Foggy Morning Hunt

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Watchful Eye

What would spring be without baby birds?

Carolina Wrens fledged a month ago from the basket on our front porch. For a couple of weeks, they used porch as a landing pad and mess hall and, unfortunately, a latrine. They were just adorable enough to put up with the mess.

Their tail feathers, at first barely discernible, grew until, at a glance, it was hard to distinguish the little ones from their parents. But when they flew, it was obvious who the flight instructors were.

After a fortnight, the parents were still doing the feeding. 

While the fledglings waited for their parents, they rested in the shade of the flowerbed... 

examined new garden plants... 

and did their wing exercises.

• If it seemed that their parents had forgotten them, they emitted heartbreaking chirps.

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When a bug breakfast was finally served a la carte, they devoured it like Eggs Benedict by a shipwreck survivor.

In past years the birds vacated the porch immediately after they fledged. It may have something to do with the fact that I used to sit on the porch as the baby birds surfaced from their basket. The first year, the fledglings surfaced from the basket and landed on my lap, much to the consternation of their parents. I was probably about as welcome as a fox at a frog's picnic. This year we tried to allow them space, coming in and out of the house from the back door, and we saw them frequently for about two weeks.

The porch is also home to Eastern Phoebes, who have attached their nest high on the wall near the front door. The birds were making frequent visits, but for a long time, we didn't see any evidence of new life. After the Carolina Wrens left, I was curious enough to get out the ladder and climb up to check out the nest. It contained three grasshopper-sized bits of fluff and one egg. The next morning there was an empty egg on the bricks under the nest. 

Now, two of the nestlings perch in the nest, observing the world outside their porch. Their heads are already more significant than the egg from which they emerged.

None of these birds is aware of the crisis in the world around them. While fears abound, five little Carolina Wrens pecked their way out of their shells, grew, and learned to fly, and the Phoebes are burgeoning in their nest, all under the watchful eye of their Heavenly Father. We can rest assured that He sees us, too.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Stuck at Home

When I hear about one hardship people are enduring nowadays, the tedium of staying at home, I'm grateful, once again, that we live out in the country. With miles of vibrant green foliage around us and abundant wildlife, there's rarely an opportunity to be bored here.

The Carolina Wrens fledged out of their creel on the front porch last week. We saw the small creatures first at twilight and wondered how they would fare in the frigid night air, but the next morning they reemerged from the basket, warm and ready to try out their wings. The big world seemed a little overwhelming for two of them, who hid at first behind the woodpile. Before long, their parents enticed them out with fat, juicy worms, and they flew away. They were back tonight just before sunset, three nights after we first saw them. Their flights are more confident, and there are fewer crash landings than there were on day one. Three fledglings tucked into the basket, and the fourth one lingered, loathe to get into her pajamas. Finally, sleepy-eyed, she tucked into the creel with her siblings. We wish them sweet dreams.

We had another visitor the night before, an unexpected one. Just before retiring for the evening, I sleepily walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light. A small furry creature was watching me from his perch on the handle of the oven door. Suddenly I was wide awake. The animal before me was adorable, with big eyes and a fluffy tail. He was too cute to be a rat, but what was I looking at? We stared at each other for a long moment, each of us contemplating what we should do. I didn't want to leave the room and allow him to escape. Don was already in bed, and I thought I could handle this one on my own. I've had better ideas.

My thick oven mitts were within reach, so I put on the gloves and made a quick grab at my new acquaintance. I almost had him when he squirted out of my grasp and headed for the dining room, hiding under the hutch. I nudged him out with my tripod, and he ran across the room, scrambled up the curtains, then spread out his legs and flung himself off, soaring, frisbee style, down to the easy chair. That's when I realized what he was--a flying squirrel. He looked more adept gliding than he did running while making his escape. Either way, I was no match for him. 

The pursuit wasn't going as I had planned. I opened three doors wide and hoped the squirrel would find his way out and that no other intruders would come in. Instead, he ran down the hall and hid under a bedroom dresser. That's when I decided to call a truce. I figured he'd stay there for the night and we could regroup in the morning. Or so I thought.

Don was still awake when I climbed into bed. "Are you ok?" he asked. "Pretty much," I replied. "Ok, what's wrong?" he asked, reading my mind. I told him about the squirrel, and we laughed together before trying to sleep.

A clattering sound from the laundry room jerked me out of my half-sleep. "The mousetrap!" I thought. Sure enough, the squirrel had found the peanut butter-baited trap, succumbed to the temptation, and was limping around with a mousetrap hanging on to the side of a back foot. That was just enough of a handicap to allow Don and me to corral the poor thing, pick him up, take him outside, and free him from the trap. He didn't look much worse for the wear as he ran away. 

We have no idea how he got into the house, but we're hoping that the experience was unpleasant enough that he won't try it again. Just as a precaution, though, I'm ordering a live animal trap.

When Don left for work, he mumbled something about getting new locks for the doors. I think I've talked him out of it.

Linking to Wild Bird Wednesday

Bird Bliss

Lately, a pair of Carolina Wrens have been frequenting our front porch, eating the dried mealworms we put out for them. In harsh winters, supplemental food can make a difference in their survival. Our motives, however, are not entirely altruistic. We just like to watch them.

What is it that so captivates us with Carolina Wrens? On pogo stick legs, their movements are quick and unpredictable, like chipmunks with wings. With their tails held high over their rounded frames, they nearly always seem happy. But what fascinates me most is the male's melodious voice, like an adolescent American Idol star. Whatever the reason, they always make us smile. And that's worth a lot.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Fledglings

A thin, high pitched, incessant cheeping drew my attention to the fledgling cardinal. It flew down from a tree above the feeder, landing on the deck rail near where its dad was gathering sunflower seeds, and waited expectantly, if not patiently.

It paid off. The young ones have been running their parents ragged lately with their voracious appetites and pleading cries.

Carolina wrens were busy, too, searching high...

and low...

...for food for the nestlings in the basket.

They fledged this evening, just before dusk. One of them was perched on the woodpile as we walked by, and when we went inside, 3 others popped into view. They took short practice flights around the porch, cheered on by their watching parents.

Tomorrow they'll be off in the wild blue, but we hope they remember home and come around to visit. We'll leave the light on.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Wrens and Raspberries

This morning, fog obscures the lake and emboldens bucks to venture near the house. When they retreat into the woods, I step outside. In the garden, there's the daily Japanese Beetle battle. They are eating lacy holes in the raspberry leaves, and I dunk 23 of them, still groggy, in alcohol. It's not a job I relish, but I love raspberries. Under the nearby trees is a fallen branch, and I head over to pick it up, dodging dew-laden spider webs like laser beams in Mission Impossible. In the distance, a Carolina Wren sings his aria, and I anticipate the coming days.

For 3 days last week, a pair of wrens were busy constructing a nest in the old fish basket outside our kitchen window. The creel has been home to these birds in the past, in fact, it was originally hung on the front porch pillar in hopes of attracting them, but the last time they nested there was 5 years ago. It's good to have them back.

For hours, they met each other every few minutes coming and going with twigs and leaves. They would duck into the basket, forming the nest out of sight, and then fly away to gather more nesting materials.

Years ago, I was sitting on the porch when the wrens fledged, and one of the fledglings flew to my lap, to the consternation of its watching parents. These wrens have a rich, beautiful song, but that day they chattered their disapproval until the little one flew away to join its siblings.          

It's been quiet on the porch this week, and I was hoping the birds didn't move on to another nest. My curiosity got the best of me this afternoon and I peeked into the doorway on top of the basket. I think I was as startled as the little bird inside. So, now I'll be waiting patiently. More or less. We can only hope, when the nestlings are hatched and hungry, that they like Japanese beetles. I'm hoping for raspberries, too.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Traveling Music Show

 There's a new show in town at our favorite venue--outside our kitchen windows. Composed by the Master of song, the music repeats familiar themes in rich, sweet tones. The costumes are elaborate. Tangerine orange feathers embroidered in black and white flutter in the breeze.

Admission is one half orange, placed in a conspicuous place, and it's well worth the price. But don't wait--they won't be here long.

The show, of course, is Baltimore Orioles passing through our area on their way north and east from their wintering grounds in Mexico. They arrived at our house yesterday, just after the hickory trees started to tassel, and they search for insects high in the trees. We hope they find all the caterpillars.

Blue jays are surprised to find a small bird that they can't intimidate. 

The birds are agile and entertaining and keep us guessing what they'll do next.

One thing is certain, though, as long as they're here, they'll be eating oranges.


Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

First Responder

A thud against the window yesterday sent me to the bedroom to check for a downed bird. Occasionally, one will crash, and sometimes a little help can influence their chances of recovery. Scanning the rocks below the window, I didn’t see the bird at first. A chirping sound drew my attention to a titmouse perched in a nearby tree. He would chirp, and then look below him. Following his gaze, I located the injured bird on the ground, another titmouse, well camouflaged on the gray rocks. “At least its buddy is looking out for him,” I thought.

When a bird hits a window, the first thing I try to do is turn them right side up. It seems to increase their chances of survival. But today, I watched in amazement as the titmouse on the limb swooped down and righted his stunned companion. 

A moment later, I had a second surprise. The First Responder Titmouse started viscously attacking the fallen one.

It wasn’t until I noticed another bird watching the fight from the tree, that a light flipped on in my brain. This was a fight over that sweet thing batting her eyelids in the tree branch. The bird on the ground wasn’t able to fly, but it could run pretty well. Still, it didn’t stand a chance. The aggressor pummeled him while he tried to escape, then flew up to the tree to bask in the admiring gaze of his cheerleader. This cycle was repeated several times.

Those little birds can tilt their head and look winsome, but when the claws come out, pity the underdog.

At last check, none of the birds were in sight, so I’ll have to assume that the vanquished bird picked up the pieces of his shattered life and moved on, and the happy couple is setting up housekeeping. I always hope for happy endings.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Fast Food

Our bird feeder has been a fast food restaurant this week with the female cardinal doing the take out. 

She grabs a sunflower seed to go, and flies up to the big hickory tree overhead to feed her fledglings, 

who do everything in their power to attract her attention. 

They fly and hop from branch to branch, positioning themselves to receive their version of an Egg McMuffin.

Their incessant twittering imparts a sense of urgency. Mom can have no doubt about how hungry they are.

Yum!

A young male waits.

He is joined by his sister...

...and the girls win!

In years past, we've watched a male cardinal do the feeding, but in this family, it was all the mother's job.

"Did somebody say this was a BIRD feeder?

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

and Saturday's Critters

Baby Blues

Bluebirds have fledged their young and lately, the little ones have found a cool spot in the birdbath.

Now here's a happy surprise. Who would expect to find a worm here? 

Young bluejays are out, too. This one watches intently for it's parent.

Anybody hungry? 

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Rockabye Baby

Early yesterday morning, as the sun emerged from the clouds over the horizon, the four note song of the Carolina Chickadee drifted through our window. The little birds looked as if they were doing their morning calisthenics, hopping from branch to branch. Only later did I wonder if their activity was a birth announcement.

They are nesting in a birdhouse located in the old dogwood tree near the front of our house. 

There is a quick glance out the door...

...before they take flight.

My first hint that the nestlings had hatched was when I saw the diaper disposal.

 Carolina Chickadees are very neat.

Both parents feed the nestlings, and several minutes elapses between each feeding, so, like a bank robber timing the alarms, I calculated that I could get a look before the parents returned. As soon as one of the parents flew away, I set up a ladder, opened the hinged roof, and took a quick snapshot. In and out in 60 seconds.

At this point, the most predominant feature of the nestlings is their mouths, and considering how tightly the birds are packed in the nest and how quickly they get fed, it's good that the parents have big targets. The nestling's unopened eyes are only bumps on their heads and a few tiny feathers indicate their wings. Their are at least eight of them, and possibly one or two more.

Today we noticed that the branch that supports the birdhouse is rotten, and since rain and high winds are forecasted for tomorrow, we trussed the birdhouse up to a sturdier branch, while one of the parents looked patiently on.

We hope they sleep well as the wind rocks their cradle. We'll sleep better knowing that they're secure.

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

and Saturday's Critters