"Here comes the sun (du dn du du)
Here comes the sun.
And I say,
It’s alright."
(Thank you, George Harrison and The Beatles.)
After days of clouds, rain, and shivery temps, we’re edging toward summer. This past week—brrrr—chilly. Temps sunk to the low 30s, highs hovered in the low 40s.
Is this typical weather for this time of year? I remember that our first few years here (2004? 2005?) I offered free t’ai chi chih classes at Memorial Park in downtown Bayfield, mid-May through mid-June. The event was part of the Chamber’s “Bayfield in Bloom” promotion.
Hardy folks showed up at some of my practice sessions wearing winter coats, hats, scarves and mittens. So, yeah, this is typical weather. It’s easy to forget from one year to the next how slowly the South Shore of Lake Superior eases into summer.
Vegetable seeds are in the ground. Thanks to much-needed rain we’re soaking in green. A few varieties of lettuce and sugar snap peas peek hopefully out of the earth. As far as swiss chard, red kale, and tomatoes plants go—not much growth—but they haven’t frozen yet!!! One night, nervous about a potential freeze, we hauled out old blankets to cover our babies.
Speaking of babies … We suspect our Eastern Phoebe’s eggs hatched out last weekend. On Saturday we heard a screeching “phoe-be” in the yard right outside our front door. “It sounds like a birth announcement,” said Frances. Was Dad spreading the news to the neighborhood? It certainly felt that way.
Mama bird now sits higher in her nest (above the kitchen window). In these temps I imagine it’s a challenge to keep her scantily-feathered babies warm. I also heard tiny peeps. Did I hear tiny peeps? Though we’ve not seen heads or beaks yet, fledglings have 15 to 16 days to mature before they take off for parts unknown.
We’ll watch closely over the next few weeks. Soon we’ll have a crew of starving, persistent peepers demanding breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snaks. It’s fun to catch glimpses of Mom and Dad as they feed insects to their young. Perhaps this year once again we’ll witness several of the fledglings as they swoop down out of their nest and into the air. They’re great reminders that it’s okay to leave security behind as we wing ourselves into the future … whatever it holds.
Showing posts with label fledglings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fledglings. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Taking Flight
SATURDAY, JUNE 21, 2008, 10:00 am
I’m on the deck watching two goldfinches at the feeder, one adult and one fledgling (?). The one I call fledgling is smaller, less colorful, with a skinnier head and neck and more plain looking ... I’d call him “unfinished.” As they sit on the wire before flying to the feeder, the babe cries out high-pitched needy sounds. Could they be father and son? I don’t know the parenting habits of finches so it’s all a guess.
We’re still anticipating the departure of our eastern phoebe nestlings from their home above the kitchen window. This morning I saw two of the four “twiddly butts”--that’s what Frances calls them--with faces to the wall and butts pointed out into the world. I’m anxious, thinking that they’ll be gone soon and I’ll miss their presence.
SUNDAY, JUNE 22, 2008, 7:30 am
Yes!!! Our eastern phoebes took flight this morning! I was busy with morning chores but sneaked a peak at their nest and saw the fledglings positioned differently. Beaks pointed out from the nest instead of inward toward the house. I felt a sense of alertness and expectancy. An hour later as I prepared my own breakfast I checked the nest again. Only one baby remained. It stood sleepily on the human-built deck beneath its nest then gradually turned its head and blinked its eyes. I sat quietly, watching, since I knew that the end/beginning was near. Before long it casually flung itself into the air and was gone.
I still marvel at the sight of fledglings leaving the nest. (See last year’s blog dated July 2, 2007.) Just 15-16 days after breaking out of their eggshells, eagerly accepting insects from their parents’ beaks, and quickly growing to almost-full size (7”), they venture into the world. They’ve never flown prior to this day yet they glide and lift gracefully into the unknown. They’re good role models for adult humans who hesitate, procrastinate, and exasperate themselves and each other with their timidity and hesitancy to take a risk, to try something new ... to spread their wings.
Ah yes, the next time I’m reluctant to push beyond my comfort zone I’ll remember the eastern phoebe fledglings who vacated their nest on untested wings and soared through the air to their next grand adventure.
I’m on the deck watching two goldfinches at the feeder, one adult and one fledgling (?). The one I call fledgling is smaller, less colorful, with a skinnier head and neck and more plain looking ... I’d call him “unfinished.” As they sit on the wire before flying to the feeder, the babe cries out high-pitched needy sounds. Could they be father and son? I don’t know the parenting habits of finches so it’s all a guess.
We’re still anticipating the departure of our eastern phoebe nestlings from their home above the kitchen window. This morning I saw two of the four “twiddly butts”--that’s what Frances calls them--with faces to the wall and butts pointed out into the world. I’m anxious, thinking that they’ll be gone soon and I’ll miss their presence.
SUNDAY, JUNE 22, 2008, 7:30 am
Yes!!! Our eastern phoebes took flight this morning! I was busy with morning chores but sneaked a peak at their nest and saw the fledglings positioned differently. Beaks pointed out from the nest instead of inward toward the house. I felt a sense of alertness and expectancy. An hour later as I prepared my own breakfast I checked the nest again. Only one baby remained. It stood sleepily on the human-built deck beneath its nest then gradually turned its head and blinked its eyes. I sat quietly, watching, since I knew that the end/beginning was near. Before long it casually flung itself into the air and was gone.
I still marvel at the sight of fledglings leaving the nest. (See last year’s blog dated July 2, 2007.) Just 15-16 days after breaking out of their eggshells, eagerly accepting insects from their parents’ beaks, and quickly growing to almost-full size (7”), they venture into the world. They’ve never flown prior to this day yet they glide and lift gracefully into the unknown. They’re good role models for adult humans who hesitate, procrastinate, and exasperate themselves and each other with their timidity and hesitancy to take a risk, to try something new ... to spread their wings.
Ah yes, the next time I’m reluctant to push beyond my comfort zone I’ll remember the eastern phoebe fledglings who vacated their nest on untested wings and soared through the air to their next grand adventure.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Fly Away (from) Home
July 2, 2007. Today was the day.
I breakfasted on the front porch in order to observe our Eastern Phoebe fledglings as I ate. They certainly were noisier ... and larger. One parental feeding revealed four baby birds, as evidenced by four beaks pointed straight up to receive one much-awaited insect, not three babies as previously thought.
The peeping continued unabated until I opened the front door underneath their nest to let the cat out. Suddenly, all was quiet. The most visible baby directly in front stretched, spread its wings, then turned and climbed over her/his siblings' heads to relocate in the rear.
One parent flew near the nest several times which inspired a loud and insistent chorus but no meal was forthcoming. Clearly, no amount of lobbying was going to draw mom or dad closer. Unexpectedly, all four birds began to push and agitate for a better location. One baby, now several, tumbled out of the nest onto their human-built wooden deck. Wings stretched and babies moved, hopped, and turned. Suddenly and unexpectedly, one fledgling took flight and landed on the branch of a nearby tree. Just like that! Could it be that easy?
Within a minute or two each bird swooshed into the air to the cover of the nearby forest until there was only one fledgling left. S/he was, actually, the first baby to tumble out of the nest onto the deck. After tipping close to the edge several times and waiting, waiting, waiting to no avail, this bird, too, swooped to a nearby branch. The nest was empty!
Both Frances and I climbed a ladder to confirm that the nest was vacant. Now I know what empty nest syndrome feels like! I miss those little peepers. Life won't be the same without them right outside my kitchen window. I hope I continue to hear and see them in the coming days.
(Photos to come when we figure out how to upload and post them!)
I breakfasted on the front porch in order to observe our Eastern Phoebe fledglings as I ate. They certainly were noisier ... and larger. One parental feeding revealed four baby birds, as evidenced by four beaks pointed straight up to receive one much-awaited insect, not three babies as previously thought.
The peeping continued unabated until I opened the front door underneath their nest to let the cat out. Suddenly, all was quiet. The most visible baby directly in front stretched, spread its wings, then turned and climbed over her/his siblings' heads to relocate in the rear.
One parent flew near the nest several times which inspired a loud and insistent chorus but no meal was forthcoming. Clearly, no amount of lobbying was going to draw mom or dad closer. Unexpectedly, all four birds began to push and agitate for a better location. One baby, now several, tumbled out of the nest onto their human-built wooden deck. Wings stretched and babies moved, hopped, and turned. Suddenly and unexpectedly, one fledgling took flight and landed on the branch of a nearby tree. Just like that! Could it be that easy?
Within a minute or two each bird swooshed into the air to the cover of the nearby forest until there was only one fledgling left. S/he was, actually, the first baby to tumble out of the nest onto the deck. After tipping close to the edge several times and waiting, waiting, waiting to no avail, this bird, too, swooped to a nearby branch. The nest was empty!
Both Frances and I climbed a ladder to confirm that the nest was vacant. Now I know what empty nest syndrome feels like! I miss those little peepers. Life won't be the same without them right outside my kitchen window. I hope I continue to hear and see them in the coming days.
(Photos to come when we figure out how to upload and post them!)
Monday, July 2, 2007
Nestlings, June 30
The Eastern Phoebe nest above our kitchen window contains several young 'uns hatched more than a week ago, family size uncertain. First we heard tiny peeps through our open window. Then, when a parent flew in for feedings, Frances dashed from kitchen to porch to peer at the nest. Finally some tiny heads surfaced!
Initially several baby heads were mostly visible over the edge of the nest though eyes were closed and bodies asleep. Since I could see only heads with a fluff of down protruding from the crowns I wondered, is this where the phrase "sleepyhead" originated?
Now as bodies expand and grow feathers, nest size shrinks. More body parts emerge into view. Frances just took a picture that indicates at least three siblings share these living quarters.
This is our third year of conscientious Eastern Phoebe co-parenting. Initially a pair constructed their nest of mud, grass, and moss above the narrow strip of window frame under the front eaves of our house. We marveled at their derringdo, balancing nest and young atop such a fragile foundation. Last year we grew tired of the mud and dirt slopped across our just-washed windows during nest reconstruction. Frances added a small wooden shelf beneath their nesting site which she attached to a piece of wood that spanned the window. It provided the Phoebes with nest space AND a deck.
This year, nest construction went so smoothly that we were minimally aware of parental comings and goings. According to our bird guides, fledgling stage lasts a mere 15-16 days so these babes will vacate their nest long before we're ready to see them go. Last year they launched their first flight on a day drenched with unending downpours. We worried whether these novice pilots could survive such a storm after vacating their safe, dry home. It's our best guess that they did since they're back again this year.
The Eastern Phoebe is one of the most identifiable bird species I've met here. Their characteristic repetitious song "phoe-be" is a favorite refrain. A species of flycatcher, they perch on an exposed tree branch right beside our porch from which they sail forth on their short insect hunting expeditions. To me, their most distinctive and endearing feature is the tail bobbing they engage in while at rest.
What a gift we have in these wee gray-green birds who bring daily enjoyment to our life in the forest. We couldn't ask for a better tenant to share space under our roof.
Initially several baby heads were mostly visible over the edge of the nest though eyes were closed and bodies asleep. Since I could see only heads with a fluff of down protruding from the crowns I wondered, is this where the phrase "sleepyhead" originated?
Now as bodies expand and grow feathers, nest size shrinks. More body parts emerge into view. Frances just took a picture that indicates at least three siblings share these living quarters.
This is our third year of conscientious Eastern Phoebe co-parenting. Initially a pair constructed their nest of mud, grass, and moss above the narrow strip of window frame under the front eaves of our house. We marveled at their derringdo, balancing nest and young atop such a fragile foundation. Last year we grew tired of the mud and dirt slopped across our just-washed windows during nest reconstruction. Frances added a small wooden shelf beneath their nesting site which she attached to a piece of wood that spanned the window. It provided the Phoebes with nest space AND a deck.
This year, nest construction went so smoothly that we were minimally aware of parental comings and goings. According to our bird guides, fledgling stage lasts a mere 15-16 days so these babes will vacate their nest long before we're ready to see them go. Last year they launched their first flight on a day drenched with unending downpours. We worried whether these novice pilots could survive such a storm after vacating their safe, dry home. It's our best guess that they did since they're back again this year.
The Eastern Phoebe is one of the most identifiable bird species I've met here. Their characteristic repetitious song "phoe-be" is a favorite refrain. A species of flycatcher, they perch on an exposed tree branch right beside our porch from which they sail forth on their short insect hunting expeditions. To me, their most distinctive and endearing feature is the tail bobbing they engage in while at rest.
What a gift we have in these wee gray-green birds who bring daily enjoyment to our life in the forest. We couldn't ask for a better tenant to share space under our roof.
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