Winter Stewardship

No, it wasn't a dream! I really do have a job wandering around outside looking at birds! I worked another shift Monday morning and once again thoroughly enjoyed
myself.



The biggest surprise came early in the shift. While pishing at a flock of chickadees at the edge of the preserve, I noticed a midget of a bird, wings crackling with energy, bouncing around in the underbrush nearby. "Oh, cool, Golden-crowned Kinglet." It had been awhile since I'd seen one in the preserve. Suddenly, the bird, which I had not yet glassed, opened its bill and uttered a snappy jid-it, seemingly indignant I had mistaken him for his cousin. Yes, a Ruby-crowned--a bird worth ignoring in California, but, here in Michigan, an excellent bird for the winter.



Compared to October and November, when the skies are full of flyovers, the January skies are bleak and empty except for the resident Red-tails or geese winging over. It was a pleasant surprise, then, when this Northern Harrier cruised overhead. It was a new campus bird for me.



It was a chilly morning, temperatures lounging a few degrees above freezing. Too warm for snow, but plenty cold for frost and stiff fingers.



The preserve was a farm back in the olden days. Some of the clues to its history are subtle, like the uneven ground from the tilled fields, but others, like the skeleton of this old car, are blatant evidence of the past.



A would-be white landscape now masquerades as a different place, a place much farther to the south with scarce snow, maybe Tennessee. The dearth of snow this winter is frightening. The woods are brown and steel-gray instead of white. Here and there, however, scraps of color--lichens or rose hips--can be found.



Even if it's the "wrong" color, the preserve still an art gallery with innumerable exhibits. Some are only visible if you kneel in the leaf litter with a critical eye. Beetles may belong to the phyla Arthropoda, but their sculpture outdoes that of some human artists I have seen.

What surprises are waiting in the woods for next time?

The Preserve

After a series of boring, frustrating jobs, I've finally landed one I genuinely enjoy: preserve steward in Calvin's ecosystem preserve. My responsibilities? Walk the trails, greet visitors, clear fallen branches, pick up litter, and, oh, watch birds.



It is tempting to surmise that frigid (well, actually, it's been extraordinarily warm this winter) woods are lifeless, but three hours of roaming through them will convince you otherwise. Bird numbers and diversity were low, as would be expected, but my wanderings produced a couple goodies, including a Northern Shrike and a Great Horned Owl. I had packed only my wide-angle lens, so the shrike in this photo may or may not be identifiable.



The woods really are beautiful this time of year. I will cherish the privilege of being paid to wander through them.

Breaking Lunch

I'm a big boy now. I've got a job, I've been through a year of college, and I can go to the bathroom by myself.

Let's focus on that first item. My job this summer--in the Color Lab at Behr Process Corporation in Santa Ana--is a good one, but, when various [former] friends of mine subject me to tales of their awesome field jobs banding shorebirds or killing cowbirds or doing point counts, a significant portion of my soul briefly burns with rage before withering and crumbling away to dust. In a sarcastic--and futile--attempt to prove to myself that I could have just as much fun as they, I decided to stage a Big Lunch Break on Friday at Carl Thorton Park just a mile down the road from work.

Thorton Park is one of those unassuming urban parks with some weary-looking grass, a few small trees, and a murky, concrete-lined pond. Oh, and it is terrible for birding. But, it was with a bold spring to my step that I exited the car while simultaneously stuffing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my mouth, positive that I would make great discoveries in this humble place.

The first bird I saw was a Rock Pigeon.



Things quickly picked up--the next bird was a Western Bluebird! I was actually mildly surprised to end up with two pairs of these...they've obviously invaded every little patch of green in the county over the past couple decades with a rigorous nest-box program.



Things went downhill again, with a House Finch. House Finches were actually plethoric, and I was too lazy to obtain a better photo.



chi-BEER! Woot, a Cassin's Kingbird! Surely the best bird of this mad pursuit, I thought. Ah, being wrong can be so enjoyable sometimes...



Lots of Cliff Swallows were flyin' 'round 'n stuff.



Barn Swallows were also present, and, like the Cliff Swallows, they were flyin' 'round 'n stuff.



It was then that I shifted my gaze to the adjacent schoolyard. A lone European Starling waddled about in the grass, but, to my great agitation, it was positioned between my body and a large gaggle of kids on a playground. I had no desire to be seen aiming a telephoto lens at children, so I set off at a brisk walk to gain a more fortuitous angle on this accursed bird. But, this flying rat had other intentions, and took to the sky before I had the chance to document its presence. I snapped a photo of its departure, and it was fortunate, indeed, that I did, as I did not see another starling the rest of my time there.



I thought it impossible, but then I spotted a bird that overcame the Cassin's Kingbird in greatness. A Western Wood-Pewee!



Unfortunately, there were House Sparrows.



A lone Bushtit fussed about overhead in a pine, uncharacteristically without its menagerie of about sixty comrades. Before complaining about the quality--or lack thereof--of this photo, think, have you ever attempted to hurriedly photograph a caffeinated bird the size of a bumblebee?



Speaking of caffeinated birds the size of bumblebees, I also snagged an Allen's Hummingbird. Much coveted by non-Californians, these little beasts are veritable vermin in Orange County.



Two Mourning Doves lurked outside the fence, and therefore outside the park, but I counted them anyway.



A mother Mallard shepherded her ducklings across the barren lawn to a stinky drainage ditch adjacent to the park. I pitied and despised these ducklings for growing up in such a pathetic place.



A murder of crows eyed the exodus of this young family with obvious interest, and, realizing that the wrath of a hen Mallard is something to be reckoned with, prudently refrained from attack.



An irresistibly cute fledgling Black Phoebe added to the surprising suite of flycatchers in the park.



As is horribly typical of these urban parks, one crippled coot was left over from the winter hoards.



My time was running out. At the last possible second, I scored a Great Horned Owl perched on a nearby roof.



I declare this grand undertaking a resounding success. Fifteen species--excluding the Great Horned Owl, whose origin is disputed--were discovered in forty minutes of birding. Jealous?