Avian Testimonials

Early this week, with the ground dry and parched and the temperature plunging like an elevator in free-fall, the birds at our feeders were ravenous. It seemed like a good time to mix up some suet.

Suet is easy to make. Here's my recipe:

1 cup lard
1 cup crunchy peanut butter
1 cup oatmeal
2 cups unsalted sunflower seeds, shelled
1 cup flaxseed meal or yellow cornmeal
1/2 cup raisins

Melt the lard and peanut butter in a large saucepan, and mix in the other ingredients. Spoon into molds (I used the bottom 2 inches of plastic cups), press the mix together, and freeze. Sometimes, I also press the mix into pinecones.

When the suet was frozen and out of the molds, I made a hole with a skinny nail through the center of each one, then threaded a thin wire through the hole, and hung them in a tree near our feeder, where the birds were sure to notice them.

It's always nice when your cooking is appreciated. 

When the food is devoured and they come back for more, it's better than 5 stars on the internet.

Consider these photos visual testimonials.

Of course, there's Winterberry for desert.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

and Saturday's Critters

Mountain Lion Hollow

It's good to see the sun after several gloomy days, which had closed in on us like grey felt in a flower press. The hunting season finally over, Barley and I have taken to walking in the hollow below our house. Where the trail makes its final descent into the hollow, winterberry trees have put on their Christmas decorations, bright red candy-colored balls. Birds flee at our approach, receding as waves into an ocean of weeds, or wildflowers, depending on one's perspective. I stand still, holding my breath, and the birds return, one by one, drawn by the fruit, devouring the ornaments like a child who can't wait for Christmas.

Barley holds his breath, too, standing motionless several paces behind me.

The hollow is quiet this morning, except for the twitter of birds, but this place is not always without drama. One October, in the early morning dark, Don walked down the trail and set up with his bow in a tree facing the valley, overlooking the creek. As the first rays of light streamed across the hollow, he noticed movement in the tall amber colored weeds, about 75 yards away. He fixed his gaze on the area for a short time before a tail appeared, swishing slowly back and forth. Then the steely eyes of a mountain lion came into focus, staring straight at him. A chill went down his spine.

Don remembers thinking that he’s always preferred to deer hunt alone. It was more true that day than ever before. Looking down at his bow, he calculated his chances of getting off a clean shot at a charging cat. Not good. He decided to begin his retreat. Then, if the mountain lion charged, he’d have time to get his back against a large tree and pull out his hunting knife. He got his feet on the ground and took one step sideways up the hill, keeping an eye on the path, and one on the predator below. The mountain lion didn’t move. Its tail twitched, but its eyes were steady.

Don continued to sidle up the hill, judging, with each step, the distance to the next tree. He was home before he could breathe easy. 

I think about that mountain lion once in a while when Barley and I are walking in the hollow, and my fingers tighten, momentarily, on the knife in my pocket.

Linking with Saturday's Critters
and
 Wild Bird Wednesday

Co-inhabitants

Every once in a while, when we start thinking that this place where we live belongs to us, 

we are reminded that our opinion is not universal.

Most mornings lately, four Eastern Wild Turkey gobblers have been gathering on our back patio.

They like the convenience of fresh water (or sometimes ice) in the birdbath, a chance to admire their reflections in the window glass, and the exceptional acoustics. If volume had anything to do with ownership, when they gobble, they would have the deed to the house in their feathery back pocket. The turkeys retreat a little when we pass by the windows, but seem only mildly inconvenienced by the other occupants of this place, namely us. Their forebears, after all, were here long before ours were.
 
Before dawn yesterday morning, Don watched a skunk saunter away from the back of the house, while a fat raccoon sat in the bird feeder, eating a bedtime snack. We've been wondering why the bird feed disappeared so fast, and now we know that it's been going to two more residents.

              

In the summer, a mother raccoon and her two kits would come in the evenings to eat... 

...before climbing up to their nursery in a large oak tree behind the house. 

In the nighttime, the place belonged to them.

Deer have always been occupants of our woods. 

Of the seven we see regularly, one button buck has taken to the dog kennel, and helps himself to fallen acorns. 

We see the larger bucks less frequently, but in the shelter of the darkness, they may consider this place their own, too.

Barley is the only four-legged creature with a key to the house.

So far.

Linking with Saturday's Critters
and Wild Bird Wednesday

Morning Fog

Morning fog alters the atmosphere, washing out the background, and painting the foreground in simple shapes.

Not even a falling leaf makes a sound on the dampened earth.

A young doe stands at attention and listens...

...while a buck sniffs the air, depending on non-visual cues.

The ancient oak seems to listen, too, leaning into the fog.
What does he hear?

Linking with Saturday's Critters

Morning Metamorphosis

It had been about eight days since two monarch caterpillars had attached to the geranium in a pot on our front porch and formed chrysalises. I checked them first thing every morning, and Monday, in the dim predawn light, one of them had changed from its lima bean green to black as my cell phone. Little by little, the unique black and orange wing pattern became visible through the translucent case.

By mid-morning, a new female butterfly was suspended on an empty chrysalis, her wings not fully extended. 

She climbed on uncertain legs to a nearby stem, where she hung to dry.

A couple of hours later, she was ready. She climbed to the top of a leaf, pumped her wings, and flew off, high above the trees.

That day, there was a bonus. 

All week, I had searched the geranium in vain for other chrysalises, but there, hanging out to dry, was another new butterfly.

She perched on a blossom brighter than a stoplight in the city. 

The sisters are headed for Mexico, and we hope they'll be back next spring. 

We'll keep the light on for them. 

Linking with Saturday's Critters

Caterpillar Trek

I've been looking at bugs again lately, specifically monarch larva. The caterpillars have devoured every green sprig on the large butterfly milkweed plant in my flowerbed where they were hatched, and they are on the move, searching for the perfect place to form a chrysalis. Imagine having to buy your groceries blindfolded at Walmart, and you have the idea.

I kneel down to observe the journey, and it's maddening to watch, like a thriller in slow motion. 

The small creature before me crawls to the end of a long leaf that leads nowhere, 

grips the end of the leaf with his back legs and flails back and forth, groping in the air for any new purchase...

...before turning around and heading back to where where he started. 

At the bottom, a thin blade of grass presents itself, and from the sidelines I call out "No! Bad move! Turn back!", but he is not listening. Half way up the frail stem, the grass doubles over under the weight of the the caterpillar and dumps him to the ground. Then he's up again, walking toward the nearest stem that will take him to a frail leaf and another setback, and, like Serena Williams' father during a tense tennis match, I have to walk away.

One way or another, they all manage to find their places without my help. With thin silken strands, they attach their back end to some stem or leaf. 

Falling limp, they dangle upside down, curled into a J shape. Then they wait. 

When the moment is right, a transformation takes place and a chrysalis is formed, an exquisite jewel studded with fine gold. 
In the next ten days, more or less, a butterfly will develop inside the shelter of this bright green package, 
and for the time being, at least, I can exhale.



Linking with Saturday's Critters

Southbound

Two chilly nights and southbound geese overhead have me thinking about seasonal changes. Hummingbirds are tanking up for their trip to the Yucatan. Early in the morning, and just before dark, their activity around the feeders is intense.

The sun has warmed the rocks on the south side of the house, and I lean against them, facing the feeders, which are only a few inches away. It's an excellent place to observe the small winged warriors. Supper is over, and while Don watches a spy movie, I spend the pleasant part of an hour there, absorbed by their acrobatics, their chirps and the hum of their wings. Occasionally one of them hovers just in front of my face, trying to ascertain what kind of a creature is sharing their space, and I steel myself not to flinch. Their battles over the sugar water are swift and fierce. 

They fly back and forth between the feeders and the geraniums.

In a flowerpot at my side is Firecracker Cuphea, a plant the little birds also love. They light on the springy stems, riding them down almost to the ground, then up, pendulum-like, all the while pumping nectar out of the sweet purple and red blossoms. 

As the sky darkens, the chirps of the hummingbirds give way to the sounds of the night. I head inside, refreshed by the ambiance of the evening. And in the spy movie, the good guys win. 

Linking with Saturday's Critters
and Wild Bird Wednesday.

Save My Plant

Do you remember the girl in the 90's who lived in a redwood tree for two years to save it from getting cut down? In our yard, all it takes to save a plant is one tree frog.

It's like this--tidy gardening has never been my forte; I'm often hesitant about pulling weeds. Please don't jump to the conclusion that I'm lazy; it's just that the perennial question nags at me: "could this be a flower?"

In the flower bed in front of the house, there is a four foot mystery plant, and it looks out of place--a slender stalk with leaves but no blossoms, a full foot taller than the others. Since we have company coming tomorrow, I finally took out my pruners. This was the day it was going down.

Then, just as I was positioned to make the fatal cut, I saw it. Poised on a leaf on the tall, silly plant, was one very cute tree frog.

Ce sempre domani. There's always tomorrow.

Linking with Saturday's Critters

First posted on 7/25/10

Day Job

A faint tapping sound came from upstairs, like the sound of someone knocking on the window. When I went up to investigate, I saw a Black Vulture at the large window in the living room, tapping softly. I was pretty sure I knew what it wanted.

About a week earlier, Don, bless his heart, had hit the wall about the squirrels that were taking over our bird feeder. It's squirrel hunting season here, and Don's a hunter, so I'll let you fill in the blanks. Having eaten his share of squirrels in his youth from necessity, and not from love of the meat, Don opted to donate these to our local clean up crew, the vultures. For a while, every morning, one squirrel was disappearing from the feeder and appearing, belly up, on a tall stump out from the kitchen. The vultures were efficient at disposal.

But now there had been a two day absence of squirrel meat, and the vulture at the window seemed to be asking politely, 

"Did you forget something?"

The next day, and for some time since then, there have been two Black Vultures here regularly. 

They are a lot like pets, in that they expect to be fed. 

Unlike Turkey Vultures, Black Vultures are almost handsome, with their amour-like head gear and white stockings. 

They perch on our deck... 

preen themselves...

drink from the birdbath...

lounge on the stump where the squirrels have appeared...

stretch, and generally make themselves comfortable.

 One of them even tried to take a bite of our door mat.  

It may have been a ploy for sympathy, as in "See how hungry I am?" 

Occasionally, they get demanding, flying up and striking the window with force, but for the most part, they are friendly, and even let us join them on the deck if we stay quietly in our corner.

Of course, with all this activity, squirrels are not coming around as much. The vultures haven't seemed to figure out that their frequent presence is contrary to their interests. So, until they do, we'll enjoy the entertainment. Soon enough, they'll get hungry and find it necessary to return to their regular day jobs--policing this area's highways, county roads, farms and woodlands for opportunities to put on their bibs and get back to work.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday
I'd Rather B Birdin'
and Saturday's Critters

King of the Forest

This little fawn, with a glint in his eye, is a feisty one.

He came out with his mother this week, late in the evening. 

There was a short stand-off with a turkey, until the turkey stood his ground...

and the fawn scampered away.

When the doe was tired of babysitting, she gave the fawn a kick, 

and the little one responded by kicking back, and almost climbing on his mother's back. 

The turkeys were polite enough to pretend not to notice.

                                      

We'll be watching this one.

One of these days, we expect, he'll be ruling the forest.


Linking with Saturday's Critters