Spring Colour

Day 209: My yard is beginning to colour even though the flower beds immediately below my windows are only beginning to bud for the most part. Lilac scents the air, the pink dogwood wears a rosy crown although its lower branches are rather thin, the Sitka mountain-ash promises a bounty of fruit for the cedar waxwings and robins this fall. A few straggly Lily-of-the-valley survived my remake of the front bed, and will soon be overtopped by alliums, now still in the "knobby-wand" stage of development. The peonies have walnut-sized buds with rich blood-red peeking through the initial cracks, and a few columbines have spread their skirts. Still, it feels like we're off to a slow start here. Nights remain chilly even when daytime temps hit the 70s. I have to keep reminding myself that it isn't even mid-May yet.

Awaiting Waxwings

Day 289: A little over a month ago, I had a solitary juvenile Cedar Waxwing (Bombycilla cedrorum) perch on the shepherd's-hook immediately outside the window. I hope he was taking notes, because the Sitka Mountain-ash berries are beginning to ripen, and there's nothing Cedar Waxwings like better. They (the berries) are in somewhat short supply this year due to bizarrely fluctuating weather in June, 90 one day, nearly freezing the following night, a pattern which played hob with many of my plants including the hardy kiwis. Nevertheless, there are enough mountain-ash berries on my two trees to keep a small flock of Waxwings happy for a day or two, and the ones they don't eat will be gobbled up by migrating robins. Both species of bird like the fruit a bit past its sell-by date when the pith begins to get somewhat winy. I'm not expecting Waxwings for two or three more weeks, but I hope that solo visitor carried the message home.

Red-Breasted Sapsucker

Day 178: You have to wonder how this bird got its common name, because although its head is red and the colour continues on the throat, it only extends a small distance down the breast. Why then is this a Red-Breasted Sapsucker? Sphyrapicus ruber is a woodpecker found only in the western part of the US, but occurs along the west coast from the Alaskan border through California and marginally into Nevada. They feed on sap and the insects drawn to it, drilling in a wide variety of native trees including Doug-fir. Mine seems particularly attracted to my Sitka Mountain-ash, as is evidenced by the neat lines of  'pecker holes in the bark. In fact, one particularly diligent bird topped my tallest Sorbus, and although I appreciated the help (it was too tall for me to manage), it was not work I had contracted and came as a bit of a surprise one morning when I looked out and saw a ten-foot length of the main trunk across my driveway. The break point had been holed to such an extent that it snapped under its own weight. Later, I discovered that the bird had apparently been drawn by ash-borers, and was not simply performing pruning duties but was in fact ridding my garden of a nasty pest. Thanks, Sappy!

Gate Crashers

Day 350: You know the profile. There's always the group who arrive at the party half an hour early, and start in on the food as soon as it's put on the buffet. Robins...American Robins...Turdus migratorius...are rude. A flock of at least two dozen showed up this morning to start in on the Sitka mountain-ash berries. I can only hope the Cedar Waxwings arrive while there are still some left. Okay, I appreciate the cleaning service, because a driveway full of mountain-ash berries leaves your shoes rather sticky after you've gone out to get the mail, but I did not put out this banquet for gluttons. It was meant to nourish the Waxwings as they begin their long journey southward. Robins migrate, yes, but not as far. Still, I suspect a flare has gone up, and it won't be long before the Waxwings notice the increased activity in my yard. They'll be here, and I'll be watching for them.

Waiting For Waxwings

Day 291: Many plants and animals and undergoing phenologic shifts due to the changing climate, and because some are drifting toward earlier seasons and others to later ones, this can be critical. We are seeing wildflower blooms before the arrival of species-specific pollinators, with the consequence that the wildflower species do not set seed and the pollinators go hungry if they cannot adapt to other food sources (and many are not biologically equipped to do so). Another glaring example of radical phenologic divergence is taking place right in my own yard. For the last several years, the fruits on my Sitka Mountain-ash (Sorbus sitchensis) have been ripening earlier and earlier. Now almost a month ahead of its original period, the fruit is colouring while the Cedar Waxwings (Bombycilla cedrorum) are still far to the north where food is plentiful. At the same time, the Waxwings have been arriving here later and later, and last year, the berries had already begun to fall from the Mountain-ash before they showed up in late October. This native tree is one of their primary food sources during the autumn migration. If the berries are gone when the Waxwings arrive, many will not survive their southward journey. In the long term, this may lead to a change in the Waxwings' range, extending it northward and reducing it to the south. However, the operative word in the last sentence is "may." If the Waxwings and Sitka Mountain-ash fail to perform in parallel, one or both may not survive as species.

Where Have All The Berries Gone?

Day 14: And just that quick, there they were! Had I not looked up at the precise moment I did, I would have assumed that the robins had cleaned the tree, but when I raised my eyes from my needlework, I saw the distinctive Zorro mask. "THEY'RE HERE!!!" I shouted exultantly. "THE WAXWINGS ARE HERE!!!" Quite literally, within five minutes, they had stripped the tree of every berry they deemed ripe enough to consume, leaving roughly 10% for the robins who accordingly polished off most of the remainder as well as those on the ground. And then, the Waxwings simply disappeared, their work here done for the season. That said, the robins had gobbled all of the berries from the smaller tree prior to the occasion and quite a few from the larger one (a nursery cultivar which ripens a week or so later), leaving some of the Waxwings wondering where their food source had gone. I can only hope they found enough to carry them through the next leg of their journey.

In The Absence Of Waxwings

Day 13: Not a single Cedar Waxwing has come to my yard this fall, nor have they shown up in Cornell's Birdcast migration data for my county. They passed through in the spring, so I can only assume that the recent abundance of wildfire smoke has directed them to another route. That said, my Sitka Mountain-ash trees were laden with berries, and some had begun to drop onto my gravel driveway. Raking leaves out of gravel is one thing, messy berries quite another. I wondered what I was going to do without my clean-up crew. I needn't have worried. A flock of American Robins (Turdus migratorius) cleaned one tree in a matter of days and are now working diligently on the second. They are even foraging deep in the junipers for the ripest berries. Boozy birdies, some of them seem a little shaky on their pins for having overindulged on those which have begun to ferment.

Aphelocoma Californica, California Scrub-jay

Day 338: In 2016, the American Ornithological Union determined that the western race of scrub-jay was comprised of two sufficiently distinct species and separated them into their own taxons, Aphelocoma woodhouseii and Aphelocoma californica. The "new" California Scrub-jay is larger and brighter in colour than Woodhouse's, and its bill is heavier. Its range extends from southern British Columbia through the coastal states and Baja; on the other hand, Woodhouse's Scrub-jay resides inland in the southwest desert. Many people call either bird a "blue jay," but despite being both a jay and blue, that term only applies to the eastern Blue Jay, Cyanocitta cristata. Perhaps the most noticeable characteristic for distinguishing the two where their ranges overlap is the lack of a crest on the Scrub-jay's head. In fact, its taxonomy describes it: "aphelo-" meaning "smooth" and "-coma" means "hair." California Scrub-jays are most commonly found in oak groves like those of the southwest Washington prairies, but for the last several years, Scrubby has come for a brief stay here in the mountains. I hope he leaves some of those mountain-ash berries for the Waxwings.

Waiting For Waxwings

Day 328: The vigil has begun. At some point in the next few weeks, the Cedar Waxwings should be making their fly-over and will undoubtedly stop for lunch when they spy such a lavish spread of Sitka Mountain-ash berries on the two trees in my yard. One tree is a transplanted native, the other (this one) a commercial cultivar. Other than the native being somewhat smaller because it is younger, both trees produce prodigious amounts of berries, and if it wasn't for those dear Waxwings being on the job, my driveway would be a sticky mess. Trust me, I know. One year, the Waxwings passed over without stopping. When the berries dropped, you couldn't see gravel under the boughs. This is the price we sometimes are asked to pay when we create gardens to attract birds, bees and other critters. Sometimes they don't show up, and then we are saddled with clean-up duties. But for the joy that those Waxwings bring me for the few short days they are here, I'm willing to bucket out berries on the years they miss. It doesn't happen often. My trees are on their map.

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

Day 344: Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so the big question is: Where are my Cedar Waxwings? I have been asking that since the middle of August when the Mountain-ash berries first turned orange, and I have not seen a single bird. It's uncharacteristic of them to give my yard a miss, especially when the table is laid so lavishly. That said, the Chickadees have returned from summer vacation, although they are as yet hesitant to come to my hand for sunflower seeds. The familiarization process must start again, particularly with young birds who have no memory of the outstretched palm. Likewise, older birds will be cautious until they are certain the human perch means them no harm. Still, their cheerful presence is some consolation for the marked lack of  Waxwings.

Calling All Waxwings!

Day 291: The table is set, and I am expecting company. Any day now, a Cedar Waxwing will notice that the Sitka Mountain-ash berries have turned orange. Another bird will follow that one, and another and another, and easily within the space of five days, the tree will be stripped bare. It was precisely for this reason that I planted the tree: to provide a feast for guests who come to stay for a fleeting few days each autumn. To be sure, they'll leave behind a mess in my driveway, but the trade-off is worth it to see their soft, smooth colours and bold black masks where they perch among the foliage, the illusion of light and shadow artfully portrayed by their feathers. Come one, come all! I'm waiting for you, Waxwings!

I Am Light, I Am Shadow

Day 352: People might wonder why anyone would plant a tree which would drop a messy load of berries in their yard come autumn. It's for this, this right here: a once-a-year, hit-or-miss, might-happen-or-not event lasting a few days at most. Of course, I am speaking of the arrival of the Cedar Waxwings (Bombycilla cedrorum), to my way of thinking one of the most beautiful birds of the Pacific Northwest. A few days ago, the American Robins began working on the berries on the smaller of my two Mountain-ash trees, a native shrub rather than a cultivar like the larger one which overhangs my driveway, so I have been on a window vigil, hoping to catch sight of a Waxwing. Yesterday, deep in the shadows of the leaves, I spotted something not-Robin. It seemed to have a freckled breast, and that threw me off for a few minutes until I checked my field guide. Have I really never seen a young Waxwing before? The adults have a clear breast, so clear and uniform in colour that it looks painted, but yes, the juveniles are mottled and blotched. The youngster stayed hidden as much as he could, only tempted out as far as the juicy berries borne on a branch tangled into the neighbouring dogwood. Others were more brazen, but still gave way when an influx of clumsy robins overwhelmed them. I watched as bunch after bunch of orange berries disappeared into hungry mouths. I think the supply will last two or three more days at most. Then the brief harvest festival of Waxwing Days 2020 will have passed into history.

Western Scrub-Jay, Aphelocoma Californica

 

Day 348: An infrequent visitor to my yard, a Western Scrub-Jay (Aphelocoma californica, also commonly called California Scrub-Jay) came calling yesterday and sat still long enough for me to get a photo through the window. This species has proved elusive for me photographically. I often saw them when I was bicycling the Chehalis-Western Trail, perching on phone lines just beyond reasonable zoom distance from my lens and invariably flying off if I tried to move closer. I suspect their shyness would diminish as they became familiarized with a feeding station, thinking of my mother's claim that her Steller's Jays were skittish, moving if she so much as blinked, quite a contrast to the brazen bunch around my home. I can hope that Scrubby will stick around, although in past years his residency has been limited to a few days at most. According to the field guides, the species is roughly the same size as Steller's, but Western Scrub-Jay gives the appearance of being a little bigger than Steller's in my experience. His colouration is reminiscent of the true Blue Jay, and that lovely white tuxedo bib is a give-away as to his identity.

Definitely Anna's

Day 322: There was still some lingering doubt in my mind regarding my identification of what appeared to be an Anna's...no, a swarm of Anna's Hummingbirds visiting my yard. I'd never confirmed the presence of Anna's here before, although there was that one incident with the funny-coloured "Rufous" female at the feeder about ten years ago, captured only on video as a darting blur which may or may not have had a grey belly and a flash of red under the chin. But yesterday while I was riding my exercise bike, camera at my side just in case, half a dozen that-can't-be-Rufouses showed up, popcorning between the Sitka Mountain-ash and the feeder in the fuchsias. Then one perched on the preferred branch of the mountain-ash, remaining in place for several minutes as I stopped pedalling and picked up the camera. Then I got off the bike and edged closer...and closer...and closer...and..."Oh, look at those freckles!" I said in observation of the breast, "And you have a dark patch...was that a wink of red?...under your little chin!" The light had to be just right to catch it, and the camera did not, but it was enough to confirm that yes, the Ash Group is definitely comprised of Anna's, juveniles and females, and very possibly at least one subadult male. It's been an exciting summer at the feeders!

Leaves

Day 309: Here's a quick lesson in basic botany, presented in the form of a visual quiz. Don't worry, you won't be graded on your response.

We talk about leaves in many ways, throwing around words like "serrulate" and "runcinate" to describe their margins, referring to their tips as "cirrose," "aristate" and so on, "obelliptic" and "flabellate" for their shapes, but in the most elementary terms, leaves can be placed in one of two categories: simple or compound. A simple leaf is just that: it has a central vein and if it is lobed (think of an oak leaf), the most deeply cut portion of the lobes do not reach the central vein. It is generally attached to the main stem of the plant by a petiole (stalk). Please note that I said "generally." Sessile (stalkless) forms do occur. A compound leaf is made up of multiple leaflets arising from a single petiole, and compound leaves can be palmate (shaped like a hand) or pinnate (resembling a feather).

I promised you a quick lesson, so I won't go any further down the rabbit hole than this. From left to right, top row: 1) Golden Chain Tree, 2) Red Alder, 3) Sitka Mountain-ash; bottom row: 4) Vine Maple, 5) Philadelphus, 6) Horse Chestnut. Categorize these six leaves as follows: simple, palmately compound, pinnately compound.

And there. You learned a couple of new words in a relatively painless manner.

Answers: elpmis, evif, ruof, owt; dnuopmoc yletamlap, xis dna eno; dnuopmoc yletannip, eerht.

The Anna's Tree

Day 304: The larger of my two Sitka mountain-ash trees shall forevermore be known as the Anna's Tree. I have never had Anna's hummingbirds in my yard, but that is what I have concluded these are (juveniles) after careful examination of multiple photos and observing them as they hover at the hardy fuchsias. There is no evidence of rufous colouration on the tails, and they are definitely "dingy grey-green" on their tummies. I first noted them while I was riding my exercise bike about a week ago. Something just didn't look right about them. "Huh," I said aloud, "that doesn't look like a Rufous. Could it...nah, must be the light." I couldn't get a clear view at the time with the sun in my eyes, but when they perched on the mountain-ash, another observation filtered its way up from my subconscious: the green feathers on their backs had a different tonal quality, bluish, but so subtly different that again, it might have been a deception of the light. Their behaviour was different, too. The Rufouses perch in the contorted filbert or dart in among the leaves of the Japanese maple. These little buggers stick exclusively to the mountain-ash, and there are...well, maybe not millions, but there must be at least ten, all of which go from fuchsia to tree repeatedly, sometimes with three or four perched in the tree almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Admittedly, I fudged this photo a bit to have both of them in focus by stacking two images, but this was the view through the lens. I've moved the feeder to hang just above the fuchsias, immediately outside my front window. Hopefully, I'll get an even closer look once theiy figure out where it is.

Western Tanager Female

Day 296: When I cannot go into Nature, Nature comes to me. Pedalling strongly on my exercise bike, I was watching for the butterfly I suspected of being an Orange-Tip and had the camera within arm's reach atop the recycle bin. A flutter of yellow pulled my eyes away from the hawkweed and into the branches of the Sitka mountain-ash, now heavily laden with bright orange berries. It took me a few seconds to find the bird, longer to find it in the lens, and when it was at last in my view, I said, "Well, who are you, then? You're not a Parrot, and you're certainly not a Goldfinch. You're too big to be a Wobbler" (my term for warblers). "Who the heck are you? Oh, I know! I bet you're a lady Tanager!" I recalled having seen a splash of orange amid the deep shadows of the contorted filbert's leaves a few days earlier, and possibly another instance of "orange flash" in the tangle of Philadelphus stems in the back yard, both typical of the type of sighting the males usually give me: a wink of colour which I can't even say for certain is a bird except that it would have to be, all other factors considered. Ms. Tanager sat on her bough long enough for me to get several photos which were sufficient to confirm my identification: young or molting female Western Tanager, Piranga ludoviciana. I wonder where her boyfriend is? And more to the point, do I now have a breeding pair? Oh, that would be exciting news! I seldom see one more than once every few years.