Friday, May 3, 2013

TREE SWALLOW AT MY WINDOW

I was standing at the sink washing dishes a couple of evenings ago when I heard a thump on the nearby kitchen window. An all-too-familiar sound, albeit not one I've previously heard coming from this window. Looking down, I saw an obviously stunned tree swallow, wings extended as if in flight, staring helplessly back at me.

I hastily dried my hands and rushed out the back door to the rescue.

Frankly, a tree swallow was about the last bird I'd have expected to see injured on the ledge. Though they feed regularly above the pool in front of the cottage—aerial masters, dipping and diving after mealtime insects—this particular window is located well under the eave of the cottage, and looks out on an overgrown corner of the upstream portion of the yard. A white pine shades above, a couple of large sycamore intertwine and overhang the pine, there's a lilac only a couple feet away, a wall of honeysuckle along the top of the bank, and several volunteer maples which further screen the yard from the river almost completely—to the point you can barely catch a glint of water moving beyond the leaves.

I've purposely left this corner dark and dim so's to furnish a cool, shady retreat on a hot summer's day. I couldn't see how a bug-chasing swallow might even fly into this screened and shadowy nook from the river, nor would it be easy from any direction. Indeed, this was the first bird of any sort that I've heard thump into this window.

Yet one had…fooled by the window's mirrored world-beyond illusion, into colliding head-on with the unyielding glass. Now, the question was whether or not the little swallow with such stunning blue-green iridescent feathers would survive his mistake.

I did what I usually do—scooped the injured bird into my hands. Is this the right thing to do? I don't know. But I know when I've elected to leave a fallen bird on its own, they seem to die more often than not. Perhaps their injuries are too great, but maybe sometimes it's due to shock. And maybe I'm just fooling myself—but they seem to do better when I hold them upright, control their premature struggles, add warmth, smooth their feathers, offer gentle words of encouragement.

Yeah, it's probably silly. But I do it anyway. And it's really neat when a limp and lifeless bird suddenly begins to reawaken—a mysterious light reappears in their eye, the everyday miracle of life returns, and hope becomes reality. And even if I did nothing to make it happen, I at least witnessed its occurrence while holding that creature in my hands.

After fifteen minutes or so, the tree swallow seemed fully perked up. Whether or not it would be able to fly, only a trial would reveal. But after snapping a quick portrait, I wished it Godspeed and opened my hand…and like a swift bolt of blue-green lightening, the swallow was up and away.

I love happy endings.              

22 comments:

angryparsnip said...

Beautiful photo.
I have birds also crashing into my windows. I have tried several ways of stopping this and have now decided to hanging prisms. Who know it might work.
I worry about holding them so I usually put them in lined a box and move them to shade with a shallow water dish.
Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't.

cheers, parsnip

Grizz………… said...

Parsnip…

I've tried various preventatives, too, and none have worked. If you live around feeding/flying birds, and your house has windows, every so often, under certain light conditions, one is going to fall for the mirrored illusion of trees and space beyond.

I do seem to have better outcomes, percentage wise, by holding casualties in my hands versus placing them in a box or similar container, or simply doing nothing and allowing nature to "take its course." Too, in my experience, the more time recovery takes, the less likely it is to succeed. And you never know about such matteres as cranial bleeding on those birds which do fly away and appear okay…are they, really?

In the end, all you can do is try.

Arija said...

Not your imagination at all Grizz. They do so much better when a kindred spirit holds them and whispers sweet nothings to them. I have rehabilitated many in this way. If the bird is cold from shock, it often helps to literally breathe life back into it. The warmth and moisture of your breath in it's face, as well as the warmth of your hands, have great medicinal values. my mother used to call late hatching chicks to life in this way.

Debbie said...

Our replacement windows throughout this old house (30 of em) have been a real detriment to the birds to our dismay. Most hit and keep going, but I like to check and have found a couple stunned. I have to check! Glad you do too. Don't know what confuses them, it isn't the cleanliness!
Debbie

Grizz………… said...

Arija…

Thank you, I'm glad to hear someone else also believe's in the power of touch and words. I do really feel it makes a difference…though I never tried the breathing notion. I will, however. We forget that we're here now because our ancestors employed so many skills we've since forgotten—though not without regrettable loss and occasional need.

Gail said...

HI GRIZZ
Happy ending indeed. And I love how you know where, who what and why and how or if certain things should or should not happen according to the nature-landscape. Glorious.
And do you get manicures? Nice...
:-)
Love Gail
peace


Grizz………… said...

Debbie…

Not Windex (well, vinegar and water) sparkle here, either.

Why? That's really easy. It is the mirror the windowpane creates, given the right light. A perfect illusion of the outdoors in continuation—terrible, often deadly, to a bird in a hurry or just flying from here to there.

What appears as a lane through trees, over bushes, across the yard, with earth and sky in their usual places…is a solid wall trap, which they slam into head-on.

Imagine if someone placed a giant mirror across the road, right at the point where the road makes a sharp right-hand bend because there's a cliff just beyond the shoulder straight ahead. You come zipping along, 50 MPH, thinking about all those things you usually ponder, moving though and every-changing and slightly blurred landscape, relaxed, not expecting to have your eyes and brain completely, utterly fooled…and guess where you and me and everyone else who came down that road would end up? Yup, in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the cliff, wondering (providing we could still wonder about anything anymore) what happened. We wouldn't have a clue.

And neither do the birds encountering our mirrored mirage windows.

Grizz………… said...

Gail…

Oh, geeze…you give me way too much credit! I'm regularly clueless about the who, what, where, when, and why of things, and really just muddling along in a complete funk, like Ray Charles on a tractor trying to plow a hilly field. I know a small bit about nature and life, I'm a reasonable thinker and logician, tend to regularly wander off down philosophical paths, and have babbled since birth. That I string words together pretty adeptly often makes me appear far smarter and wiser than I am. More sizzle than steak.

The only manicures I get, I give. I've never viewed dirt and grease under my fingernails as a badge of my masculinity. I cook, and who wants to eat stuff cooked by someone with dirty nails? Not me! I keep my hair combed, mustache trimmed, and wear fresh clothes…though this often amounts to jeans, tees, and sneakers (which I keep white). Not natty; not metro-male; just Duck Dynasty without so much camo and no beard. But clean fingernails!

Gail said...

Hi again - I think you know lots about nature, more than most folks I know, that's for sure. And your hygiene style is masculine and user-friendly. And I also don't like when a man's hands/nails are dirty and he intends to, well, let's just say, do more than cooking!! :-)
Again, love your style on many levels.
Becky is a lucky gal :-)
Love Gail
peace....

Grizz………… said...

Gail…

Masculine and user-friendly. I can go with that!

Rowan said...

Well done Sir Galahad! I'm so glad that this beautiful shimmering, iridescent little bird recovered. Long may he continue to dip and dive.

Grizz………… said...

Rowan…

I don't know if I ever make any difference to such recoveries or not, but I'm most relieved and grateful whenever I see such a lovely creature back where it belongs—on the wing, in the air, turning and diving with divine grace…free and alive.

KGMom said...

Happy endings, indeed. I too gather up window-strike victims. I wrap them in a paper towel, hold them to warm them. Maybe that's why some die--inactive, they chill, body temp goes perilously low...downward spiral.

Grizz………… said...

KGMom…

Generally, I just pick the victim up and hold them firmly but gently in my hands—for warmth, for somehow counteracting shock, for maybe better assessing the injury, for…well, I don't know, exactly—just a closer, more personal interaction that involves touch. As a couse of action, it's part medical, part psychological, for me AND the bird muddle.

Scott said...

Do you have Cedar Waxwings hawking insects from the pool outside your house, like the Tree Swallows do?

Grizz………… said...

Scott…

Yup. I do; they usually work the pool on the sunshiny mornings. Though these last few days is seems I'm more often seeing squadrons of tree swallows or rough-winged swallows. (At least I THINK rough-winged; I can't spot any dark breast-bands.) I'm going to stick up a swallow pix on my next post (today?) and providing I can shoot a good waxwing image, use that in another, later post. I have lots of waxwing shots from years past (I've posted about the waxwings, too) but as a sort of point of honor, kinda my way of playing the game, I don't want to run last year's pix with this year's post.

For what it's worth, I think cedar waxwings are really pretty, with their bright yellow tails, as if they'd been dipped in paint, red enamel wing secondaries, and daubs of bright blue. And they're amazing to watch swoop and circle. When I first moved here, it took me several minutes to recognize what they were when I stepped out and saw all these birds working mayflies above the pool. I just wasn't used to seeing cedar waxwings along a stream; I'd thought of them as backyard birds which worked the fruit trees—not serious bug catchers. An astonishing revelation!

Scott said...

I agree with your amazement about Cedar Waxwings hawking insects, Grizz. I was confounded myself when I first saw it.

Grizz………… said...

Scott…

Frankly, there's almost no end to the nature things I've learned since moving here and having the ability to watch the river and all almost daily. I've easily doubled much of what I thought I knew pretty well before.

(Sorry to be slow in replying…I've been away from the desk yesterday and today.)

Robin said...

I love you and the way you see the world.

Yeah, I'm back.

Grizz………… said...

Robin…

I'm glad you're back. Really and truly. You are a delight and a friend, always missed, and I worry when I don't hear from you for a stretch. Honest. I'm also grateful you like me "as is." For try as I surely have over the years to change, to rid myself of my many quirks, to think and act more like most of my friends…to fit in—I've just never been able to manage any meaningful improvement. And at this late a date, it's not likely to happen. So what you see and read here is what you get, my sort of old-fashioned, peculiar perspective, all there is on the good/plus side. But in the spirit of balance, I should say I seldom write about the moody side—the insecure side which doubts and broods, worries, fears, and loathes myself and my failures and stupidity, and finds little of value in me—certainly nothing to like, never mind love. There's that, too. Just so you know…

Robin said...

Oh, indeed I know Grizz. I was just battling those demons myself today... and then I watched three sets of bird 'parents' (Mourning Dove, Robin and Starling) all going about the thankless job of feeding their young... and all above the heads of hundreds of humans, frantic to make their yards beautiful.

I get it.

Grizz………… said...

Robin…

Re. those birds—not exactly "lives of quiet desperation," but lives of ongoing demand occasionally bordering on the frantic. Yet, paradoxically, somehow reassuring, while reiterating the message that life was, is and will be…past, present, future. We are part of something much, much larger. I watch birds and rivers, and stars spinning in the darkness, and find hope and courage. And every so often, a friend writes.…

I know you get it.