The "Awwww" Factor

Day 88: The "awwww" factor is strong in my yard. This little sweetheart saw me come out the back door with the seed can in my hands, and although Dark-eyed Juncos are too timid (with rare exceptions) to land on a human, he seemed to be thinking seriously about it. I hadn't put out food before leaving for town this morning, and an inch of snow on the ground made foraging harder than usual. I filled both feeders with sunflower seeds and "little" seed (a millet mix), which also brought the Towhees out from hiding in the filbert. No matter how depressing world events are, my birdies never fail to put a smile on my face.

Leucistic Junco

Day 311: Leucism is the result of mutations in the genes producing melanocytes. In birds, it manifests as washed-out colouration, blotchy patches and/or white feathers. Unlike albinism, a leucistic bird's eyes keep their normal colour. The predisposition can be and often is passed on genetically to subsequent generations, so I am left wondering if this youngster is kin to Snowflake, a visitor at my feeders in the winter of 2010 (Snowflake in the Filbert). In the years since, I have almost always had one leucistic Dark-eyed Junco (Junco hyemalis) in my flock. Some had white tails, some white wing feathers. Some, like Snowflake, had white on their faces or heads. One was a "watercolour" version, as if someone had bleached every feather. At first, I thought this was a juvenile in moult, but the overall lightness and abnormally pale beak convinced me otherwise. Strikingly obvious when he flies, the central two feathers of his tail are dark.

First Significant Fall

Day 113: Unless you count the three or four flakes which fell one day in November, this is our first snow of the year. In any event, it's the first significant snow we've seen. Temps have been warmer than those of the last few winters, but it has also been substantially drier with only 3.27" of precipitation recorded by my station for January. The temps are about to drop, and while that usually means we get less precipitation, snow showers are in the forecast for every day next week. I like snow when I can watch it at leisure from the warm confines of my home. I'm not so fond of it when it sets up like concrete and I need to go out for groceries, nor am I fond of temperatures which incline me to wear a hat and long johns indoors. On the other hand, Merry is enjoying this. He spent yesterday entranced by the big, floppy flakes falling from above, and in between showers, it was easier to see the little birdies hopping around beneath the window in search of scattered seed. This brings me to a question: Have you spotted the Junco yet?

Snowbirds

Day 90: The epithet "snowbirds" has always intrigued me. It is used quite differently in different environments. To some, it means the people who fly south to warmer climates as soon as the first flake falls. To others, it means the influx of skiers to the slopes. Since both make equally good sense when applied to humans, I have resolved the quandary with an even more logical definition to eliminate any confusion when I use it in conversation. These are my snowbirds (some of them, anyway), the faithful winter companions who appear regularly at my feeders and knock on my window when the seed supply runs low. Spotted Towhees, Dark-eyed Juncos, soon-to-be-renamed Steller's Jays and Evening Grosbeaks ("Porch Parrots" in my vernacular) are among the most reliable visitors to my yard when snow lies on the ground. Let's hear it for the snowbirds who neither slalom nor suntan!

The Woman Who Held Birds

Day 34: This is another first, and I'm not sure who was more surprised, me or the Dark-eyed Junco at finding that his new "feeder" was warm to the touch. This photo is actually the second one I took, and is possibly a second bird. I had the first shot framed to fit a Chickadee, and when the first Junco landed, the top of its head was off the edge of the image. This bird sat there for some time before choosing a seed, unlike the Chickadees who I call "sorters." The sorters tend to scatter seed until they've found one to their liking, but Junco was very thoughtful about the process. Now I have to say that while Chickadees are known for being friendly, not all birds are as accepting of humans, and Juncos are not a bird you'd expect to have come to your hand. I think that by observing the 'dees eating safely from my palm, the Juncos finally accepted that I was not a serious threat. Even so, I never expected one to go this far.

For the record, I would like to enumerate the wild bird species which have come to my hand: Canada Jays (hard to avoid contact in the backcountry!), a Clark's Nutcracker, a Rufous Hummingbird, Red-breasted Nuthatch, Pine Siskins, Black-capped and Chestnut-backed Chickadees, Dark-eyed Junco and perhaps the most emotional contact of all, an injured Evening Grosbeak who I nursed back to health and returned to the wild. On the day before his release, he held hands with me for a good thirty seconds. I told Kevin yesterday, "This is how I want you to remember me: the woman who held birds." He even took photos of me with a Pine Siskin friend.

What is the measure of wealth? Maybe you made a million dollars before you were forty. I barely scrape by, spending more on birdseed than I do on "people food." I would not trade this for your millions even if I was starving. I am rich beyond measure, because I am the Woman Who Held Birds.

Preferred Branch

Day 15: If they were writing Google reviews, the 'dee-dees, juncoes and Nut would tell you that this is their preferred branch. There's usually a line, occasionally some jostling when someone has lingered too long, and sometimes a particularly rude customer, brash and loud-spoken, shoves everyone out of the way in order to be served first, but outright tiffs are rare because there are no shortages here. Service is prompt, product quality is superior, and almost everyone can find something to their liking. Open hours are from dawn to dusk, and if you're a little birdie, you'll never fly away hungry.

Bath Day

Day 139: Four and a half inches of rain in 24 hours filled the potholes in my driveway, and when a brief sunbreak struck the surface, every junco in the county turned out for a spring bath. There were a few arguments about tub space, but for the most part, the puddles resembled the communal baths of old Rome, the bathers packed shoulder to shoulder in the deeps and soaking cordially while others stood on the sidelines waiting their turns or primping and preening in completion of their ablutions. It always delights me to see these little creatures so fastidious in their personal habits. Scientifically, I understand that clean feathers have more loft, provide better insulation against extremes of both cold and heat, but it seems to me that there is more behind it than that. They are washing away the dross of winter, sprucing themselves up for potential mates, and if anything could be clearer, it is that they are thoroughly enjoying themselves as evidenced by how long some of them stay in the tub. "Hey, have you gone to sleep in there? It's my turn!"

Cold Toes

Day 134: Have you ever wondered why birds' toes don't suffer from frostbite except during extreme freezing events? The major arteries (carrying warm blood from the heart to the extremities) and veins (carrying cooled blood back to the heart) split into multiple smaller vessels at the leg and wing joints nearest the body and are closely intertwined to form a "re-heating" network. Outgoing blood transfers as much as 85% of its heat to the chilled blood returning to the body. This process is known as "countercurrent circulation." It has also been noted that birds in colder regions tend to have smaller beaks and feet, reducing the amount of exposure they receive. Some small birds (hummingbirds, for example) may enter a state of torpor to survive cold nights, with their normal body temperature dropping as much as forty degrees! In torpor, a hummingbird's heart rate may drop from 500 beats per minute to 50 or less. The bird may look like it's dying when in torpor, but in fact, it's executing a physiological strategy which helps it survive bitter weather.

There Is Absolutely Nothing...

Day 239: My friends have heard the phrase countless times, but I'm going to say it again: There is nothing...absolutely nothing!...cuter than baby birds. I had gone out to make another delivery of black-oil seed to the Porch Parrots and as I stepped slowly down the sidewalk, this little mosquito darted out from under the Hellebore with a parent right behind. The yellow gape told me he was barely fledged. The white tailfeather said, "I'm a Dark-eyed Junco." The streaks might have fooled me but for the presence of Mama and that glint of white. We engaged in social niceties for a few minutes even as the Parrots were getting testy (their young are now coming to the feeders with them) and then I shuffled cautiously forward. The little guy flew up, landed in the driveway where he was almost perfectly camouflaged against the rocks. I went back in the house via the kitchen and came out through the front door for the photo op. Then I wanted to be sure Freckles didn't head out toward the road, so I edged around until he flew to safety, first to the raspberries where he'd last seen mom and then into the protection of the contorted filbert. I'm sure mom was already in the thicket of trunks presently hidden by a full complement of leaves. Baby birds! Little Grosbeaks doing tremble-wingies, begging to be fed, a chorus of little bitty peeps and cheeps deep in the House of Chirp, and now a baby Junco. My life is so rich!

Faithful Friends

Day 97: This is a nod to the most faithful of friends, the Dark-Eyed Juncos (Oregon Junco, Junco hyemalis) who come to my feeders every day of the year. They are so reliably present that they fade into the background of my observations with the same facility that their camouflage effectively hides them from view among the greys and browns of Pacific Northwest winter, their chirps so familiar to my ear that I do not notice them beneath the buzz of hummingbirds and harsh jay-chatter. My eye disregards them when a Song or White-Crowned Sparrow lands among their numbers, or is drawn away by the Spotted Towhee's red eye or Grosbeak's yellow flash. They do not come to my hand like the Chickadees, but often scurry about, searching for seeds beside or under my lawn chair in summer, careful to stay out from underfoot, if perhaps only by inches. I do not mean to ignore them, but they are the socks and underwear of my birding wardrobe; essential, yet not often given much consideration in the day's outline. To continue the metaphor, I would feel embarrasingly undressed without them, to be sure. This day is yours, little Juncos. Thank you for being there.

The White Lion Of March

Day 145: March has come in like the proverbial lion, although a rare albino form of the beast. Six inches of white deposited itself in my yard yesterday, topping off the eight-inch rock-hard glacier purporting to be lawn and garden. March snows in the Pacific Northwest should be light and brief, a dusting melting off by mid-afternoon, never more than an inch, never persisting for days on end. Weird weather, you say. Yes, if you look at the short term, but harder winters and heavier snowfalls are symptomatic of a deeper issue: climate change.

Now I hear you sputtering, "But...but...but they say we're having global warming! I'm freezing my buns off here, and I can't see out for snowdrifts against my window!" Yes, that's right. The two things go hand in hand.

In simple terms (and the issue is really much more complex), our summers are getting hotter and drier. Hot, dry conditions drive moisture into the atmosphere, with evaporation occurring not just from bodies of water, but from anything with water content (leaves, evergreen needles, even human skin). It remains there until the annual weather patterns shift, at which time it comes back to Earth in force as precipitation, i.e., flood-producing rains, heavy snowfalls. The net result, mapped over a period of decades (as opposed to days, weeks or months), indicates the climatological trend.

Weather or climate? The average American's knowledge of science seems to be limited to the one question they asked as children: where do babies come from? Unfortunately, it seems like many of them still believe they're brought by the stork. Trying to explain climate change/global warming to someone who can't tell you the difference between an amphibian and a reptile is as futile as talking genetics to a Creationist. The brain cells simply aren't there to address.

Iconic Species

Day 132: Although the range map in Sibley's Field Guide to Birds of Western North America indicates that Dark-Eyed Juncos (Junco hyemalis) are a winter bird, my yard is never without a resident population. That said, during this unusually protracted snowy spell, I don't think I've ever seen as many here at one time. I would estimate that close to 60 individuals may be present at once at my feeders, on the ground beneath them and perched in the nearby shrubs, waiting for their turn at the seed. They are not the only species putting up an abnormally large showing. The Varied Thrushes are still around, 30 or 40 birds who aggress on each other, but not on others not of their race. An influx of Purple Finches began a few days ago, and now their numbers are likewise swelling. The Red-Winged Blackbirds are back in force, as are the undesirable Starlings. Add to this census the family of Black-Capped Chickadees, a few Song Sparrows, a dozen or so Spotted Towhees, the customary Steller's Jays, Crows and Ravens and even a solitary Mourning Dove, and you have, if not the larger scope of a "Big Year," at least the window-peeping birder's picture of a "Big Yard."

Faithful Feathered Friends

Day 93: Depending on the age of your field guide, you will see a number of different common names applied to Junco hyemalis. Some of this is due to the fact that most field guides don't bother with breaking species down into subspecies, thereby creating confusion among the ranks of birding hobbyists. To further complicate matters, in areas where the subspecies overlap, they intergrade. Three generations down, the genome becomes hopelessly blurred. Without gene sequencing, it would be impossible to say that any individual bird was "50% Oregon, 50% Pink-sided" any more than a human could claim that they were "50% German, 50% Scottish" just because their parents were born in those countries. The two Pacific Northwest subspecies are Oregon and Slate-Coloured, lumped together as "Dark-Eyed" and as thoroughly mixed as good cake batter. They are present year-'round, and at my feeders,  challenging Steller's Jays for the distinction of "most common bird."

The Waldo Tree

Day 91: Find Waldo. And while you're looking for him, remember that you have the advantage of being zoomed in on the much broader scene a Red-Tailed Hawk would be seeing, and you're not a predator browsing for dinner. Faster than a stooping Red-Tail, little Waldo can dart into the protection of those tangled branches, branches which the bigger hawk can't penetrate with the same ease.

It's hard to believe that the contorted filbert started its residency here as an 18-inch twig. It is now ten feet high and equally as wide, and affords cover for two or three dozen birds at one time. No matter how much seed you put out, birds will not come to your yard in numbers unless they're also provided with habitat. This tree takes the prize! Several times, I've tried to propagate it from cuttings, and last year thought I might have succeeded finally, but a dry, hot spell shattered my hopes. As much as the birds love the tree, I would be happy to plant half a dozen more!

Birdwatching

Day 39: Birdwatching (particularly in my own back yard) is something I enjoy greatly. I maintain feeding stations with an eye to attracting as many species as possible, and have planted trees, shrubs and forage plants in my yard to make it as appealing as possible. Not a day goes by that I don't see Dark-eyed Juncoes (Oregon and Pink-sided, above) and Steller's Jays as well as the resident ravens and my namesake crows. The juncoes occur here year-'round, whereas other species including grosbeaks, sparrows, finches, wrens, towhees, swallows and siskins come only in season but do so consistently year after year. I am always delighted when an "occasional" shows up: Lazuli Bunting, Western Tanager, Scrub Jay, etc. I keep a Life List and although it isn't as impressive as it would be if I travelled, it thrills me to be able to tick off something I haven't seen before. Photographically, the Juncoes get short shrift. They're my "everyday" birds, their soft pips always coming from within the tangled branches of the contorted filbert, letting me know that the daily seed is expected, yes, but also appreciated.

Junco Invasion

Day 174: Dark-eyed Junco (aka Oregon Junco, Junco hyemalis) gets very little press because the species is so common in the Pacific Northwest. I have them here year-'round, but in the spring their numbers increase, especially right after I've weeded the flower beds. I think disturbing the soil must bring seeds to the surface. Yesterday I weeded. Today I have dozens of happy juncos scrabbling in the dirt, visiting the feeders, arguing over spilled seed. They are such cheerful little people that I feel badly for neglecting them in my posts.

Rainy-Day Guests

Day 96: Winter is somber anywhere, but especially so in the Pacific Northwe't where dreary grey skies mute every hint of color. It is a time when black-and-white photography can be put to good advantage by virtue of allowing us to focus on detail rather than the palette. Where greens and browns muddy in the eye, monochrome separates subtle differences in light and shadow, bringing out features we might otherwise overlook. I have a particular fondness for the treatment called "platinum," a digital recreation of a process used in the late 1800s and early 1900s, having a slightly warm color cast in the mid-range. I've used it here to highlight one of the many guests who came to my feeders on this stormy day. The birds seem to know bad weather is moving in.