover and enjoy.

We just need to take a walk - into our future, into the possibilities, into birding.

A Long Overdue Yard Update

There has been so much happening in the yard - both with birds and with other issues - that it's crazy to think how long it has been since I last wrote about all my feathered guests. In the past few months, so much has happened, including...

• Several spates of travel which have yielded wonderful new lifers and great bird sightings on top of other travel necessities, even though it takes me out of the yard.
• A shift in job circumstances and changing clients, opening new opportunities and easing out of obligations that no longer fit my work preferences and career goals.
• Dramatic backyard changes not all of our choice, at least not in the timing, but changes that will improve the landscaping and value nonetheless.

Above all, there has been so much introspection and thoughtfulness, so much to consider, it has wrought havoc with birding, and it is at these times that yard birds may be all I have left. And I'm glad I have so many! I've had a wide variety of new feathered visitors since May, including...

•  The random band-tailed pigeon that descended on the open tray feeder and its offering of mixed birdseed. A solitary guest, it was immediately recognizable by its yellow bill and legs, overall darker plumage and large size. I only got a glimpse of its namesake tail band, but it was without a doubt a new and exciting visitor. Unusual as well - while these birds are regular summer residents in the area, they generally stay higher in the foothills, but I hope its appearance one time may mean it will one day return more regularly.
  
• The quick glimpse of a lazuli bunting that flitted between a freestanding feeder pole and a feeder hook attached to the wood fence. While this bird didn't stay for long, the rich, cheerful blue it showed was unmistakable, and it changed position enough for me to see the rusty bib that helps clearly identify the species. This visit was more fleeting than most, but memorable because it's a bird I always look for in late spring and early summer. That is the only time they appear in the yard, and I hope it will return next year.
  
• The hungry visit of a pair of black-headed grosbeaks that availed themselves of the hulled sunflower seed without hesitation. These birds are shy at first, but once they realize the quality of the food source, they happily finish their meal. I wish they would stay around longer, but even a brief visit is a satisfying one when I can see that characteristic black hood, thick conical bill and orange-white-and-black plumage. Despite always appearing in the summer, these birds remind me of Halloween, and it's always a treat to see them.
  
• The first hummingbirds to the yard - from an overeager female who first flew nearly in the basement window to alert me that I was overdue putting out nectar feeders, to at least two different confirmed species I enjoyed throughout the summer, both the black-chinned hummingbird and the rufous hummingbird. I'm sure the broad-tailed was likely here as well, but I never managed to spot that brilliant rose gorget, so that's a new yard bird I'll have to look forward to next summer.

And of course, there's always more to look forward to in the yard, particularly a yard that is still so new and growing. Leaves are changing and temperatures are (barely) dropping now, and a new season will undoubtedly bring even more beauty to this small patch of bird-friendly land. I'm glad I'm here to see it.

Lucky Crown

So much of birding is luck - being in the right place at the right time. A matter of a few minutes can make a difference for seeing a new bird, observing unusual behavior or hearing a new song, and it was just a few minutes earlier this month that made the difference for me adding a new yard bird to my list.

More than luck, birders need the ability to notice unusual details, and it was one particular detail that led me to recognize a new visitor. It was a bright, sunny day - the type of light that can wash out plumage and make colors brighter and more glaring. But no bird I'd yet seen in the yard should have been showing a flash of white on its head, no matter how bright the sun was glaring. But it wasn't a fluke; again and again, this bird's head flashed as it fed along the top of the fence railings where I often sprinkle treats of hulled sunflower for house finches, house sparrows and other interested parties. This bird was most definitely interested in those treats, just as I was interested in its identity.

It wasn't hard to identify - the black and white stripes on its head, its long tail and its streaked body are key clues to the white-crowned sparrow. I've had these birds at my feeders previously in both former backyards, but to have this one appear so eager in the spring was more of a treat for me than the seeds were a treat for the hungry bird.

Will he be back? I haven't seen him since, but his first visit was so fleeting, it's entirely possible he has already been back and forth at times when my eyes aren't trained on the feeder; bad luck on my part. I hope he does revisit, and I hope he knows just how welcome he is, and how lucky he makes me feel.

Anything But Gross

Despite the turmoil of the past few months, I've had some minor opportunities to procure major lifers. The first was in late January, when on a local tip, I was able to finally see a bird I've coveted for years - the elusive evening grosbeak.

I say elusive because these are heavily nomadic birds that travel between food sources, but because they travel, it can be hit-or-miss to see them. Apparently, however, they are regular winter visitors at Evergreen Cemetery in Springville, a short drive away - and well worth it for the views. The healthy, hearty stand of mature juniper trees in the cemetery provide abundant fruit for these large finches, and they're easily viewable there, when they do visit.

I was at the cemetery twice, and managed sightings both times. The first was adequate, though less than satisfying - the day was overcast so the birds' colorful plumage was not as readily visible in all its flourescent glory, and the flock of 15-20 birds was only present for a few minutes after I arrived. The next day, however, was sunny and fair, and when I returned the birds were there as well - many more (a rough estimate of likely 50 birds or more). Not only was their plumage practically glowing in the sunlight, but the combined sounds of their voracious appetites munching on juniper berries sounded like a rain shower sprinkling through dense foliage, an amazing and unexpected experience.

On that second day, the birds were more than cooperative, and were much more interested in their berries than in the attentions of an enthralled birder. I was also able to meander around the property a bit, and saw mountain chickadees, a juniper titmouse, white-breasted nuthatches, and Eurasian collared-doves. Quite the day!

The evening grosbeak gets its name from its plumage coloration evocative of sunset, as well as its heavy, thick bill. For me, however, the experience was more akin to an enlightening dawn and the delicate thrill of discovering more of nature's beauty - an experience I look forward to repeating many times to come. After all, there are 10,000 bird species in the world, and I've only seen 381. That leaves me 9,619 beautiful birds to enjoy that same discovery with.

Sounds like a challenge.

Defining the Yard

The past few weeks have been filled with challenges - death and deadlines, decisions and demands, doubts and dithering. But through it all, when a loved one passes, when work piles up, when changes must be made... The birds are here. Even in the new yard, the birds are here.

The yard list is growing. I've added a few favorite species, including one spring visitor, the Cassin's finch, to the list, and I'm thrilled with that visitation; multiple males and several females stopped by for a few days, and while I haven't seen them regularly, they know where the feeder is an are always welcome to return. Old favorites - the California quail and American robin - have also finally made their appearances.

The hardest part of growing a yard list is defining just what that yard should encompass. Some birders define their yard by whatever birds they can see from the boundaries of that yard. Others include airspace above the yard, or may include an entire neighborhood. It's a personal choice, but I'm far more restrictive in my definition. My "yard" is just my property and the bordering fence, and while I might admire adjacent yards and the birds they host, I don't personally count a bird in my yard until it has actually and unequivocally visited MY yard - my turf, my feeders, my habitat. With such a restrictive definition, I never doubt the veracity of my yard list - there's no question the bird has been in my yard, by any definition.

While I'm thrilled with my little patch, it lacks trees and varied plantings that birds need; instead, I often see birds visiting the neighbor's yard, which I can easily see from my elevated office window. The birds perch and forage in nearby mature fruit trees, and eschew my feeders for those natural treats. Of course, I plan to add fruit trees to my own yard to tempt the birds across that fence border, but it will be some time before any new additions would be mature enough to interest more birds. I also intend to add evergreens to the yard for year-round shelter, as well as berry bushes, seed-bearing flowers and more bird-friendly foliage, along with a dust patch and plenty of sunning space.

All things in time. Just as it will take weeks, months, or years for me to adjust to a range of changing circumstances, it takes weeks, months, or years for a yard to become a new, more wildlife-friendly habitat. One thing I've learned in the past weeks, however, is that time is more finite than we may realize, so it's better to take advantage of every minute you have.

It's time I take advantage of more minutes.