Tag Archives: Bird

As Winter’s Grip Loosens, Here Come the Birds

18 Thursday Apr 2013

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two Canada geese

Two Canada geese. Photo by Julie Seyler.

BY MARGO D. BELLER

There is a brook beyond the backyards of some of my neighbors. Canada geese have been hanging out there for years. But each spring they get very restless, fly up more than usual, call to each other continuously, then circle and land not far from where they started. Some long-held instinct tells them they have to be going. But they and their forebears have been on the fields and office park lawns of suburbia for so long they wouldn’t know where to go if they had a GPS strapped to their bills. Meanwhile, their cousins, the migrant Canada geese, have been heading north to their breeding grounds for weeks in long, v-shaped skeins.

Like the local geese, at this time of year, I feel restless. But I know the cause. I’m waiting for the birds to come north. In particular, I am awaiting warblers. Despite their name they are not the sweetest of singers. Their “songs” tend to be more like buzzes or sounds like “weezy, weezy, weezy” and “sweet, sweet I’m so sweet.”

But after a long winter it is wonderful to be outside, looking up a tree that is leafing, and suddenly seeing a hint of movement that turns out to be a brightly colored, yellow and black bird. Then the fun starts – which bird is it? Is the pattern that of a magnolia warbler or ablack-throated green? Is it on the ground or at the very top of a tree or someplace in between? Warblers are an enjoyable test every spring for bird watchers. Their variety forces you to remember their coloring, habits and calls.

You arrive at a trail and hear nothing. A few steps later you are surrounded by calling birds. It is not uncommon to find seven or eight different types of warblers (not to mention other migrating birds) in one small area that has the benefit of seeds to eat and/or water to drink and bathe in. It can be overwhelming. During the winter I feel sluggish and slow, cold and achy no matter how high I keep the heat. (And with the cost, I don’t keep it that high.) But when the days get longer, and the winds finally start coming out of the south, winter is loosening its grip. I know the floodgates will open and the birds will come.

That is why I am restless. Just as I know the birds are pushing through many obstacles to get north to their breeding grounds, I know there will be several Saturday mornings when I will rise earlier than I’d like and drive to an area I favor in New Jersey’s Great Swamp that is hard to hike, but rewarding because it’s literally off the beaten (or boardwalked) track. There will be birds there, and if I am lucky, I’ll be able to know what I’m hearing, and will see the singers without straining my neck too badly from all the looking up. I can’t wait.

Searching for Spring, and Finding a Phoebe

10 Wednesday Apr 2013

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spring buds

Spring buds. Photo by Julie Seyler.

BY MARGO D. BELLER

On Thursday, March 21, 2013, the first full day of spring, I took a walk to get the morning paper, and detoured home through a local park. At one point, I crossed a brook. From the bridge, I saw a small gray bird fly to a branch and bop its tail.

I had seen my first Eastern Phoebe of the season.

The Phoebe is a member of the flycatcher family. There are three types of Phoebe: the Eastern, the Say‘s (its western equivalent), and the Black (found in the Southwest United States, Mexico, and along the California coast).

In New Jersey, the Eastern Phoebe is one of the earliest of spring migrant birds.

According to my various nature guides, Eastern Phoebes show up in my region somewhere around March 10-20. Marie Winn, author of “Red-Tails in Love,” posted in her blog on March 15, that the first Phoebe had been seen in New York’s Central Park that day.

So mine was more or less on time.

Yet, it did not feel like spring. The temperature at 8:30 that March morning was in the upper 20s, and it was cloudy with a breeze. I was wearing a thin scarf around my head and neck, a hat over that, and a warm parka with the hood up.

This Phoebe was hunting –  until I spooked it. It eats insects, and in the cold there were few to be seen – at least by me.

The year before, we’d had next to no snow, and the temperature was unusually warm in March. But this year we’ve had the winter that won’t end. The 50-degree days – normal temperature – had been few and far between, and the with weather casters predicting snow and warmth maybe by April, I was feeling distinctly depressed about the continuing cold. Until I saw the Phoebe. It hadn’t heard the warnings about climate change. Its internal clock said it was time to leave the winter grounds in the deep south of the United States and Mexico, and head north.

Phoebes are remarkably faithful to a good nesting spot. Once found, they will return every year. When John J. Audubon was living in Pennsylvania, he tied silver thread on the legs of young Phoebes he caught. The next spring he caught two that returned — they still had the thread. It was the first bird-banding experiment in America.

I, meanwhile, feel stuck here. It’s getting harder for me to get through a cold New Jersey winter. I feel achy and dried out by the furnace heat, and can’t just pick up and head south for the winter.

The Phoebe reminds me that there will be other migrating birds coming through my area in the next month or two on their way to northern breeding grounds. Some will travel no farther than New Jersey, and will provide a reason for me to get out of bed early on a Saturday morning.

By then – climate willing – it should be warmer.

My Buddy, His Birds, and Appreciation from the Sidelines

08 Monday Apr 2013

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Birdland

Birdland. Photos by Julie Seyler.

BY JULIE SEYLER

I have a friend who is a birder.  When he first told me that he took excursions to Central Park every Saturday morning during spring migration season to catch what was coming up from down South, I was baffled.  But over the course of our 20-year friendship, I have come to appreciate the mystery of birdwatching.  So while I have never become a bird groupie, I thoroughly understand the pleasure that comes from a successful sighting; the thrill of spying the bird that seemed to get away. And the overall satisfaction of a day spent with warm-blooded creatures that have the power of flight.

And because I know the excitement of seeing something rare and unexpected, I no longer blink an eye if we are driving along, and come to a sudden stop because he spots something in the sky, on the road or in a tree. As a result, I have picked up minimal knowledge of being able to distinguish terns from gulls, and plovers from sandpipers. But basically, I’m a rube.

Nonetheless, if I’m going on vacation to someplace that is known for some exotic, colorful bird species, I most definitely pack my binoculars.  I know I have been very lucky to have seen lilac-breasted rollers, spoonbill cranes, secretary birds, and malachite kingfishers.

Lilacbreasted roller. Botswana

Lilac-breasted roller. Botswana.

So on a recent trip to Sherwood Island State Park in Connecticut, my friend brought the car to a sudden roadside stop to check out bufflehead ducks.  On the walk to the beach, he pointed out Canada geese and coots, and then off he went with his binoculars to see what else he could find.

seeking shore birds

Seeking shore birds.

He came back with a report that he had seen a few more buffleheads, some mergansers and long-tailed ducks. For a 30-minute stop in 30-degree weather, it was definitely gratifying.  Meanwhile, I had ended up walking along the beach checking out the shells. I guess nature calls differently to each of us.

me holding a shell

Me, holding a shell.