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.

Varied Thrush, Ixoreus Naevius

Day 14: Varied Thrush (two of them, actually) was doing an astonishingly good job of blending into the rich fall of Japanese maple leaves, and hopping about on a bug hunt which made the bird very difficult to track through the lens. Soon, his diet will shift from insects to berries, notably snowberry and mountain ash, both of which are present in my yard. I seldom saw Thrush here until the mountain ash reached maturity and began to bear fruit, and now I count them among my "regulars." The female of the species (shown here) is slightly browner than the male and wears a washed-out breast band as opposed to the male's distinctive black cummerbund. Young birds may be easily mistaken for females, but can be separated by a lighter "eyebrow" and a greyer breast. Like the American Robin to which they are related, Thrush may rebuild their nests in the same location each year, often stacking new material on top of the old base. Regrettably, this very preference has led to the species being listed as in steep decline as the old-growth forests which have provided suitable habitat are being logged off. If I can see the benefits of conservation right here in my own front yard in just the space of a few years, what makes it so hard for others to understand?

Becaws It's Hallowe'en

Day 18: We're a bit short on cornfields around here, but Happy Hallowe'en from Crow!

Hangin'

Day 48: Yesterday afternoon, the temperature dropped so quickly that icicles even formed at the tips of the Japanese maple's few remaining leaves, and today, it has not risen above freezing. The good news is that it should be warmer tonight, if only by a few degrees, and will mark the start of a slow warming trend until we're back to rain by the end of the week. You can't win in the Pacific Northwest. If it's dry, it's cold. If it's warm, it's wet.

The Rustling Of Leaves

Day 29: "Is it real, or is it Memorex?" If you had your eyes shut, you might find it difficult to distinguish between the sounds made by the crisping leaves of the Japanese maple and my mother's Bakelite necklace. As a child, I was sometimes allowed to play with her jewelry, and no piece fascinated me more than the three strands of maple leaves. An inconvenient item to wear (it tends to clump just like the real thing), it is a delight to handle, and the rustling noise it makes sends your thoughts to running with abandon through the debris of autumn. The color brings to mind caramel apples and cider, pumpkins and scarecrows and black cats sitting tall on bales of hay. I find myself wishing for an excuse to wear it, but then as I drape it around my neck, my memory fails to bring up any image of my mother with leaves under her chin. I think perhaps she was enchanted by the sound and feel as I am. Who needs functionality, anyway?