Evening Grosbeak Female

Day 214: Few things in life are certain: death, taxes and Murphy's Law. The latter was in full effect on Saturday when I should have been able to rack up several more species for Global Big Day but for the sudden disappearance of a few of my more common birds. And true to form, over the following two days, several of them showed up: the Red-winged Blackbirds (normally a constant nuisance), Canada Geese and a Red-breasted Sapsucker. On the other hand, only the atomic clock is more reliable than Evening Grosbeaks who have discovered an unlimited supply of black-oil sunflower seed, and they were arguably my most abundant bird in the count, even topping Steller's Jays. I never get tired of photographing them, and this was my best capture of a female. They'll be around all summer, sometimes in smaller numbers, sometimes greater, filling the air with their chirps.

Parrot Season

Day 202: They're here, and they think they're starving! Yes, both species of "parrots" have returned to my feeders in droves. The amount of seed these birds can put away never ceases to amaze me. Sitting in the chair closest to the closed double-pane window, my ears are assailed by the sound of seeds being cracked continuously. It's not unlike the crackle of a fire on a chilly winter day, and equally warming to my spirit. Black-headed Grosbeaks (Pheucticus melanocephalus, left) sing a melodious carol; Evening Grosbeaks (Coccothraustes/Hesperiphona vespertinus/a, right) speak a strong "CHURP!" to voice appreciation for the ready supply of black-oil sunflower seed I provide. Of all the birds in my yard, hand-sitters aside, none gives me as great pleasure as my horde of "parrots."

Prodigal Parrots

Day 157: Phenology is all about good record-keeping. Even though this isn't the best picture I've ever taken, it serves to document the return of the prodigal parrots (all sons per my single observation) after an absence of roughly six weeks. They've extended their term here over the years, recognizing a Good Thing when they see one, i.e., a seemingly unlimited supply of the black-oil sunflower seed which is their favourite fare. They were only here for a few minutes to check out the feeders, moving on when the neighbour made a crash-bang in his yard. Their beaks are just beginning to turn chartreuse green, a biologic change which comes with mating season. As for their scientific name, that too is in a state of flux. The International Ornithologists' Union currently prefers Hesperiphona, however, the American Ornithological Society still places them in Coccothraustes. That said, both groups agree that they are more closely related to the Hooded Grosbeak and hawfinches than to Black-headed and Rose-breasted and the cardinals. In any event, they'll aways be "Porch Parrots" to me.

There Is Nothing...

Day 295: Friends know the phrase well: "There is nothing...absolutely nothing!...cuter than baby birds!" The last several weeks have provided me with much amusement in the character of newly-fledged Evening Grosbeak kids being fed by one or both parents. There is much to be learned from the patience seen here, and from the occasional demonstration of "tough love"when mom or dad decides it's time for Junior to find food on his own. That said, these are familiar sights. Not so, the youngster who was being instructed in how to drink from the birdbath. A young male, not yet in full colour but with white wing patches fairly well developed, was receiving instruction from Dad: "Look, you bend over, get a beakful of water, tip your head back, and it runs down your throat." The youngster's sense of balance was a little dodgy, and he seemed to be afraid he was going to fall backwards off the rim. He turned around so that his tailfeathers were resting on the bowl, but when he tipped his head back, the tip of his tail slipped to the side and got wet. He shook it off, releasing a sudden Parrot-sized rainstorm. The shower startled him the first time, and then he seemed to realize that the cool water felt good. He decided to forgo drinking lessons in favour of stepping down onto the first tier of the basin for a full and very splashy bath. Dad retreated to the safety of the nearby fence while I watched from the kitchen doorway, wishing I'd had the camera at hand. This breeding season has been one of the most successful so far, with hardly any fatalities. If you're thinking of buying stock, invest in sunflower seeds. I may have to start buying them by the semi-load.

They Came Upon...

Day 64: The holiday guests are beginning to arrive. Roughly half a dozen showed up with the first snowflakes a few days ago, and made themselves right at home. They haven't made their plans clear, and I don't know if they'll only be staying a few days, or if some of them will remain to set the stage for the rest of the flock who will arrive some time in the spring. That some of these birds are return customers is obvious: they know the layout, know that perching on one of the shepherd's-hooks just outside the window is the way to indicate that the table is nearly bare. They've trained me well over the years.

They came upon a morning grey,
The Parrots in a flock
And of my feeders, they did take
A very thorough stock.
"Hey, look, you guys!
There are sunflower seeds
In great abundance here!"
And up I get to fill the tray
When the first "CHURP!" I hear.

Garden Report

Day 278: My gardening is now under supervision. While I was instructing the Mexican Sour Gherkins in proper climbing techniques and wondering how I was ever going to manage to eat all the Akebia fruits from my hand-pollination successes, he landed on the chicken-wire fence to oversee my work. We engaged in eye contact and a one-sided conversation for several minutes, and then he flew down to the ground inside the Berry Pen. He's been on the back porch several times this morning and cleaned up all the "lazy seeds" (shelled sunflower seeds) I laid out for his breakfast. He's beginning to look less tatty as he sheds the last of his baby feathers and his colour starts to come in, but those stubby tailfeathers make me laugh every time I see him. Poor kid's got no rudder! But he flies straight and true, and if anything can be said for his foraging skills, he knows exactly where the food comes from: me.

Follower

Day 277: Let me say this: I enjoy having followers as much as the next person, but this is getting out of hand. Day before yesterday, I had just gone out the back door to take down the swallow houses when a friend showed up with a bag of fresh produce from a local organic grower. I stopped what I was doing to chat with her, and then when she left, I set the bag on the back step and went about my intended task. When I went back in the house, I grabbed the bag and stuffed it in the fridge and then stepped over  to the sink to wash my hands. Before I could turn on the water, a young Grosbeak landed in the window...on the INSIDE. As I wrapped my hands around the poor terrified thing, s/he took hold of my finger in a gentle, not painful bite (and trust me, Grosbeaks can bite hard with those big bills). I released the bird outdoors where it flew off immediately. How it got in is a mystery. I had not left the door open, nor had it flown out of the veggie bag. That leaves only two solutions: it was either on my head and I didn't notice, or it flew/walked in when I came back inside, following me as some of them do, knowing that I am the Bringer of Food.

I'm usually able to identify at least a few individuals among the youngsters each year based on how far their plumage has developed. As I picked my follower up to release him/her, I noticed a broader than usual yellow patch on the right wing and a few tufts of down on the top of the head. The yellow patch didn't register in my mind at first, so I was referring to the bird in the feminine based on the grey colouration. Later, I realized that this was a fledgling male whose colour was just beginning to develop.

Later that same day, I was heartened to see the same bird being fed by its mother. That behaviour told me that it was too young to have been one of the ones I've hand-fed, and therefore it couldn't have imprinted on me. However, an hour or so later, I found it sitting on the step, perhaps waiting for the door into another world to open again. I got down on my hands and knees to open the door, ready to make a grab if my new friend walked inside. I needn't have worried. The door squeaked in its frame and my Follower flew off.

I saw Follower many times yesterday, eating from spilled seed on the ground or tagging after a male who must be Daddy, begging to be fed. But when I went to fill the feeders in the late afternoon, there he was, perched on top of the heat pump housing beside the back door, looking longingly (or so I imagined) at the magic door to Bringer of Food's cozy nest. It's nice to feel appreciated.

Worth More Than Two

Day 248: They say, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." Nope, that's wrong. This right here is worth more than all the gold in Midas' hoard. It's taken several days and a lot of tries to accustom the Porch Parrots to the shiny silver point-and-shoot Sony in my right hand, can of seeds tucked under my arm on the same side. This fellow flew a couple of circles around me before deciding it was safe to land, but once there, he seemed content to stay. Eventually, I moved the hand closer to the feeder and nudged him gently onto the tray, then proceeded to lift the lid to fill it. Did he budge? Nope. Either he was very hungry (not likely!) or he feels confident that the Bringer of Food means no harm to Parrots. Even the sound of a sunflower seed cascade didn't bother him.

Hopping-parrot

Day 147: Meet my newest friend/charge, Hopping-parrot. If you've been following along, you'll understand the "-parrot" portion of his name, but "Hopping" might make you wonder. As it happens, Hopping-parrot has a gamy wing. He can't fly, but he is an expert hopper. He's been with me about three weeks now and I do believe the wing (presumably broken) is growing stronger. He seems to be able to flex it a bit more, even flap it a little, although it's obvious that he doesn't trust it to carry him from the tree to the feeder. He forages on the ground, retreating to the safety of the tree in between meals with a rapid succession of hops which takes him there, and then from branch to branch with clear knowledge of the best routes through the tangled branches. I have observed his behaviour for twenty or thirty minutes several times, watching him exercise the survival strategy which has brought him this far. I have to marvel: where does he go at night to be safe? Does he nestle down in the heart of the winding trunks, out of the reach of raccoons or other predators? Do I see a glint of greater-than-average intelligence in that beady black eye? He must be cleverer than most. He talks to me when I put out seed, although he is not bold enough to approach me...not like the daring, darling chickadee who landed twice on the camera while I was capturing this portrait.

Update 3/13: He flies! I've seen him make it twice from the tree to the feeder (the actual feeder, not to the ground below it), and a couple of times a foot or so between branches. He still prefers hopping, but the wing is obviously on the mend!

Parrot Tree

Day 83: I don't recall that I've explained the whole story, right from the get-go, of how Evening Grosbeaks came to be known as Porch Parrots to my husband and me. It began with his parrot, a very possessive bird who only put up with me in the absence of his Papa. Carlo didn't skirt around his loyalty, and in fact would announce, "Papa's Parrot!" to anyone who got too close before flying off Bruce's shoulder and attacking the interloper. I had double-pierced earlobes long before it became fashionable, thanks to that bird, but when Bruce was at work, Carlo was tractable and even affectionate toward me. My mother, on the other hand, was afraid to come through the door if Carlo was sitting on Bruce's shoulder.

One year's blithe September weather found Bruce and I hiking the Wonderland Trail which circles Mount Rainier. When we arrived at our camp in Summerland, Bruce went off to find water while I set up the tent. Suddenly, he burst back onto the scene, shouting for me to follow: "Mama! Come quick! There's a whole tree full of parrots!" He had never seen an Evening Grosbeak, and although he knew they were not psittacines, the size of their bills suggested the nickname.

When Mount St. Helens blew in 1980, the Grosbeaks were on their spring migration. The blast disrupted their flight, blew them off course toward the west, placing our home in their path. Perhaps it was one bird, perhaps half a dozen who found the seed we put out for the finches in our window boxes, but within a week or so, they arrived en masse. Their occupancy of our porch supplied the adjective, and "Porch Parrots" became a thing.

These days, I use "Parrots" to describe Grosbeaks of either species (Evening and Black-Headed) who dine at my feeders, but "Porch Parrots" is reserved for Coccothraustes vespertinus. This scene, a photograph taken only yesterday in my yard, calls to mind the hundred or so "parrots" Bruce first witnessed decorating a fir tree at Summerland.

How Many Angels...

Day 51: I think I may have come close to answering the age-old question of, "How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" The mob of Porch Parrots (Coccothraustes vespertinus, aka Evening Grosbeaks) descended on the feeders (three feeders, mind you) as soon as I laid out seed, and it was "flapping room only" here when occupancy achieved eight, four on each side. Nine or ten managed to crowd into the two pole-mounted dispensers, but many harsh "CHURP" objections could be heard even from inside the house. Although this image only shows the males, there were ladies present in this flock, unlike the group which came a week or so ago which consisted entirely of boys.

Happy Thanksgiving

Day 44: Happy Thanksgiving from Crow, Tippy and all the well-stuffed "turkeys" who keep me entertained daily. The Porch Parrots (Coccothraustes vespertinus, aka Evening Grosbeaks) happen to be passing through currently, and there are at least two dozen of them vying for space in the feeders. They tend to be rather cranky toward their associates and while many beak-battles ensue, everybody eventually gets a share of the seed. It's kinda like Thanksgiving with the relatives: everybody shouting to try to make themselves heard over all the loud conversation, Aunt Maude engaged in a heated debate with her daughter-in-law over the choice of bowl for the potatoes, the television blaring even though no one is watching it...Grosbeaks can be a noisy lot and everyone has an opinion to air. When all is said and done, though, and the dishes/seed hulls are cleared away and tempers settle, the family acknowledges that its flock-bond is stronger than the arguments. Grosbeaks figured that out long ago.

Box Of Parrots

Day 98: It's not like I only have one bird feeder out there, y'know. It's just that the Parrots know a good thing when they see one, and my house has been on their map for years. All the feeders are full of Parrots. The conversational exchanges are heated to boiling: "Get off! You're standing on my toes!" "That was MY seed!" "You already had three! It's my turn!" "Move over!" "Budge up, you're hogging the tray!" Don't get me wrong. I love my Parrots dearly, but they Do Not Play Well With Other Parrots. Jays, juncos, blackbirds, starlings...they just ignore them, but you let one Parrot move in on another Parrot's territory and the beak battles ensue. Male or female, it makes no difference. Here, the prime motivator is food, not reproduction. My job is to be sure there's enough black-oil seed to keep everybody reasonably happy. Waitaminit...is that feeder empty AGAIN?

Tree Trio

Day 63: I put out the seed first thing in the morning like I normally do, then settled in to work on Mousie's quilt with my back to the window. It wasn't long after that I heard a familiar and unmistakable "CHURP!" I wasn't expecting Porch Parrot guests, but when I turned around and looked at the feeder, it was elbow-room only, at least six Evening Grosbeaks inside and several others perched in the contorted filbert and on the shepherd's hooks nearby. There were at least a dozen, mostly males, demanding that the Chickadees (equally abundant now) budge up and accord them first privilege. I tend to think of my parrots as fair-weather friends, in the sense that they normally only come around in spring and summer, but then I remind myself that it was a cold January and February when I cared for Friend while his broken wing mended and he was able to be released back into the wild. I'd like to believe that one or more of my winter parrots might be descended from him, for surely these are the offspring of his flock, following the same map to my door and the limitless supply of black-oil seed.

Porch Parrots!

Day 174: They're here! Boys and girls both! The Evening Grosbeaks have arrived! Okay, I tell this story every year, but some of my newer readers may have missed the explanation of how Coccothraustes vespertinus came to be called "Porch Parrots" in my household, so here it comes again.

Back when my late husband and I were both much, much younger, we decided to hike the Wonderland Trail, a 90-plus mile circuit around Mount Rainier. We began our trek at the end of the Westside Road (the true end, not today's truncated version) and when we got around to the east side of the Mountain and a little further than halfway on our 12-day journey, we set up camp in a lovely spot called Summerland. As I was setting up the tent, Bruce went out to the creek for water, but came back, excited and beckoning me to "Come quick! I've got a whole tree full of parrots!" Now it must be said that Bruce did know they weren't actually parrots. He wasn't much of a birder, but since we had a parrot at home, the association established by the Grosbeaks' large green bills was only natural. I identified them for him, and his subsequent remark was predictable: "Yeah, those beaks really are gross!"

Like I said, we were much younger in those days, so much younger, in fact, that Mount St. Helens was still a perfect cone at 9677' high. That changed on May 18, 1980, and so did the migratory flight pattern for the Evening Grosbeaks who were passing by at that very moment. Many of those who survived the blast arrived on our doorstep a few days later, burned, sick, their eyes crusted from irritation by the ash and confused by the disruption of their migration. That said, they found our porch window-box feeding station with its unlimited supply of black-oil sunflower seed and decided it was a good place to recover. Dozens of birds died that first season, but our porch went on Coccothraustes' short list for future visits, so much so that we went through over 800 pounds of black-oil seed almost every subsequent summer. Bruce's "parrots" had found a new home on our porch, and "Porch Parrot" was incorporated into the family lexicon.

When Bruce and I split up and went our separate ways, keeping of the Porch Parrots was transferred to one of our old neighbours who to this day, gives reports of their activities in her Christmas letter. I now have my own flock here (sunflower seeds are in the budget, oftentimes at the expense of things like milk and meat), and I am always, always, always thrilled when my avian guests return.

Parrot Tree

Day 137: First, they sent the scouting party and then, after having ascertained that the food source was reliable and replenished daily, the flock booked the Inn of the Contorted Filbert for an indeterminate stay. Guests who return every year, the Porch Parrots...Evening Grosbeaks...are, to put it simply, the most enjoyable gluttons at my feeders. They favour black-oil sunflower seed, and should I happen to let the supply run down, they'll perch on the shepherd's hooks closest to the window and let me know about it with impatient "CHURP!" demands. I've given up keeping a tally of the hundreds of pounds of seed they consume every year, but it's more than 10 fifty-pound bags between April and August, never mind the shoulder seasons. I've been meeting their nutritional requirements for over forty years, first at my home on a SW Washington prairie and now here. The flock I left behind when I moved from the prairie took up with another neighbour who has continued the tradition. My winter flock usually numbers 10-50 (15 in the tree as I write this), but in the summertime, the census more than doubles and adds in the Black-Headed Grosbeaks as well. My yard is always a chorus of happy bird voices, and what better thanks could there be?

Parrot Invasion!

Day 25: What? Who said that? Did I hear an inquiring, "Churp?" I looked up from my crocheting and saw parrots...Porch Parrots, Evening Grosbeaks, Coccothraustes vespertinus, one of my favourite birds and common spring/summer guests at the feeders. I've seen them in January (in fact, if any of you recall the saga of Friend, it took place over three weeks in January and February), but not November, and I certainly wouldn't have expected a flock. It's a small conclave, maybe a dozen or so birds, males and females, but still they made very short work of today's ration of black-oil sunflower seeds. Something tells me I'd better up the quota. Gotta keep the beaks happy!

Spring Beaks

Day 193: One of the happiest moments in my year is when I hear the first "Churp?" of an Evening Grosbeak at the feeder. From that point on, I wait anxiously for the arrival of the flock and the time when the querulous "churping" of porch-parrots outside the window becomes almost constant. Yes, they have arrived and are consuming black-oil sunflower seeds as fast as those great green beaks can crack the shells.

During breeding season (i.e., spring), the beaks of both males and females turn a bright chartreuse. In courting his lady-of-the-moment, the male (right) effects a bobbing dance, sometimes fluttering the wings like a juvenile bird soliciting food. Nest-building is done largely by the female (left) who selects a site in the fork of a branch. Locally, the preferred nest-tree is Douglas Fir, although these birds nest may nest in deciduous trees as well. The female will produce 2-5 eggs (generally 3-4). Incubation is done solely by the female; the male will bring her food. Both parents tend the young who will be ready to fly about two weeks from hatching. During the months they are here, I keep a steady supply of sunflower seed in the feeders to assure the return of the flock next year.

A Day In The Life Of A Naturalist

Day 157: I bring you two unrelated photos today because...well, because the sun was shining and I actually got outdoors! It's been a long, wet winter. Of course the most exciting part of today was the return of Porch Parrots, i.e., Evening Grosbeaks. A female scout showed up yesterday and was followed today by two males. Once the flock arrives in full force, their appetites will be indulged throughout the summer, and they're likely to go through at least 500 pounds of black-oil sunflower seed. I simply *must* keep my Porchies happy!

Having done my duty by my avian friends, I set out for Pack Forest with GPS in hand thinking to do double duty, hiking and conducting a survey of invasive plants while I was at it. You want invasive species? I'll give you invasive species! Scotch Broom, English Ivy, English Holly, Foxglove and even a small handful of young Tansy Ragwort kept me busy. It took two hours just to write the report!

Pair O' Parrots

Day 218: I've spent several hours sitting out on my back step, hoping to capture Brewer's Blackbird through my lens. Brewer's was a Life List sighting for me when they first appeared at the feeder a few days ago, one male and one female. Standing at my window, I remarked on the yellow eye, but as soon as I moved, he was off like a shot. A few hours later, the male returned and fed on the ground, again flying off at my slightest movement. I took up a vigil on the porch, but although other birds flocked to the food, Brewer's never came within range. Purple Finches, Towhees, Cowbirds, Black-Headed Grosbeaks and assorted sparrows visited by the dozens, giving me plenty of photo opportunities, but for today, a "pair o' parrots" (Evening Grosbeaks) stole my heart. Crows and Ravens notwithstanding, Porch Parrots are my favourite people.