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!

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.

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.