Call this the morning’s photographic bird report. All the images in this posting were taken within the space of perhaps thirty minutes. (You can double-click to see them larger, of course.) The session began when I stepped outside to scatter cracked corn for my geese couple who—barely past dawn—were already standing in the yard, impatient to be served.
You can’t keep geese waiting.
Naturally, the untrusting Canadas flew off the instant I opened the door. These are wild birds, more or less, though they seem to be learning to tolerate my presence. Instead of flying across the river or even farther, they simply glided over the bank to the water, where they bobbed on the current, honking loudly, while keeping a watchful eye on my corn tossing. I pitched out a scoop of yellow grain and picked up my camera for a quick shot.
Before I could frame and shoot the geese, I heard a duck quacking upstream. A female mallard was standing on a rock, calling to the drake to get over there and keep her company. I snapped her portrait first, then turned and took a shot of the geese.
Looking around, I noticed a few turkey vultures sitting in the tops of some trees across the river beyond the island, testing their wings, waiting for the climbing sun to warm them up before they began their day's scavenging flights. The big birds were located perhaps 250 feet away. Much too distant for more than a mediocre shot.
The buzzards are only recently returned from their winter vacations in the South. In fact, these birds are just the early arrivals, a fraction of the 175—200 number of the spring-through-autumn flock that typically roosts in the tops of the island’s big sycamores. The full group won’t manage to get themselves assembled for several more weeks.
After a few additional shots—of sunlight on trees, a cloud or two, and crocus biding their time until a higher sun triggered their opening—I figured I’d go back inside and let the geese have at their breakfast. So I headed down the hall to my workroom to check e-mail and upload my photos.
I hadn't yet plugged the camera into the computer when I looked out the window and saw a Cooper’s hawk sitting on the stump end of the old Christmas tree, which I recycle as a handy refuge for just this reason: when the hawk suddenly appears, the ground feeders—sparrows, wrens, doves, etc.—have a nearby hidey-hole. (I posted about this in January, REFUGE…NOT REFUSE! here)
Some days, when I’m working long hours at my desk and happen to look up at the right moments, I watch the fleeing birds use this hideout tree two or three different times. The wily hawk makes regular rounds and repeats its visits throughout the day. Most times, the tree-hidden birds outsmart the Cooper’s, flying out one side while their would-be killer pokes his hooked beak in the other. A few days ago, though, I saw the hawk plunge into the Christmas tree and come out with a titmouse in his talons. Still, the recycled Christmas tree saves a lot of lives—and I’m glad I didn’t decide to move it yesterday when I spent a few hours giving the yard a spring raking.
The final shot, taken perhaps two minutes after the hawk’s (victimless) departure, was of a perky cardinal at the feeder just beyond my workroom window. Here along the river, the redbirds are whistling longer and louder with each passing day: “Spring is here, the sun is shining, and all you lucky ladybirds can’t possibly fail to notice what a handsome fellow I am in my bright scarlet feathers!”
Before I could frame and shoot the geese, I heard a duck quacking upstream. A female mallard was standing on a rock, calling to the drake to get over there and keep her company. I snapped her portrait first, then turned and took a shot of the geese.
Looking around, I noticed a few turkey vultures sitting in the tops of some trees across the river beyond the island, testing their wings, waiting for the climbing sun to warm them up before they began their day's scavenging flights. The big birds were located perhaps 250 feet away. Much too distant for more than a mediocre shot.
The buzzards are only recently returned from their winter vacations in the South. In fact, these birds are just the early arrivals, a fraction of the 175—200 number of the spring-through-autumn flock that typically roosts in the tops of the island’s big sycamores. The full group won’t manage to get themselves assembled for several more weeks.
After a few additional shots—of sunlight on trees, a cloud or two, and crocus biding their time until a higher sun triggered their opening—I figured I’d go back inside and let the geese have at their breakfast. So I headed down the hall to my workroom to check e-mail and upload my photos.
I hadn't yet plugged the camera into the computer when I looked out the window and saw a Cooper’s hawk sitting on the stump end of the old Christmas tree, which I recycle as a handy refuge for just this reason: when the hawk suddenly appears, the ground feeders—sparrows, wrens, doves, etc.—have a nearby hidey-hole. (I posted about this in January, REFUGE…NOT REFUSE! here)
Some days, when I’m working long hours at my desk and happen to look up at the right moments, I watch the fleeing birds use this hideout tree two or three different times. The wily hawk makes regular rounds and repeats its visits throughout the day. Most times, the tree-hidden birds outsmart the Cooper’s, flying out one side while their would-be killer pokes his hooked beak in the other. A few days ago, though, I saw the hawk plunge into the Christmas tree and come out with a titmouse in his talons. Still, the recycled Christmas tree saves a lot of lives—and I’m glad I didn’t decide to move it yesterday when I spent a few hours giving the yard a spring raking.
The final shot, taken perhaps two minutes after the hawk’s (victimless) departure, was of a perky cardinal at the feeder just beyond my workroom window. Here along the river, the redbirds are whistling longer and louder with each passing day: “Spring is here, the sun is shining, and all you lucky ladybirds can’t possibly fail to notice what a handsome fellow I am in my bright scarlet feathers!”
