Alexandersmap

    Category: Birds

    • Solving the Wren Riddle

      I was clearly wrong. My educated guess was off the mark. My attempts at online research failed. Apps I trusted to point me in the right direction flopped. So it goes.

      I’ve written about my attempts to identify a bird I wasn’t familiar with that has moved into the neighborhood. And not just this neighborhood but I’ve heard a similar song on Cape Cod, as if it was following me across the Bourne Bridge, taunting me all along.  After many fruitless searches I’d finally settled on the Brown Thrasher as the most likely candidate, and have referred to the Brown Thrasher ever since.  But it wasn’t a Brown Thrasher at all.  It was a Carolina Wren.

      The Carolina Wren, as the name indicates, is typically seen (and heard) further south of here.  I’ve seen another “southern bird”‘, the Baltimore Oriole, in Massachusetts and New Hamphire, but this was a new song; a song I couldn’t get out of my head until I solved the riddle.  An app that records birds singing and analyzes it like Shazam continually got the wrong answers.  So I tried a different app, and still continually got the wrong answers.  Frustrated, I emailed the .m4a voice file to Chirp, the second app I tried, and they responded within 24 hours with the elusive answer; Carolina Wren.  A quick search online confirmed this was indeed the singer I’d been searching for all season.  It seems the bird song apps use a strong location filter to eliminate matches that wouldn’t normally be found in your area.  And Carolina Wren’s weren’t thought to settle in New Hampshire so Chirp was eliminating it as a choice.  Well, welcome to the Granite State, my southern friend.

      The New York Times recently published an article detailing the decline of North American birds, and followed that with an article detailing birds moving away from natural territory as the climate changes.  New Hampshire’s Purple Finch is apparently considering a move to other climates.  Thankfully the one’s who visit my backyard haven’t felt so inclined as of yet.  But then again, I have this new visitor to my backyard whom I’ve never had before who might be singing that there’s something to this story after all.

      Carolina Wren teasing me with her song, July 2019

    • And Then Came the Crows

      It was the owls that first woke me. Talking to each other in conspiratorial murmurs.

      As the darkness faded to light they moved on and the brown thrasher took over; ever the early bird.

      Soon the sharp honk of geese flying in tight formation and whooshing feathers carving air to advantage.

      And then came the crows.

      Another Sunday morning with the neighbors at the edge of New Hampshire woods.

    • Hummingbirds Squeak under a Waning Moon… and Other Observations

      Cool enough for a fleece this morning. It seems summer is tilting away faster by the day. The white noise buzz of crickets fills in. Other sounds penetrate. Cars in the distance getting an early start. Birds like my old friend the Brown Thrasher announce their presence, if further away than in July.

      The mornings are especially active now. The bees and hummingbirds flitter from honeysuckle to basil gone to flower and on to the next. Each have a unique sound; not shockingly bees buzz and hummingbirds, well, their wings hum as they zip by you. I smile when the hummingbirds squeak at each other, a chorus of animated bird banter filling the yard. They largely ignore me as I sip coffee and take in the show. As if to mirror them, the squirrels are jumping tree to tree dropping acorns and hickory nuts that thump to the ground for collection later. Two scratch around my favorite white oak tree on the planet, chasing each other in young squirrel frivolity with their own chirping chorus.

      Looking up, the Waning Crescent moon greets me in a crisp blue sky. This is September blue, always embedded on my mind these last 18 years, a reference point anyone around here that day will understand. A reference point from New England to New Jersey. That day remembered in random moments like this, then gently put aside. There’s a collective joy about September in New England, with an undercurrent of sadness for the summer fading away and change in the air. But it’s still August, even if it feels like we’ve crossed. Seasons come and go, and it feels time for summer to move along too.

      Back on earth, there are a few more tomatoes to harvest, a thriving and ironic grape harvest after my public shaming in the spring, fading flowers and herbs to contend with. Like the squirrels I’ve got to get my act together and do some work to prepare for the cooler days and changes ahead. My fingers are cold from sitting outside a layer short of comfortable. Time to move. So much to do and it stirs a restlessness inside of me. But first another coffee.

    • Osprey

      Few birds inspire awe like an osprey as it hovers and dives 30-40 feet to pluck a seafood dinner out of the bay. I’m grateful for digital cameras as I wasted plenty of shots trying to do the osprey hunting overhead justice. Surely a better photographer than me could capture this raptor more impressively, but here is my attempt to capture the majesty of the osprey.

      Buzzards Bay got its name from explorers confusing osprey with buzzards. I don’t dwell much on buzzards, but appreciate the deft flying skill of the osprey as they search for prey or dance together in the sky. They’re the original navy pilots, striking terror in the hearts of fish and small critters alike. Top guns of the bay.