Birds and Things

Hundreds Of Birds Dying

2008-08-04T00:03:00.000-04:00

New Birdsong Guide

2008-07-17T11:25:00.001-04:00

July Is A Time For Birds To Make Changes

2008-07-13T16:30:00.003-04:00

July, the turning point of the year, comes tripping in with hints of fall.

Yellow leaves are already sprinkling green lawns. Spring flowers are hanging their straggly, browning heads, making room for vibrant fall colors of asters, dahlias, chrysanthemums, roadside flowers of Joe-Pyeweed, mullein and those fields of goldenrod that will delight us from now until frost.

July brings starlings, grackles and red-winged blackbirds in small flocks back to our yards. It seems only yesterday they left to build their nests and rear their families in the swamps and marshes of the Savannah River. Orchard orioles are planning and packing for their South American tour. By the end of the month, only now and then can we expect to see one of these orange and black songsters.

Young Carolina wrens are learning the "wren screech" and the "sheree-e, she-ree-e" song. Fledgling wrens are brought to the pool to drink and play by their dad who is baby-sitting while mom is busy constructing a new nest.

A nest full of spotted-breasted robins is hidden in a low-branched tree. Fledglings from a second nesting of towhees, rich brown above, streaked with darker brown all over, usually stay hidden in the foliage, but once or twice a day we see them in the pool splashing around. Dad is usually close by.

Honey bees, pollen-laden, are out in profusion. The humming of the honey-makers suckling nectar from purple wave petunias makes sultry July days even more slow motioned and oppressive.

Bird song begins to dwindle in this hot month. No longer does the dawn chorus greet us. Now the days and nights are filled with insect music.

That winsome jewel, the ruby-throated hummingbird visits our tubes more frequently now that the young are on the wing and the far north nesters are already moving southward. Expect a greater number of the dainty sprites to use your feeders from now until about mid-September when they begin to leave our area for the coast and Central America.

Millions of dashing little sandpipers and plovers that passed through our section of the country on moonlit nights just weeks ago on their way to nesting grounds in the Arctic will be making their way back to the Argentina plains during these hot days. Though we will miss the migration of the massive flocks that usually follow the coastline, hundreds will drop out along the way throughout the southern states to feed and rest in small pools, sandbars, and stream sides.

Purple martins are antsy and begin to gather in small groups on telephone wires. They are aware of their thousands of miles of journey to Amazon jungles and begin to prepare for it by flocking. Before July gives way to August, millions will have left the States.

In late July and early August, I am usually greeted with the pensive, almost pathetic, plaintive note of the wood peewee. He usually visits us for about a month before he leaves for sunny South America. He sits silently in the tall pine trees on our back lawn and waits for passing insects. If you sit silently and wait, you can observe his leaving his perch, grabbing an insect with a snap of his beak, then returning to the same perch he left. He is as much a part of July and August day as are fireflies and katydids and the simmering heat.

Birds A Source Of Inspiration

2008-07-01T11:04:00.003-04:00

Birds can be a source of inspiration to those of us growing older in this constantly changing world. From all my childhood memories, it is only the birds that have not changed their personalities or appearances from when I first knew them as a gangling, tree-climbing child.

Houses we knew and loved are torn down, gurgling streams we waded in as children, picnicked by as young lovers, camped by with our families, have been filled in by huge earth moving machines. Forests we walked in with the soughing wind, woods that shaded jack-in-the-pulpits, trilliums, and hepaticas have fallen victim to the chain saw. Concrete replaces the forested beauty of the mountain valley.

My brothers and sisters, as well as childhood friends, have moved away from the North Georgia mountain. All have grayed and wrinkled and grown older with the passing years. Personality changes in us are not at all rare, but birds never change at all from the way we knew them when we were roaming youngsters learning the birds and their ways.

Recently, I visited my childhood home and was deeply moved by what I found. The window panes were shattered, the mill work was stripped, wallpaper hung in shreds and the stairs hung precariously from the second story.

Nothing was as I had remembered it as a child until we reached the front porch. There, on a ledge of a window, sat a phoebe on her nest, just as a phoebe has sat some sixty years before. No doubt she was a ten-times removed great grandchild of the phoebes I once knew. Before we left the male called out to us "phoebe-ee-eee" irritably, exactly as his ancestor had called to a mountain lass more than a half century before.

The orchard below the house where the orchard oriole sang each spring was gone. It had succumbed to a growing forest of maples, poplars and oaks.

I climbed an apple tree as a child, I remember, half-hiding myself with foliage, and watched the orioles build their green grass nest on a sloping limb. As the sun grew hotter each day, the grass nest dried to a pretty yellow. The nest was so low that from my perch I could see the eggs, bluish-white, with purplish-brown splotches. One was laid each day until the clutch of five was complete.

After a long time, counting in childhood days, five ugly little creatures hatched. I watched them grow and was disappointed the day I found the nest empty.

My dad told me that within a few weeks, when they learned to fly well, they would be on their way to South America, not to return until the next spring.

Each spring we eagerly awaited the return of these colorful black and orange birds. When they arrived we knew spring had crept into the mountain valley, over the hills, along the woods, roads, highways and gurgling brooks and singing waterfalls.

Beautifully feathered, singing birds . . . linking childhood memories with the aging years . . . a source of comfort and delight.

Rare Kites Making Home At Houndslake

2008-06-29T20:14:00.003-04:00

An Aiken resident of Houndslake Country Club called in a sighting of a Mississippi kite near the sixth hole of the golf course.

This attractive hawk is seen only occasionally in the Central Savannah River Area, though it is a common to uncommon summer resident along the coast of South Carolina and Georgia. When one is observed, usually there are about half a dozen or more about, as is the case in this report.

These kites at Houndlake have found a perfect kite habitat; borders of deep woods, with tall oaks, pines, sweet gums and elms aside meadows filled with large insects not far from creeks and lakes.

Measuring 14 inches from the tip of its pale gray head to the tip of the square black tail, it has a wingspan of 36 inches. Its aerial flight is spectacular. Swallow-like, it soars in great circles and hovers in the air. They play at skydiving. These amazing feathered fliers twist and turn in the air. They plunge earthward, then rocket skyward again with speed and grace, circling and floating high in the air.

Could it be possible that the Houndslake kites are nesting in some tall tree at the edge of the woods? Oaks, elms, hack berries and sweet gum seem to be their favorite trees.

If a kite nest is found, and it is low enough in the tree, check for a green-leaf lining. A green-leaf lining is a good identification point. Nesting is usually under way by the middle of May.

The rather small twig, leaf and moss nest is cradle to the two bluish-white eggs which require a 31 to 32 day incubation period. This would put the hatching by the middle of June.

Fledglings don't leave the nest for another four weeks or so. With this schedule, the young could possibly be in the nest at this time.

This kite is most aggressive in the defense of the nest. It has been known to attack the climber, diving at him repeatedly and threatening to strike him. Be cautious if you find a nest. Observe it from a distance with glasses.

Feeding almost exclusively on larger insects such as cicadas, locusts, grasshoppers, crickets, katydids, dragonflies and large beetles, this hawk is most beneficial to man. Small snakes, lizards and frogs are sometimes eaten. These stunning birds feed on the wing. The insect is grasped in the claws and eaten in the air.

By the middle of August these birds begin preparing for their southward migration and put on migration fat. By the first days of September, they usually vanish from the area.

The kite is in the hawk family. To most people a hawk is a more or less savage big bird that eats chickens, birds and small animals. Most hawks, however, are not like this and are beneficial to man. Not only is the Mississippi kite beneficial, but adds grace and beauty to the sky with its aerial ballet.

When you see these big birds, stop for a little while and observe. You'll be glad you did!

Surprises Fill New Bird Study

2008-06-28T22:21:00.000-04:00

English Sparrows Seen As A Nuisance

2008-06-25T10:01:00.003-04:00

I seldom see English (house) sparrows around our place anymore. Nor or they as visible around downtown North Augusta or shopping centers as I remember them not too many years ago.

Our most familiar bird alien is the English sparrow. After its introduction in the 1850s in New England, it took less than fifty years for it to "capture" the country, establishing itself in California and other western states by the 1890s.

Perhaps more than any other feathered creature, this sparrow takes advantage of man's progress. Its rapid spread across the country was not only by its own wings but it has been attributed to its bumming a ride in cattle railroad cars loaded with grain from which it fed en route to the west coast. Free ride, free food, free shelter. Why not go for it? And it did!

Sparrows are mainly seed eaters and rural America was just their thing. When these brown-backed birds first arrived in the States in the 1850s no gas guzzling machines existed. All local transportation was by wagon, buggy, carriage or cart, all driven by grain-eating horses. Much grain was dropped around these animals and sparrows followed wherever the animals went.

Some people say the house sparrow is a pest and call it a tramp, a hoodlum and a gamin . . . a sort of street urchin . . . for years ago it was a city dweller.

This little free loader also has a talent for multiplying and is known as the mouse of the bird world, hatching brood after brood from early spring through late fall. But now his numbers are decreasing, possibly because horses have been replaced by automobiles and his food supply is dwindling.

Our sweet-singing native sparrows are shy little birds that live quiet lives along wood edges and in thickets and grassy fields. Until the 1850s they were the only sparrows in North America.

The house sparrow is really not a sparrow but is of the weaver family of the Old World. Early settlers called them sparrows and the name stuck. It was quite natural to call it the English sparrow since most of the birds were imported from England, though the species is widely distributed throughout the world.

This saucy, keen-witted little gamin, who thrives where other birds would starve, and who insists on driving away other cavity nesting birds such as purple martins, bluebirds, chickadees and titmice by destroying their eggs and young then usurping the house for themselves, is now considered a nuisance.

The decrease in these birds is most marked in the eastern states, especially in the cities and towns, though the sparrows are still common in rural districts around poultry and cattle farms where there is still plenty of grain fed to livestock.

Nonetheless, with all his shortcomings, the male is a good looking chap in his black and hazelnut-striped coat and chestnut, black and white head and black bib. The female looks much like the male but lacks the conspicuous markings about the head and the black bib.

Song wise the house sparrow flunks. All he can usually manage is a harsh chirping and chattering.

Drowsy Days Of July Just Around The Corner

2008-06-24T14:58:00.004-04:00

The drowsy days of July are on their way. The hot, brassy sun, the droning of bees and the still, flower-perfumed air seem to voice the peacefulness of the mid-summer day.

It is in the month of July that the new generation of birds, frogs, mammals, yard and garden weeds and other forms of animal and plant life begin to mature and come into their own.

After the hustle and bustle of May and June, July seems to bring a sense of maturity to the young of the feathered tribe and you see them coming to feeders alone. Young cardinals, more than any other young I have observed, seem to be skilled in "working the parents for food" as long as the parents will allow it. Sometimes you will see a good-sized young-of-the-year cowbird being cared for by a vireo or cardinal.

July is the first full month the sun begins its southward journey. Our calendars say summer is just beginning and we like to believe these long, sweet days will last forever. But we know days are now growing shorter and shorter, and will continue to do so until the winter solstice in December.

July, like any other month of the year, has dumped into her thirty-one days left overs of the months before and signs of what is to be in the months ahead. Along roadsides and in abandoned fields, early goldenrods, black-eyed Susans, sunflowers and butter-and-egg toadflax say "autumn" loud and clear.

Somehow we get the idea that trees don't begin to shed their leaves until the calendar says "fall". But look. Some of the trees are beginning to drop colorful leaves now, leaves that are hidden deep within the green tree. Notice the leaves on your lawn. First a yellow one here and there, then an occasional red or wine one. These falling leaves will increase steadily until late October and early November when the last ones are downed by winter winds and rain. Even if we have a wet summer, leaves will drop.

Trumpet vine and jewel weed are the most bounteous in July, just in time for hummers north of us to join our locals, giving our yards more flash over flower beds and lawns as they sip nectar from the feeders.

Killdeer are leading about their spindle-legged fledglings, hatched from a quartet of earth-colored eggs deposited on a slight depression in a graveled plot of a cemetery.

Purple martins, red-winged blackbirds and grackles are early flockers. Already you may see them in small bands in trees or strung along a utility line like a row of beads. The orchard oriole is usually on its way back to the tropics by the end of July, staying in the temperate zone less than four months, just long enough to rear a brood of five brownish-yellowish youngsters. So soon do they vanish from our turf that usually the young-of-the-year are still in juvenile plumage when they arrive in Central America.

During July sunsets begin to change. The sun no longer sets behind the same tree or house as it did before the twenty-first of June. It is slowly moving southward (notice the shadows), and this will bring to the Central Savannah River Area the migration of the million of birds making their way to South and Central America for the winter.

Ruby-throated hummingbirds will be the first to hit our area. Be on the lookout! Some will be fattening up at your feeders in the next few weeks for the six hundred mile trip over the Gulf.

Drought Takes Toll On Birds Too

2008-06-21T23:49:00.003-04:00

When hot and sultry days of summer bring thirst to the South and salvia droops and impatiens hang their pretty heads, it is then we must be aware of the needs of birds.

There has been neither dew nor rain for days and a bird must wet its whistle if there is to be song in the red-leafed maple tree. So we turn on the sprinkler.

A bold robin is the first to come under the delightfully refreshing drops. He smacks his beak as if he's tasting the wet stuff. Evidently he's delighted with the taste. He fluffs his feathers, shakes himself like a feathered Elvis, then smacks his beak again. He moves into the pool, dimpled by drops of water from the sprinkler.

A female towhee flutters down timidly to sip the water. Acting as if she's on her lunch break, she stays but a moment, just long enough to take a quick shower. That darling of the yard, the chickadee, comes floating in and alights ever so lightly upon a rock washed by the flowing water.

The robin has moved farther into the pool, standing knee-high in the water and seems to close his eyes. A fat bee is droning on the begonias. The day is drowsy with noon.

Yellow eyes gleaming, a brown thrasher plunges into the pool, disturbing the sleeping robin, who, frightened, bolts away. Bathing and fluffing his feathers, the thrasher seems to be bold and self-assured. But wait, here comes a blue jay screaming his head off, followed by another. It looks as if he well alight on the thrasher and that's enough to make Mr. Bold Guy fly away through the shrubbery, leaving the pool to the jays.

Bathing, shaking wet feathers, preening . . . the jays take over for some minutes. One scolds. Not another bird in sight. Evidently the scold must be for the mate, who must be crowding him in the shower. They take another bath but use separate tubs this time. Now they are gone.

Empty of avian creatures for awhile, the pool soon plays host to a small band of house finches, probably mama, papa and four young. They bathe in the water, then one rises in a tiny welter of spray, scuds with tingling wings to the edge and perches there on the rocks, tossing a shower around him.

No summer day, and especially one with a pool of clear water, can get by without a visit from the troubadour, the mockingbird. He stands on the rocky edge, raises his tail and wings, pulls them down, then drops onto the silvery rocks barely covered with the gurgling water. Splashing and flashing, wetting himself all over, he finally hops onto the edge of the pool and fluffs his feathers.

Before he is through with his primping, house finches again descend on the pool, look it over, and without drinking or bathing, leave. Under the refreshing spray are two gray-bodied, pink-footed doves.

A noisy Carolina wren, poking in and out all the rock crevices around the pool, finds the little waterfall refreshing as he hops hurriedly through it, bursting into song as he flies away.

Hidden in the red-leafed maple tree, a robin is signing a song to the hot summer day.

Albino Crows Sighted

2008-06-21T22:05:00.000-04:00

Look-alikes Can Fool Birders

2008-06-20T09:28:00.004-04:00

For the beginning birder, look-alikes are tormenting.

First, let's take the house finch and the purple finch. The purple finch, of course, is not in the Central Savannah River Area except during winter months but a beginner might not know this and will confuse the two finches.

Arriving in our area in late November and early December, the purple finch is a purplish rosy-red, while the color of the house finch is usually a bright fire-truck red. The male purple finch looks as if he's been dipped in "cranberry juice", giving his brown feathered back an overall purplish look. The rosy color of the purple finch's throat and breast blend into the white of the belly. The brown-backed house finch has a brown-streaked breast and belly while the purple finch has a plain rosy breast.

Female purple finches have a distinct face patch defined by a whitish eyebrow line and cheekstripe. They are heavily streaked overall with dark brown on a white background.

Female house finches have light brown streaks on a beige background and lack the eyebrow line and cheek stripe and are slimmer.

Other look-alikes are the mockingbird and the loggerhead shrike, both permanent residents of the Central Savannah River Area. Though both birds are gray and white, and both have solid white breasts and gray wings with white patches, the grays are different shades.

The shrike's gray is almost a charcoal color while the mockingbird's feathers are a soft, light gray. The mockingbird has a slim bill. The shrike's is dark, short and hooked. Another distinguishing field mark of the shrike is the black eye mask. And he is a stouter bird than the mockingbird, though not as long.

Summer tanagers are solid red, sometimes with a dark washing on the wings and tail. The trouble here are the females, with the summer tanager looking much like the female orchard oriole, both summer residents of this area. Both are yellow, though in slightly different shades. Oriole beaks are dark, sturdy and pointed. Tanager beaks are not as long as the oriole's and are blunt at the tip and are whitish in color. The female orchard oriole has grayish wings with white wingbars. Wingbars on the tanager are hardly noticeable.

The wood thrush is a summer visitor, the hermit thrush a winter tourist. Usually, the wood thrush is on his way to Central America before the hermit arrives for the winter, though sometimes they meet in the South long enough to say "hello". Both thrushes are brown-backed, with off-white, brown-spotted breasts. Look at the head and tail to distinguish the two. The wood thrush has a reddish-brown head, with duller brown on the wings, back and tail. The hermit thrush has a reddish-brown tail, with the remainder of its body a duller brown.

There are two wrens that you might see around your place during the colder months . . . our State bird, the Carolina wren and the little mousy winter wren. The winter wren is much smaller than the Carolina, with a short, stubby tail, grayish-brown back and barred belly. The Carolina's back is reddish-brown and its belly is buffy, not white, and it has a strong eye line. There's little risk that these two wrens will be confusing.

Spring Begins To Slip Away

2008-06-19T11:52:00.003-04:00

Songs of second and third courtships bring the last days of June to a close. After spring's first frenzied courtships and nestings, the feathered world quietens down for a few weeks. The chores of incubation and the feeding of young take their toll from the adult bird's free-spirited life. But now the males are belting out their courting songs from dawn to dusk, anxious to get on with the busy life of a second family.

After this recurrence of activity, the birds usually cease singing until the next spring. About mid to late July most summer visitors go into molt and cease their singing. During this time summer visitors and permanent residents become almost totally silent.

The scrappy little Carolina wren belts out a song occasionally, singing more often than any other bird of this season. (Silence must be pure torture to him . . . he is such a vocal ball of feathers.) The blue jay might squall a few notes and doves continue to coo, the pewee continues his plaintive, sad song, and the wood thrush gives fewer evening concerts. The lessening of song is a sure sign the days of spring are slipping away into summer.

The brown thrasher is singing lustily and I see why. The female is sneaking twigs into a dense photinia shrub. Looking like sleek ballerinas in gray tutus, two mockingbirds gracefully soft-toe it down the driveway. But now scientists tell us it is two males bidding for territory. Evidently thinking of another nest and four more mouths to feed this summer.

Towhees are singing in the late June performance. They nest as many as three times in one season. They are with us year round. I have just seen a pair pack a brood off on their own. Now they are busy on another nest. Several years ago, a pair nested in the photinia hedge in September.

I hear the robin's cheery song each day now that he's building next door in a dogwood tree. Soon his bubbling song will cease for the season. Chasing blue jays burn green leaves with blue fire. After the chase, I watch the male feed the female. This is a courtship gesture used by many birds. He's probably courting her for the second nest and the last of the season.

Whistling loud and clear, the cardinal, no doubt, has another family in mind and before long I should find the nest in some thorny shrub or rose vine.

Soon after the active days of June are over, summer visitors hide in the wooded lot and dense borders of our yard and change into their traveling duds. Now about all we'll hear from these guys is a half-hearted short song, but usually we hear only chips and chirps.

Though summer is but a few days away, already preparations for another season have begun.

Mocker Turns Into Migrant

2008-06-18T22:15:00.003-04:00

For a number of years a mockingbird has built a nest in a Jessamine vine at the corner of our yard. The vine crawls up a wild cherry tree, kept trimmed to keep the vine fairly low and thick-leaved. This spring we were disappointed . . . no nest in the Jessamine vine.

We began a search for the new location of the nest, for the birds were still in the yard and singing from high perches, especially the chimney. We found the nest in a dense sasanqua bush about twenty feet away from its old nesting site. There were four tawny-spotted, greenish-blue eggs in the nest. Later, all four eggs hatched.

The fledglings left the nest in mid-May. One of the adults, we assume the female, and two youngsters were observed bathing in the pool. The slender, but dowdy-looking, mother was cleaning her gray and white frock while the brownish-gray youngsters stood in the shallow water unsure of their new environment. We didn't see papa and the other two youngsters. Perhaps the "boys" were out learning other lessons.

The mockingbird, until recently, has been considered a southern bird and year-round resident of the area. To mention the mockingbird would bring memories of the moonlight and roses and these birds singing all night. They are synonymous with lovely brick-walled gardens and magnolias and scented flowers. Never would one think of a mockingbird in the snow-clad pines and hemlocks of New England or the towering spruces of Michigan or the red cedars of Iowa, bent low with snow and ice.

But no more can we think of the mocker as strictly a southern bird. He has jubilantly traveled the sky ways as far north as Maine and Illinois, Michigan and Iowa. The mocker has been considered a non-migrant, but now perhaps his travels north and west will move him to come South again each winter with the human snowbirds. By changing his range, he'll be considered a migrant within the United States.

Regardless of where he might hang out, the mocker is known as the best singer (not the most musical) of the avian clan. He loves to sing on moonlit nights. He usually repeats a phrase five times before he grabs another phrase from his pocket to repeat it five times, then another phrase, and so on. This goes on for days while he's courting and nest building. Although he is a good husband and helps with the cozy nest, he spends more time singing than working.

Fluttering from his chimney perch to a dead pine branch, to a swaying branch of a river birch, to a telephone line, and then bounding into the air again, leaving a trail of golden notes behind as he dips and turns in flight appearing to have everlasting energy, always in motion.

Even with all these wonderful attributes, sometimes a resident mocker is a bully. He takes over berried bushes in winter and chases all other birds away. He's a bully at feeding stations too, perching nearby all day so that he does not miss one bird that tries to feed.

By mid-August all is quiet on the mockingbird's high perches, his song not to be heard again until October when he comes out of hiding wearing a newly pressed gray and white suit. After two or three weeks of vigorous singing, he again ceases song until spring.

He sings a few notes in February, increases his medley in March. By April he once more is on the chimney tossing into the perfumed spring air his repetitive refrain. By May he will again be nesting in the thick-leaved sasanqua bush.

Insect Control? Look To Natural Predator

2008-06-16T08:43:00.003-04:00

Have a need for insect control? Why not try a natural predator, himself a blood-thirsty insect. In different sections of the country he is known as prophet, mule-killer, soothsayer and devil's rear horse.

Measuring from two to five inches in length, this grayish-green fellow has two sets of slim grasshopper-like back legs and prizefighter-looking front legs. These strong, muscular-filled arms have wicked hooks underneath to hold its victim while it actually eats it alive.

The praying mantis is also a cannibal. He has no love for his own kind. If he's hungry, he'll eat his brother.

His color and shape resemble the plants on which he spend the day to escape notice.

Like a pair of binoculars, his black eyes protrude from a heart-shaped face. His body is slender, the wings short and broad.

The praying mantis is a pretender. As soon as dark begins to fall, he crawls from his hideout onto foliage or bark, a perfect camouflage for his twig-colored and twig-looking body. Kneeling in a pious position, he lifts his huge front paws as if in prayer, but really he's getting in position to attack unsuspecting prey. He remains in this pious position until an unfortunate insect ventures near. Then he snatches him, pinning down the victim with his vicious claws and eats it alive.

A birder once snapped a mantis at dusk devouring a ruby-throated hummingbird at a nectar feeder.

The female, larger than the male, has even stronger cannibalistic traits. She takes advantage of this and after mating will turn on her husband, kill him, or make a meal out of him while he is still alive. Her weakling mate, resigned to his fate, lifts not a hooked claw to save his life.

In the fall the mantis cycle begins anew when the female lays an oval mass of eggs on the stem of a plant and covers it with mucus that hardens in an eye-catching, creamy-tan case, assuring the next summer's supply of praying mantises.

This beguiling insect with ravenous appetite is considered beneficial, especially to gardeners. It is a glutton and feeds on nothing but insects (with the exception of a small bird or two) and can be called nature's garden vacuum cleaner.

A single mantis eggcase, hardly an inch in diameter, holds scores of hungry nymphs. Pushing out of the eggcase, they, like butterflies and moths, need only to hang upside down for a few minutes until their bodies and legs harden in the cool air.

Within minutes after hatching, these young cannibals are snatching and devouring destructive insects in your garden. Mantises are also fond of some beneficial insects such as honeybees and ladybugs, but they do away with harmful insects in greater numbers.

The easiest way to stock a garden with mantises is to buy eggcases (available at some nurseries) and tie them to bushes or low trees during late fall, winter or early spring. The nymphs stay secure in the snug eggcases throughout the winter months.

Then when the spring sun is warming in the sky and the air is fine and sweet with the fragrances of roses and the first insects are hatching and humming, the little nymphs crawl out of their cozy bedroom, hang themselves up to dry and charge!

How To Pick The Right Bird House

2008-06-09T14:33:00.001-04:00

Rare Kinglet Visit Always Pleasant

2008-06-09T10:14:00.003-04:00

The budding trees of May in the far north call the ruby-crowned kinglets to come home. The sun is climbing higher in the sky each day and it has that spring warmth that fattens buds and brings a glow to spring flowers.

After wintering in the sunny South, they hear the call and heed it. We have not seen one of these vivacious little jewels now for three weeks. We won't see them around again until they replace our hummingbirds in September when they come bouncing in to fill the void.

We know they are busy and happy for now they are in their breeding grounds. The male must win a mate, help build the dainty little nests, usually lined with rabbit fur and feathers, and all the while keep up his exuberant, almost tumultuous chorus in song. Into this cozy nest of moss, lichens and grasses, the female lays nine teeny, pale buffy eggs with tiny dots of henna-brown. With nine hungry mouths to feed, who has time for singing.

Discarding pansies and planting impatiens one day in mid-May several years ago, I was startled with a loud burst of tumultuous birdsong I had never heard before. I dropped my trowel and sprang to my feet, hoping I could find the author of such a gay melody.

To my surprise there he was, a small midget in feathers. How could such a loud melody come from such a small buffy throat? There, on a limb of a water oak, sat a tiny olive-gray bird, his crown patch glowing . . . a ruby-crowned kinglet!

"Why", I asked him, "are you still here?"

I feel the most fortunate of birders to have heard this boisterous song for I might never be in his far northern breeding range when he is in full, rich song.

Kinglets are wee, plump little birds clad in olive and buffy gray plumage. The bright red crown patch of the male is a positive field mark but it is often covered by the head feathers. Other good field marks are the white eye ring, making the small black eyes appear pop eyed, and the two white wing bars.

The ruby-crowned kinglet is a common winter visitor in the Central Savannah River Area. They move about through the naked trees and luxuriant growth of evergreen trees and shrubs in search for food. Not being noisy or flocking birds, though they are abundant in our area, one would scarcely notice.

During the winter they stay busy just hunting food. Then by early May a wee voice tells them the trees are budding in the northern states and they zoom away on a silvery, moonlit night.

Why was this perky little fellow still at my place in mid-May when he should be helping a mate trim their cozy home with green moss?

We'll never know but from his exuberant bursts of song in the water oak on that May day, wild wisdom sent him a message and courting, mating and nesting were on his mind. Why else would he explode with such melody?

Birds Experience Housing Crisis Too

2008-06-07T11:23:00.003-04:00

Unusual nesting sites of birds are always interesting, especially when the nesters use locations that aren't in the books.

Some years ago an article appeared in the Atlanta Constitution of an unusual mockingbird's nest. Adelaide and Laurance Sawyer of Ringgold, GA, put up a log bird house for bluebirds with a metal flange around the opening to exclude larger birds. An arbor supported the 10-foot pole. The arbor, the pole and the bluebird house were supported by trellises for growing tomatoes and climbing beans, come spring.

In the spring, before the bluebirds could nest, a yellow-shafted flicker comes bouncing in and tries to enlarge the cavity. Day after day he works at it. His constant drilling gains the sympathy of the Sawyers and they remove the flange thinking they are helping the flicker. That does it. He doesn't want anyone messing around with the construction of his house and never returns.

To their surprise a pair of mockingbirds become interested in the bluebird house. One day they see both birds go into the box. One goes in and stays. When the Sawyers check, they find one egg . . . a mocker's egg in a mocker's nest.

If another article was in the paper giving the outcome of the nesting, I missed it. I never knew if they completed incubation and the youngsters fledged.

On our bluebird trail we had a mockingbird build in a hanging basket of begonias on the porch of a family who had one of our bluebird boxes on their premises. Eggs were laid in the nest but they disappeared. There were no clues as to what happened to the eggs. The birds didn't attempt another nesting in the basket.

To our surprise and excitement, a robin started a nest in somewhat of a crotch on a slopping branch of a sweet gum tree outside our living room window. It was not saddled on the branch as usual, but about half of it hung somewhat like an oriole's nest from the unstable fork.

One day it looked as if it were complete. That afternoon a strong thunder shower came through the area and the nest was thrown to the ground. I examined the fallen nest. The same materials were used as in other robin's nests. The nest was not as large as usual, but the inside depth seemed to be about the same.

The next day the female starts another nest using some of the material from the nest nature had foreclosed on. She placed the nest on the same spot on the branch. In a few days it appeared to be near completion. It was not meant to be. A strong wind comes out of the west and brings destruction to the second nest.

Two days later the robin was busy rebuilding . . . same style, same spot, same materials.

Again, in a few days, the nest appears ready for use. A determined mother, wouldn't you say? A few mornings later we find this nest on the ground. At the time, no eggs were in the nest.

There had been no wind nor rain. We never knew what brought the third nest down. She used mud on it, as all robins do, and that makes a robin's nest heavy and not very suitable for swinging in the wind.

Take Part In Bird Banding At Chatfield

2008-06-06T22:00:00.001-04:00

Whip-poor-will's Song Tugs At A Memory

2008-06-06T21:17:00.004-04:00

Nostalgia sweeps over me when I hear the call of the whip-poor-will as he passes through the Central Savannah River Area in spring migration.

This wisp-of-the-night is a summer resident of the North Georgia mountains where I lived as a child. Consequently, his continuous calls were one of the first "bird voices" I could recognize. These denizens of the night came into the edge of our yard as the sun splotched glades of the surrounding woodlands were overtaken by the spooky twilight of dusk.

Although many people have heard the songs of this ghost of the night, few people have ever seen the author. These birds sleep all day on dead leaves and other debris on the forest floor, their mottled coloration protecting them from enemies.

I used to sit with my dad on the steps of a stone wall in the deepening dusk to listen to the whip's calling as he did almost every night throughout the summer. Suddenly, there the bird was on an almost bare oak branch where he began his incessant "whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will". Then he dropped to a sandy spot in the road where he continued his calling for a hundred times or more. Reluctantly, I had to go to bed most nights with the whip still calling.

This spectral bird belongs to the Goatsuck family. Believing these birds sucked milk from goats during the night, centuries ago Europeans gave them the ill-named moniker of goatsucker. These birds did and do fly around goats and cattle at twilight, but it is to catch insects bothering the animals rather than the whip's love of milk.

This fellow has an enormous mouth, bordered above by long, stiff bristles which act as a net in catching insects, their only diet.

Measuring around ten inches from his short, dark bill to the short, rounded tail, the whip's overall plumage mimics the color of dead leaves of the forest floor. He wears a narrow white necklace around his throat. In flight, white tail feathers flash out. The female appears all brown. The large, black pair of button eyes, typical of nocturnal birds and mammals, is the easiest field mark to attract attention.

No attempt at nest building is made. The two eggs, buff colored with gray or light lavender splotches, are laid on a litter of dead leaves where the flickering light of the woodland tends to give them protection. The incubation period is around twenty days. During incubation, the female sits with her eyes closed, the better to avoid detection.

The nestlings match the dead leaves on which they are hatched. Their down is soft and silky, shading in color from cinnamon on the back to pinkish cinnamon on the crown and abdomen.

The whip is a common summer resident of both north Georgia and the upstate of South Carolina. It is now thought to breed along the Edisto River in Aiken County and in the Lake Thurmond area. It has been heard calling in midsummer, a good indication that it is expanding its breeding range southward. It winters along the Gulf and Florida coasts. Some of the more daring will go on to the Islands for their winter respite.

Don't Confuse A Loggerhead With A Mocker

2008-06-05T10:11:00.003-04:00

We haven't seen him in our yard for several years, but on a sunny warm May day, he arrived. He sits on a dead limb of a dogwood tree and surveys the comings and goings of the large insects and butterflies fluttering by. I make myself comfortable to watch for the catch, but it doesn't materialize. Evidently, beetle or butterfly fingers don't whet his appetite, or the warm sun has made him too lazy to make the effort for such a small prize.

Slightly smaller than a robin, the loggerhead shrike has a big rounded head, thick neck and an all black, hawk-like bill and hook-like claws.

Having the weak feet of song birds, the shrike kills its prey with his strong bill, shaking, twisting and choking it until it is dead. Small birds, shrews, small rodents, grasshoppers and other large insects are some of its favorite catches. Shrikes hunt only by day and have remarkable eyesight, comparable to that of hawks, eagles and falcons. They are the only truly predatory songbirds in that they consistently prey on vertebrate animals.

The shrike gets its nickname "butcher bird" from the habit of hanging its prey on thorny trees, barbs of wire fence, or wedging them into the crotches of limbs. The head of the victim is up, the body hanging suspended, much like a butcher hangs a leg of lamb or a side of beef from a hook in his shop.

These situations are used as pantries to store food for future use as well as a "dish" for his present meal. The thorny branch, his plate, holds the prey while he eats it. There are scientists who say shrikes don't return to eat the impaled food. There are others who say it does occasionally return for its stored food. I wouldn't know, but when I'm out on walks I see dried insects, a mouse or bird hanging on thorns, indicating the prey has been there for awhile.

Light gray covers the back and head of the shrike. A black mask covers the eyes. Black wings with a white patch, white throat and dirty white breast complete his attire. He blends well with his surroundings.

The only bird that could be confused with the shrike in our area is the mockingbird. Though both are black and white and gray birds, the shades and tones of the colors differ, the shrike's being much lighter. The shrike is a chunkier bird than the mocker and his head is larger with a thicker neck. The black, gray and white of the shrike are distinctly defined. They don't blend as they do in the mocker's plumage.

Breeding from Florida northward to southern Canada and westward to Louisiana, the loggerhead is a common resident of the Central Savannah River Area. He builds a bulky nest of twigs, leaves and grasses in a thorny bush or dense tree from eight to twenty feet above ground. Usually, a clutch of four to seven dull white to grayish or creamy white eggs is laid. They are thickly and evenly spotted and blotched with dull browns and light lavender.

The loggerhead is a poor songster. About the best he can do is a series of squeaky whistles, strangling gurgles and high-pitched pipings, though sometimes he might burst into harsh warble-like notes.

Common nicknames are French mockingbird, butcher bird and cotton bird, from the habit of using cotton in his nest.

Noisy Outcast Pretty But Annoying

2008-06-04T09:28:00.003-04:00

In every family there's a black sheep, usually. The yellow-breasted chat is that dude in the warbler family.

When you think of a warbler, you think of a small songster dressed in olive-greens, yellows, grays, blues and black and whites. The chat fits into the family as far as colors are concerned, but there his qualifications end.

His song, if you can call it a song, unlike that of any other warbler, is loud and fractious. Not only is the song unusual but the manner of singing is different. He flies from one bush to another while getting his garrulous message across. All the other little warblers' songs are soft and pleasing.

He is a full two inches larger than most warblers. He has a long tail like a mocker, a bill that is larger, heavier and more curved than the smaller warblers and his wings are shorter and rounded.

He's a handsome guy. He wears this year's fashionable olive-green on his back with a yellow shirt. His colors glisten in the golden sunlight. The white strip over his eye and his size distinguish him from the small yellow-throated vireo.

He prefers brushy habitats for his hangouts, the better to hide, for he is more often heard than seen.

The eccentric, ludicrous, almost clownish behavior is one of the chat's most outstanding characteristics. He hides in dense thickets and from this secluded place he sends out "bizarre noises", whistling, chuckling, barking, mewing, scolding and swearing. He gurgles, laughs, chatters, squeaks and cackles.

But wait, when the females arrive from the tropics his language changes. He finds some elevated perch and there pours out what melody he can muster. Then, pitching himself into the air . . . straight up . . . with wings fluttering and legs dangling limply like a Raggedy Ann doll, he lets fall from his yellow throat a wild, rich, rapturous love song. While he's courting he leaves off name calling.

Measuring 1 and 1/2 inches from the stout, arched bill to the long, rounded tail, this largest of all warblers is the good ole boy of the bird world. He's here now, joking and cat-calling and generally interrupting the sweet songs of other birds.

The chat claims a characteristic of the mockingbird and that is singing all night on moonlit nights, but the chat adds dark nights also to deliver his repertoire.

One chat observer says the olive-clad bird on her premises usually starts singing at 10:30 in the evening and keeps up his "noise" all through the night. The next morning she serves breakfast, accompanied by his squeaks and squawks. She serves the noon meal. The shrieking goes on and on. Sometime in the late afternoon the songster stops, apparently to rest up for his next performance at 10:30 that night.

Becoming involved with keeping four hungry nestlings satisfied, he quietens down. He's so quiet you might think he's left his tangled haunts, but he's still skulking around.

By late August, however, he heads south and calm once again reigns in thickets and tangles across the countryside.

Small Effort Brings A Treat

2008-06-03T10:58:00.003-04:00

Walking in the yard, I heard distinctly the feeding cries of young birds. Because the cries seemed to be near I searched every shrub and tree for a nest.

Several species of birds were in and about the yard but not being able to find a nest, the birds' cries haunted me.

The next day I sat down on the terrace with glasses and followed each bird that came into view. It was not long before I picked up a tufted titmouse with food in its beak. It alighted in a nearby pine tree and quickly disappeared without my seeing where it vanished. Again, I heard the feeding cries of nestlings.

I examined the tree and found no cavity. To my amazement a few seconds later the bird popped out of an old squirrel's nest. The rodent's nest was situated on a large branch approximately four inches in diameter and about two-thirds out on a limb from the trunk of the tree. It was placed among three small branches that grew out from the larger one. The opening of the squirrel's nest was directly in line with the large branch. Each time the bird came with dinner for the nestlings it alighted on the large branch near the opening, then tip-toeing into the hole, it went down into the cavity.

On leaving the nest, it first stuck its head out of the opening and looked around as if checking to see if all were safe. Then it came up out of the cavity and flew away.

The large-eyed, black-eyed, tufted titmouse is a permanent resident in the Central Savannah River Area. It has a gray pointed crest, which it can raise or lower at will, gray back, off-white breast and belly with rusty-red sides and short, rounded wings.

Usual nesting sites of the titmouse are old woodpecker holes or other cavities. Because the bill is short and stout without a chisel, it is unable to excavate its own cavity, unless the wood is very rotted, and much search for a deserted cavity or openings in posts, dead trees, or bird boxes.

A pair of titmice visit our yard each summer and raise a family in cavities of old trees or in bird boxes placed near the wooded lot.

Titmice are fairly early nesters and usually only one brood is raised in a season. By the time the young are on the wing and are finding their own beetles, caterpillars and wasps, having perfected their "peto, peto, peto" song, you will be unable to tell the young from the mother and father when they visit the sunflower feeders in your yard this fall.

After fledging, all the families of titmice in the neighborhood get together as one big party for the rest of the summer until they join mixed flocks of chickadees, gnatcatchers and white-throated sparrows that roam the woods during fall and winter.

But, if you feed them well, you might expect a lively troupe of titmice in your yard during the cold, gray days of winter.

What a treat for such small effort!

Hummingbirds Fill Canyons

2008-05-30T14:24:00.000-04:00

Beware Of Summer Birdwatching Hazards

2008-05-29T18:07:00.003-04:00

Summer birding calls for planning . . . planning for the hazards you might encounter on summer walks. Protecting yourself from the mass attacks of insects that you might confront and shielding yourself from the broiling hot rays of a brassy sun is of the utmost importance.

Your skin should be covered. Large hats that shade your face, ears, nose and neck are ideal. Sunscreen applied to all exposed skin is helpful.

Summer birding calls for loose-fitting, long-sleeved, light-colored clothing and, of course, long pants that can be tucked into boots, if possible. An insect repellent should be applied to arms, legs and sock tops. Don't wear any kind of "stinkum" . . . deodorant, perfume, cologne, hair spray or after shave lotion.

Walking down the levy, or a leisurely stroll around ponds, might be followed by a week of insufferable itching caused by bites and stings if you discount the warnings. As the weather grows warmer, insect pests grow larger and stronger and will be out looking for a meal of blood.

A few of the bad guys are mosquitoes, ticks, chiggers (also known as red bugs), yellow jackets, wasps and hornets. Stagnant ponds, oozy stream banks, wet and shady wood edges, swamp streams and low-lying fields and meadows will become humming mosquitoes' and other insects' maternity wards.

The tick season will be at its peak from April through October. Ticks are small creatures about one-fourth-inch long. They cling to grass, leaves or branches of bushes and trees until they can attach themselves to a puffing, out-of-breath, red-faced, sweating birder chasing a scissor-tailed flycatcher (not likely to be seen in this area) who is oblivious to the tick-infested region.

It's always well, after being in the great outdoors, to examine body and clothes when you get home or get back to the motel. Ticks might not be felt even when they are feeding on you.

Other insect habitats to avoid are mosquito infested swamps, chigger-clogged wood edges, grassy roadsides and fields and pastures full of wasp and yellow jacket nests buried in soft ground. Watch where you step.

Insects . . . those creatures that bite, buzz, sting, swarm and spoil almost all summer outdoor activities, dominate the land. Scientists have accounted for a mind-boggling 850,000 different species of insects and there may be as many as another million species that have not been cataloged.

Humans are a perfect chigger lunch. This tiny, almost invisible, six-legged mite, after attaching itself to your flesh, digs in with a vengeance, causing intense itching. Chiggers don't attach themselves immediately, so a hot soapy shower after a walk will probably get most of them before they bite.

Most birders know poison ivy, poison oak and poison sumac and the dangers they hold. But we do get carried away sometimes when bright feathers flash before us. We charge right into a bed of such hazards. It's worth it, though, if we find a rarity or a "lifer".

With proper preparation, your summer outings should never be ruined by creepy-crawly, blood-sucking, chemical-injecting, needle-poking, disease-carrying vermin.

Prepare wisely and let's go birding!

Kids Get To Sit In Bird Nest And Play With Eggs

2008-05-27T23:01:00.000-04:00

It's Time To Tuck Away Sweet Memories

2008-05-27T18:50:00.003-04:00

Summer. June begins that most vivid of seasons . . . long sun-dappled, flower-splashed and fragrance-filled days.

She makes a gift to us of 15 hours of daylight, of colorful, early dewy dawns and brilliant sunsets, made more brilliant by billowing, graying thunder clouds.

Summer spreads its glory over the land in the exquisite black and orange of the oriole, it sings to the bubbling song of a wood thrush, it hovers on the iridescent wings of the ruby-throated hummingbird, it yodels with the raucous call of the great-crested flycatcher, and sighs with the purring, mournful song of the wood pewee.

Now we sit, or amble along, and notice the extravagant red of a tanager, the shifting blues of the indigo bunting, the sheen of the blue-gray on the back of a gnatcatcher, or the bright yellow-orange of a prothonotary warbler.

Trees are fully leafed out, come this first month of summer. Roadsides are awash with sunflowers, coneflowers, taodflax, may-apples, morning glories, trumpet honeysuckle, wild geraniums and ragged robins.

Fields and meadows are a lush green. Little streams giggle as they flow over smooth, silvery rocks that have touched the toes of bathing feathered wood nymphs.

The first fireflies appear in June, spangling the warm nights with hundreds of twinkling lights. Swooping, gliding, diving, night-hawks are high overhead, seining the air for gnats, mosquitoes and moths. June is alive with sound and action.

By mid-month our yards will be awash with fledglings. By now, young Carolina wrens hidden in the sasanqua hedge, cheep like spoiled brats begging for Big Macs. Ratty looking fledgling cardinals sit on the fence waiting to be fed, mouths agape and begging. Already immature, spotted-breasted robins over our lawns, show the arrogance of the parents.

Song has diminished somewhat, and for good reason. With the parents making hundreds of food-totin' trips a day to feed the squawking young, little time is left for making music.

Most of the young yokels will rest again this season, but the preponderance of summer visitors will begin to prepare for fall migration. How quickly the year turns!

June with its green lushness and pretty, dewy dawns and colorful blossoms scattered over the countryside, is a month of sweet memories to be tucked away in the mind.

Come winter, recalling these will sustain you through all the cold, wet, rainy, snowy days of the frigid season and you know June will be again.

Good ol' summertime!

Baby Eagle Suffering From Growth

2008-05-26T21:39:00.000-04:00

Be On The Lookout For The Snake-Bird

2008-05-25T12:46:00.003-04:00

Where the banks of our local ponds, streams and marshes are overgrown with rank vegetation and stately pines and cypress trees are draped with long strands of Spanish moss, look for these curious birds.

Birds are known locally in different parts of the country by names based on their characteristics. Picturesque names have been hung around the neck of this strange looking bird. Depending on what section of the country you are visiting, you might hear the anhinga called the American darter, black darter, snake-bird or water turkey . . . the nickname it is known by in our area.

If it's a warm, sunny early morning you'll likely find one sitting quietly on a branch or a post with wings fully opened, drying them, as it exposes its wet feathers pleasantly to the warmth of the sun. It sees you approach but seems slow to leave its perch. As you come closer, it will slide into the pond, submerge its body and swim away under water with only its snake-like head and neck showing above the rippling greenish-colored water.

Long-necked, long-tailed and short legged, the anhinga measures around three feet from bill to the end of its light-banded tail. Its yellowish webbed feet have toes and sharp nails to use to scramble about among shrubs and trees where a pair builds their loose and bulky nest, some five to fifteen feet above the water. The nest contains lots of dead leaves, mixed with sticks. Its lining is green willow leaves.

The male claims the nest and advertises for a mate by wing waving and bowing before one or more females. Then the female chooses a mate and his nest site from one of the exhibiting males. When both are accepted by one another, she builds the nest with twigs and other plant matter brought to her by the male.

Though it breeds somewhat sparingly in the Central Savannah River Area, it spends the winters to the south along the Carolina and Georgia coasts and in Florida. Seldom do we see one in this region during deep winter.

Though slim, trim and prim in appearance when perched on a high dead branch or post, the water turkey is somewhat awkward when perched in a tree among the branches. It is the epitome of gracefulness in the air. It rises from its perch, mounting high in the air and soaring in circles gradually upwards until almost out of sight. When in flight it holds its long neck, wings and tail in a cross shape. This is a good identification mark.

Water turkeys have no song but make shrill rattlings and clicking calls. The males are blackish with silvery patches on the front part of their wings, while the females and young are more brownish. The female is the same size as the male but can be distinguished from him by her conspicuous fawn colored neck and breast. Pink eyes surrounded by bare green skin put the finishing touches on a completely weird appearance.

In the water, the anhinga swims gracefully and swiftly on the surface or sneaks away with its body submerged and only its snake-like head and neck showing in sinuous curves.

In the deep solitude of swamps lives a bird that soars like a hawk, perches like a cormorant, and swims like a snake. When his body is underwater with only his small head and long slender, curved neck showing, he does indeed, look like a snake slicing through the water with head back, poised to strike!

Poland, A Birdwatching Mecca

2008-05-24T23:53:00.000-04:00

Birds Loose Their Mates Also

2008-05-23T20:22:00.005-04:00

Birds and people have similar problems such as losing their mates through death or desertion. When this occurs it places a demanding burden on the surviving mate, whether bird or human.

A fellow bluebird enthusiast, Ann Sawyer, called to report that she found the nestlings of one of her bluebird families dead in the box when she monitored it.

She has seen neither parent since finding the young dead. The nestlings were about a week old.

Her question.

What could have caused the death of the baby birds? It could be they were fed by the parents worms and insects that had eaten a diet of pesticide sprayed foliage. This might be confirmed if the parents return to the box after it is cleaned out and start another family.

If the parents have truly disappeared, most likely they were killed because bluebirds don't commonly desert their nestlings. If one is killed, or flies away from its responsibilities, the other takes over the job of rearing the young until they are able to care for themselves.

Generally, female bluebirds start another nest almost immediately after the young leave the nest. The male then takes charge of the fledglings, feeding them and guiding them in selecting their own food, protecting them until they fly well. The parent birds of the dead brood might have already moved away from the disaster and started a new nest.

It is well to remove the nest as soon as the young fledge. On our bluebird trail, we observed that if it was not removed, often the pair would build a nest on top of the old one bringing it almost to the level of the opening. We found starlings, house sparrows, 'possums, raccoons or other predators could reach their dirty paws or claws into the nest and pull out the eggs or young and destroy them. This happened several times on our trail.

There was a couple who discovered one of their bluebird boxes on the ground and all but one egg gone. The husband secured the box back to the pole. A new nest was built and five eggs laid. The culprit returned and stole the second clutch of eggs without damaging the nest. They decided they needed a metal-mounted box.

Erecting a new box about six feet from the old nest and pole, they removed the nest from that box and put it in the new one. The bluebirds sat on the wire overhead and watched and cheered and hurrahed.

Three days after changing boxes and putting the nest in the new box there were two eggs in the nest. In time, a clutch of five eggs was laid.

These experiences point out how little bluebirds are disturbed by human contact. On our trail, when we found the female on the nest we quickly closed the box. We didn't try to count the eggs. We observed that if the hatching date was near, the mother would not leave but would sit tightly on the eggs. If incubation had just begun, she flew away as we touched the box.

The late T. E. Musselman pointed out that during 40 years of working with thousands of bluebird broods, he had never seen a bluebird desert a nest because of monitoring. Even some, he wrote, didn't leave the nest while he checked the eggs beneath her.

Parrot Talks His Way Home

2008-05-22T09:29:00.000-04:00

Window Crashing Birds

2008-05-21T10:27:00.000-04:00

Ghostly Chills In The Night Air

2008-05-20T14:57:00.003-04:00

A purple and aqua afterglow bars the western sky. As the last gleam of sunset fades, there comes a sudden radiance in the east as the full moon vaults above the wooded hills.

Abruptly, from the wooded lot comes the "whoo, hoo, hoo, hoo" of the great horned owl. Visiting our neighborhood frequently is the barred owl whose screeches and screams send chills up your spine. The great horned owl's voice, a ghostly and weird sound, is much softer than the barred's shrieks.

We stand in the deepening dusk and search for the intruder whose voice comes across the moonlit lot. A few moments later a shadow drifts across the yard and vanishes in the branches of a tall, thickly-leafed sweet gum tree on the front lawn. The flight of the horned owl is powerful, swift, graceful and quiet. This predator's habitat is heavily wooded regions where it nests and finds ample food supply in the deep dark woods. It seldom leaves such security. This is only the third time it has visited us in the 40 years we have lived in this lightly wooded neighborhood.

The great horned usually does not nest in hollows but almost always usurps the nests of red-tailed hawks, eagles, ospreys or crows. They line these stolen stick nests with downy feathers of the owl. These owls are early breeders, the female laying 2 - 4, two being more common, rounded white eggs in February or early March. Incubation is 26 - 30 days with both parents participating. The young leave the nest when they are four or five weeks old. Only one brood a year is undertaken.

These owls are hostile and will not hesitate to attack humans if the owls think their nests or young are in danger. There have been reports that the owl's ferocious attacks draw blood.

Measuring 24 inches with a 60-inch wingspan, the great horned is the largest of the common owls in the Central Savannah River Area. It is some three or four inches larger than the barred, darker in color and brown rather than gray-browned as the barred. Perched, the horned's ear tufts are conspicuous, but in flight the tufts are not usually seen. The large head and short neck will tell you you are seeing the horned owl. It has a white throat patch and large yellow eyes.

Other names for this owl are "Tiger of the air", "Big hoot owl" and "Cat owl".

Though horned owls migrate from the frozen north when food becomes scarce, they are year-round residents of the CSRA.

Beauty And Tragedy Go Hand In Hand

2008-05-19T08:30:00.003-04:00

In nature beauty and tragedy often go hand in hand. Some avian creatures are spectacularly lovely in their own right. Others acquire a magnificent beauty through albinism. Seeing a partially albino robin on the lawn set me to reminiscencing about other albinos I have seen.

The sad history of the great egret tells a tale of what is meant by exquisite beauty. This beautiful bird almost became extinct because of being killed for its lovely feathers, used by milliners to decorate hats. Other pretty feathered birds have faced s similar fate.

Albinism in wild creatures gives them a radiant but hazardous beauty. Science attributes this condition to a lack of pigmentation that causes a white color of the skin and of the hair. The eyes of a pure albino appear pink.

Usually albinism in wild creatures means high exposure, for they are more noticeable. Because of their beauty they are more apt to be destroyed by predators. Albinistic creatures have a reputation of being extraordinarily shy. Wild wisdom tells these birds they are different from other feathered creatures and they become wary.

In most cases nature gives to animals and birds of the wild protective coloring. To survive, albinos are cautious, more alert and usually stay close to deep cover. At least the mockingbird and brown thrasher that live in our neighborhood were extremely careful. Never once did I hear either of them sing. They were seen more often in the dusky hours of evening than at any other time of day.

The brown thrasher was not a pure albino. Its wings and tail were washed in light tan and its eyes were bronzy, not pink. Otherwise it was pure white. I never saw it out of cover, it was so unusually wary. It stayed in the neighborhood all that summer, disappearing during the winter.

The next nesting season a friend called to say a "white brown thrasher" with a natural plumaged mate was nesting in his yard. Though we had not known the sex before, we now assumed she was the same bird seen in our yard. She nested on his premises for two summers, then disappeared. As far as we could determine there were no albinistic young in the broods from the two-year nestings.

The white mockingbird was first observed eating lushish mahonia holly berries in our yard. He was not as shy as the thrasher, shyness not being a characteristic of the mocker, and was seen by several of our neighbors. He, or she, stayed around for four years. If the bird nested, the nest was never found.

Several years ago a brood of albinistic bluebirds were hatched at Silver Bluff Sanctuary. Both parents had normal plumage.

Back during the big snow of "73 there was a partial albino cardinal at a fellow birder's home. The beauty of it still lingers in my mind. Notes made at the time I observed the bird will give you a good idea of its beauty.

"The top feathers of its crest are pink, the lower feathers white. The head is white, black eyes, a rosy-pink bill. The throat is white as is the breast and belly. Its back is white with pink secondary and red primary feathers, olive shoulders. Out tail feathers are a dark red-olive. The inner tail feathers are pink. This bird is much more beautiful than a true albino."

Albinism in birds is by no means as rare as many suppose, but being shy because of their white color, albinos tend to shield themselves in deep cover for their own safety making it hard for us to know they are about.

This Wren Arrived With Style

2008-05-18T20:15:00.003-04:00

The Carolina wren, South Carolina's state bird, has built a mansion somewhat on the order of Bill Gate's newest nest in a large hanging basket of Boston ferns on the edge of the patio.

The little architect had already bulldozed the site for the foundation when I first noticed the building project. He must have completed the job in one morning for the roots, stems, leaves and branched below the basket were a mess that could not have been overlooked for long.

I decided to let him have the basket. Ferns can be replaced. The joy and excitement of watching a sassy little mite build his love nest doesn't come so easily.

It is compared to Bill Gates' nest because it is the largest Carolina wren's nest I have ever observed. Country wrens, so say scientists, usually build larger nests than do those who hang around suburban homes. Could it be that the country cousin has come to town?

Half the fern was dumped out and a shallow depression was made in the dirt. I watched both male and female bring pine straw, small weed and flower stems, tissue paper, newspaper, small roots, tiny stems and dead leaves to be used in building the nest. It was lined with hair and several small feathers. When finished it was roofed over, mainly with pine straw, with the side opening in the nest facing the patio.

This plump and stumpy bird measures five and a half inches from its slender curved bill to the end of its crocked tail. Its rusty cap sets off the white stripe over his inquisitive brown eyes. The rich tones and earthy browns of his topcoat, the buffy-white of his underparts, with flanks washed in cinnamon-pink, blend with its natural habitats.

Its russet wings and tail are finely barred with black. The wren has strong legs, big feet and long claws, equipping it to do its thing . . . destroying insects.

Watching the activity of these energetic birds brought to mind how citizens of South Carolina had to fight to get the Carolina wren legally declared the official bird of South Carolina.

In 1930, the Carolina wren and the mourning dove were voted on by school children, civic club members and the public for state bird. The Carolina wren won by a substantial margin and was declared the state bird by popular vote. The legislature was asked by the State Garden Club to make it official. That body, however, postponed the issue for nine years until some of its members decided the mockingbird would be a more likely representative of the state.

In 1939, the mockingbird was designated the official bird of the state by the legislature. Now the General Assembly thought naming the State Bird was a "done deal."

But wait! Feathers flew. A fight ensued between the legislature and garden club members, school children, Audubon Societies and the public at large. Another campaign was waged by the people of the state.

Finally, the pressure was so great the General Assembly backed down. They decided this high honor should rightfully go to the Carolina wren.

The mockingbird was booted down the capitol steps in Columbia and the 1939 act designating the mockingbird as the state bird was repealed.

In 1948, the Carolina wren was officially declared South Carolina's State Bird. The fight that had raged for 18 years was over!

The mockingbird apparently doesn't hold grudges, for he still sings as beautifully in South Carolina as he does in Florida, Tennessee, Mississippi, Arkansas and Texas; the five other states that have chosen him as their State Bird.

Birds See Things Differently

2008-05-17T11:57:00.000-04:00

This Bird Creates Sensational Impressions

2008-05-17T09:00:00.004-04:00

Waxwings! They do get your attention.

The cedar waxwing is claimed by many to be the best dressed bird in America. It is also claimed to be the best mannered in that you never see them squabbling with one another as other birds do. They are quiet birds. You never know they are around until you see them, regardless of the size of the flock.

The waxwing is larger than a sparrow and smaller than a robin. A small black mask stands out underneath a pointed soft brown crest. Soft, silky, pinkish wood-brown plumage covers his 7 - 8 inch back. His throat is a light brown, his chin black velvet. The belly is washed in the softest yellow. The slate tail has a narrow yellow band across the end and on the slate-gray wings are small red spots like sealing wax. Though considered migratory, the waxwing might better be called a vagabond . . . random wanderers, if you will. They have a tendency to drift southward in the fall and north in the spring. Late winter and early spring are the best times to see these hobos in the Central Savannah River Area. They are now roving about neighborhoods in scattered flocks, large and small.

Waxwings do create a sensational first impression. Carolyn Tyler of the Aiken Museum called March 26 to report a flock of some 50 - 100 of these gorgeous birds eating berries from the ancient trees on the museum grounds. She commented that they had been seeing birds fly past the windows all day and finally investigated. It is exciting to see a tree decorated with dozens and dozens of these handsome birds.

Waxwings are a sociable bunch and travel in huge flocks. They feed on berries of cedar and juniper, dogwood and woodbine berries, elder and haw and other small fruits. On March 28 they ravaged our big fatsia plant that stands beside the bird pool of all its plump white berries. For the first time I observed waxwings feeding chickadee-like, clinging up-side-down on a branch of the fatsia while they devoured the juicy berries hanging under a leaf.

Cedarbirds, as they are sometimes called, will sit for hours nearly motionless in a tree digesting a recent feast. One curious birder found that fruit given to young cedar waxwings passed through the digestive system in 16 minutes.

The waxwing calls into competition the goldfinch as to who is the latest nester. In late June, July and August these wanders give up the flocking habit, choose mates and begin nesting. The large nest is loosely constructed of grass, shreds of bark, twine, fine roots, catkins, moss or rags. Into this cozy nest the female lays 4 - 6 gray-blue eggs marked with blotches of black and brown. Because of late nestings, some young don't leave the nest until deep into September, just weeks before they begin their nomad travels.

These slim, sleek, beautiful birds will be around for a few weeks. Look for them.

Birds & Planes

2008-05-14T11:01:00.000-04:00

A Summer Of Adventure

2008-05-14T09:29:00.003-04:00

The joys of bird watching.

Have you ever watched a towhee luxuriating in a dust bath? Have you seen a male summer tanager splashing in a pool and then watched him preen and align his feathers after bathing? Have you noticed the female tanager comes timidly to the pool for her refreshing bath after her mate has completed his priming?

Have you ever observed a brilliant metallic hummingbird fly through the gentle waterfall smoothly sliding into the pool? Have you seen one of those spastic jewels "sit" on a flat rock beside the waterfall?

Have you ever witnessed a brilliant blue male Eastern bluebird, with his less beautiful wife, teaching five spotted=breasted young to bathe in the sparkling water?

In early spring have you watched the flicker's courtship dance as the two birds, facing each other, do a two-step down a lichened limb of a water oak, calling "wicka, wicka, wicka" as they swing back and forth with a pendulum motion? Have you seen an Eastern kingbird chase a crow who he thinks might have an eye on the four eggs in the bulky nest of cotton and sticks in the tall pine of a wooded lot?

Have you watched a feisty blue jay bouncing up and down on a limb as if on springs and shouting his raucous cry of "jay, jay, jay"? This fellow is a tease and a scoundrel. Have you heard him give a call like a red-shouldered hawk, scaring all the small birds away from the feeder? He then, with a grin on his face, plops himself down on the feeder and begins to gobble up the goodies.

Have you seen a red start flitting about the shrubbery around the pool, then dropping into the wet stuff, opening and closing his orange-red tail all the time he's playing on the rocks in the shallow water?

Have you heard the musical, bell-like song of the wood thrush in the purple twilight, or the mimicking song of the ebullient mockingbird? The ecstasy of singing hurtles him like a rocket from his chimney perch as he sails across the yard to a swinging elaeagnus branch.

Have you watched our State Bird gather nesting material? Do you know where the Carolina wren's roofed, side-opening nest is?

Are thrashers nesting in your yard? Have you searched for a hummer's nest? It possibly could be in a dogwood or white oak tree on a sloping branch. Has the red-eyed vireo hung his nest from a swaying branch of a sweet gum tree? Have you noticed a robin's mud and rootlet nest, or the wood thrush's nest, also made of mud and rootlets?

Are you aware that a downy woodpecker has a cavity full of young who sound like insects when calling for food? Have you noticed that the delightful little chickadee calls your bluebird box home? Have you discovered the nest of the blue-gray coated mourning dove with pink accents on his frock? Did you know that the nest is so fragiley built that the two white eggs can be seen from underneath the nest?

To have all this action in your yard you must have the habitat different species enjoy . . . tall deciduous trees and evergreens, an understory of trees such as dogwood, small maples, crape myrtles, crab apples and hollies.

Water is a must. Have dripping water if at all possible. The easiest and most inexpensive way to get dripping water is to throw a hose over a tree limb and let it drip into a birdbath, a container or a small pool.

Enjoy your birding this summer!

New Suburban Dwellers

2008-05-13T22:53:00.003-04:00

Owls get the jump on song birds as far as courting, nesting and feeding young are concerned. While most owls are cavity nesters, great horned owls have been photographed in February sitting on their open nests with their heads and backs sprinkled with snow.

Many owls nest as early as January and February. This early nesting is thought to concern food for the nestlings. By nesting early and with an incubation period of around 28 days and a fledgling period of about five weeks, this gives the small birds and animals that nest later just enough time for their young to be out of the nest and den to become food for the young owls.

Some of the delicacies fed to the young owls are mice, rats, frogs, lizards, small snakes, squirrels, young rabbits and small birds.

My favorite is the barred owl. In my early years it was the barn owl because the barn owl and I were friends in my childhood.

It was a windless winter night, soft and lightly scented, when the first piercing call of the barred owl in the predawn darkness snaps us awake. A barred owl and his "to-be" visit our neighborhood in a courting mood, for the air is filled with loud, spine-chilling calls by both sexes. Their voices are different, one being higher pitched than the other. We listen to the weird love calls and spectral outbursts for some 40 minutes.

From the dark shadows of the night they hoot again and again, answering each other with an almost musical rhythm, rock singers of the owl world. Their vocal displays are most awesome and exciting, deafening, booming and boisterous. The alternating hooting of a pair of these owls will keep one awake as long as they remain in the neighborhood.

They quiet down for a moment. Then eerie yells commence . . . loud, wild and uncanny. Then as if in a playful mood, maniacal laughter; interspersed with mere chuckles, softens their harsher calls.

The barred owl is a noisy bird at all seasons except when there are babies in the nest hole . . . then it is more quiet. Young remain in the nest for about four or five weeks. At this age, young are able to come out of the nest and move about among the branches, but are yet unable to fly. They are fed by their parents for several weeks after they are climbing about on branches around the cavity.

Known as a forest-loving bird, living in deep, dark woods, heavily wooded swamps and river banks, or thick growths of tall, dense pines, the barred owl spends most of the day sleeping and resting up for the night's ventures. The big round-headed, gray-brown owl is barred crosswise on the breast and streaked lengthwise on the belly. His large brown eyes are surrounded by big gray disks. His back is spotted with white. The sexes dress alike.

In North Augusta, SC, we know of a barred owl's nest deep in the hollow of a snag where people mill around under the tree all day. Sometimes he will peek out at you with one eye. Less than a century ago the barred owl was known as a bird of the deep solitudes. Along river and lake shores where there was a large, dense growth of trees and thick vines, there you found the barred owl.

The 20th century's population explosion, along with the paving of America's forests, wood lots, river banks and swamps, has brought this big owl into the suburbs where we can enjoy him now.

When Squirrels Go From Cute To Pest

2008-05-12T08:06:00.003-04:00

The most often asked question of me today is not "What bird is that?" but "What can I do about squirrels?"

The squirrel, of course, is a rodent, a cousin of rats , mice, moles, muskrats, beavers and all gnawing creatures with sharp chisel-like teeth.

Most bird watchers who keep feeders filled with seed for the birds are exasperated by squirrels. Nuts and acorns, the fruit of forests and woods, have been for eons the basic diet of squirrels. But bird watchers have changed that. Now I think we can safely say it is sunflower seeds, at least for the city-bred furry creatures.

Squirrels will eat buds, fruit, berries, insects and even young birds. They attack the young bird in the head region, cracking open the skull as if it were a nut.

We know of its fondness for buds. Early this spring we transplanted a red maple. As the buds appeared the squirrels ate them, stripping the bark and limbs off a 2-foot section of the trunk. They almost girdled the tree. Of course, with the cambium destroyed, the tree would die.

Being prolific breeders, squirrels observe two breeding seasons, spring and summer. They are active throughout the winter. Squirrels used to rely on stored food to get through the cold months. Today they rely on bird feeders, that is, again, the city fellows do.

But now, how to squelch squirrels? We learned from an Aiken friend of a product called Squirrel Away that is guaranteed to do the job. All you do is mix the product with bird seed and the furry creatures will shake their fuzzy tails at you for ruining their banquet. Squirrels hate the taste. Birds love it. We have used it and it does work. Follow the directions carefully. Here's a link to the company's website: http://www.squirrelaway.com/ .

Nurseries and hardware stores sell other products claimed to be squirrel proof. Nature magazines have many products that are advertised as squirrel proof. Scan the ads in magazines and then go have a look at bird feeders and other products in stores and make your choice. But don't raise your expectations too high . . . I haven't seen a product yet that is 100% squirrel proof.

The following suggestion was gleaned from Birds and Bloom: A creative young fellow drills a small hole in the bottom of plastic soda bottles. He then strings them together on a wire hung between two trees. With six bottles on either side of a feeder hung on the middle of the wire, he says when the squirrels try to walk the wire, the bottles roll and throw them off.

Squirrels . . . are they demons or darlings? When you have only one or two on your lawn they're darlings. When you have a band of five or more eating all your seed, they're . . . well you say it!

Air Mail?

2008-05-11T23:30:00.000-04:00

Lively Sprite On The Scene

2008-05-11T22:45:00.003-04:00

The air is vibrant with nuptial song. A male orchard oriole is singing from a tall willow. His mate brings pieces of long, green grass and entwines them into the basket nest hanging at the end of a water oak's sweeping branch.

From a nearby cottonwood, a male summer tanager interrupts his song every few seconds to give his harsh distress note, "quick, pick-it-up." (Say it fast and deep to get the tempo of the note.)

From deep within the thorny thicket, a gray catbird is singing his song. A yellow-breasted chat is chuckling from the brier patch. "Witchity, whichity, witchity." A secreted yellow-throat lets us know he is about but he's not showing himself.

Through all this tuning up and singing, I hear a tiny, high pitched note, like the plucking of an elf's guitar. I listen. "Tsing, tsin--g," it calls. Searching through the greening leaves, I see the owner. Agile, petite, gray-blue and white, with flashing long, black, white-edged tail, the blue-gray gnatcatcher is greedily downing its breakfast of insects. Its beady eyes dance from behind a tiny white ring of feathers, accented by its black forehead and black eye-stripe. It wears an immaculate white shirt. Its slender tail is held cocked like that of a wren.

This little sprite is more abundant in the winter here in the Central Savannah River Area when the northern nesters come down to enjoy southern hospitality. Some migrants even hop the Gulf to Guatemala and the Islands for the colder months.

Measuring only four and a half inches from his thin bill to the end of his twitching tail, it breeds over a large part of the United States.

Its nest resembles that of a hummingbird's, though it's some three or four times larger. Four or five tiny bluish-white eggs are laid. They are loosely sprinkled with reddish-brown dots. In the northern part of their range, these petite birds rear but a single brood in a season but in the deep South two broods are normal.

When a novice birdwatcher first sees this small, tail-flicking bird, he will immediately say it looks like a "miniature mockingbird," and he is right. The similarity of the two birds (except for their size) is indeed striking. Both birds have slender bodies, both are gray, though not the same shade, both have long tails, and many of their habits and expressions are alike.

Gnatcatchers are common birds in wooded areas of cities, yet they are not too well known. Perhaps it is because they are "tree birds," small and quick moving. Yet they can be readily distinguished from other small birds . . . chickadees, kinglets and small warblers . . . by the length of their tails.

One of the favorite haunts of these small, pretty and lively birds is residential areas with wooded streets. If you want to know these petite and active birds, grab your binoculars, go outside and search the treetops for them now while they are busy with family duties.

This Bird's A 'Knock-Out'

2008-05-10T22:41:00.003-04:00

Birdwise, the talk-of-the-town for the past few weeks has been the rose-breasted grosbeak.

Numerous calls from observers who have seen this spectacular bird at their feeders have come from Evans, Martinez, Augusta, North Augusta, Aiken, Beech Island, Langley and other Central Savannah River Area towns. This bird is a 'knock-out' and when you see him for the first time you are dazzled by his beauty.

On their way to northern nesting grounds in the spring, a scattering of a flock drops down to feed and rest all along the route and only a small number is seen each spring. However, when there are numerous spring storms producing rain, hail and wind, migrating birds will come to rest because they can't battle such forces in flight. This will lead to an unusually large influx of birds.

Finding themselves in a new territory, one in which there is plenty of natural food and gobs of bird feeders, they linger awhile, enjoying the warm weather and other amenities of the deep South. From wintering in Central America, the rose-breasted grosbeak arrives in this region from mid-April through early May in a striking new spring and summer suit. The male is handsomely garbed in black and white with a patch of the loveliest bright re-rose on his snow white breast and the most delicate of pink linings on the underside of his wings. The only fault that can be found in the beauty of this feathered Beau Brummell is his big over-sized nose. It seems to overwhelm his black face.

The dowdy lady grosbeak in her streaked dress of brown and grayish white resembles a puffed-up sparrow. She has not a rose-colored feather on her. White eyebrows are noticeable and her bill is thick and exaggerated like her mate's. Her size (eight inches) and big pale bill distinguish her from the sparrows. She wears the same dress the year 'round. No new styles for her.

Rose-breasted grosbeaks do not nest in our area and they are not common residents until you get "way up north" or, occasionally, in the mountains of Georgia and South Carolina.

His song is not unlike that of the robin and we sometimes mistake it for the scarlet tanager, another migrant. You must go to his breeding grounds to hear him, for seldom does he sing on migration.

In fall migration, when these elegant birds return through the area, usually the male still will be wearing his resplendent black and rose dress. As the year advances and he travels to the tropics, he will change outfits.

Changing his dressy duds to an outfit more like the female's, he keeps a tinge of rose on his breast and black and white on his dowdy wings. These small bright spots will distinguish the two.

If you want to attract these birds this fall and in the spring, keep your tabletop feeders filled with sunflower and safflower seeds. A tired migrating grosbeak will thank you, maybe in song, but always in beauty, for easy access to food.

The Waders Return

2008-05-06T21:43:00.003-04:00

Luscious spring days bring a slew of large wading birds to the Central Savannah River Area. Unless you have a pond on your premises or have access to a neighbor's, you'll have to get out in the field to see these beauties.

You might expect to see the great egret, snowy and cattle egrets, great blue and tri-colored herons and the smaller green heron . . . all elegant and graceful birds.

The cattle egret is a comparatively newcomer to the States, showing up in the CSRA in the early sixties. It is an African egret and no one knows for sure how it found itself in South America about 100 years ago. It is assumed it was blown by hurricane winds from Africa to South America. From there it easily hopped over to the Caribbean Islands. It appeared in southern Florida in the early 1940s.

Augusta birders were expecting it to find its way up the Eastern Coast and in the early 60s it was seen at an Augusta airport for the first time. A new bird in the area! Excitement ran high.

During the breeding season, cattle egrets show buff on their crown, breast and back. The bird appears white at other times of the year, the buff becoming indiscernible. Usually, these striking birds head for the coast for the winter months.

This little egret gets its name by following cows and grabbing up insects disturbed by the grazing cattle. They perch on the backs of cows and other animals and there they find sun-warmed insects. They know a good insect cafeteria when they see one.

Slightly larger than the cattle egret, the snowy can be distinguished from the cattle by its yellow slippers and block stockings. During mating season, it is adorned with waving plumes that curve about its neck, fluttering in the breeze as it feeds and takes care of its young in the nest. Standing over three feet tall on slender black legs and feet, the great egret's entire body is snowy white, accented with straight white plumes on its breast and back when breeding. This handsome egret can be seen at all times of the year in the CSRA.

Another magnificent long-legged wader is the great blue heron . . . a permanent resident of the area, though its numbers increase in the winter.

It's a good thing great blues are well behaved and don't go in for necking. If they did, their long necks would become like the maze of a tangled water hose. Beside his long slim neck, the great blue has long, slim dark legs that lift him to a height of over four feet. A wing span of six feet adds to his splendidness.

Though the tri-colored heron is not common to the area, we do see it occasionally. As its name suggests, its plumage is composed of three colors. The head, neck, wings, back and tail are dark slate-blue. Its belly, rump and under wings are white. The third color, a tawny to dark chestnut stripe, runs the length of the neck.

Arriving in the spring after a winter absence, the unique green heron is back, claiming his "home stead rights" on the border of some miry pond. This is one of the smallest of the large waders. He stands only 16 to 22 inches from his long pointed bill to the end of his stubby tail. A bluish-greenish-gray back is accented by a chubby chestnut colored back. The legs are extremely short for his size.

All herons fly with the neck folded backwards in an "S" curve, their head between their shoulders and their long legs stretched out behind.

These beautiful and graceful birds are out there now. Go see!

Condominiums For Birds

2008-05-06T13:30:00.001-04:00

Colorful Visitor Arrives

2008-05-04T22:02:00.002-04:00

Early in April there is a colorful visitor that comes to our area. He is one of our first returnees from the tropics for the summer.

Indigo buntings appear in the Central Savannah River Area about the time lawns, roadsides and meadows are filled with dandelion seed puffs and when crabgrass, sock and other weeds spring up.

When we first moved to our present location, indigos visited us every spring. We had a little pool situated under small pines in the backyard. Looking back, I see where our backyard was probably a cotton patch at one time. Through the years it was abandoned as a field and now was being taken over by mostly pines, thick vines, shrubbery and residences.

Indigos had probably used this space for nesting, rearing young and singing from high perches from time immemorial. Birds are known (by banding) to return to the former year's nesting sites with regularity. Now we have taken their home site for our own, for we don't see them around the yard anymore.

Indigos are small birds measuring only 5 1/2 inches from bill tip to tail tip. The adult male indigo is our only small, all blue North American finch. In the fall, the male molts into plumage much like the female but there is always enough blue in the wings and tail to identify him. During the fall molt he could be confused with the blue grosbeak but for his smaller size.

Adult females are warm yellowish-brown above pale buff below. She has no discernible streaks or wing bars as other little brown female birds do. Though the young look similar to the female, prominent streaks on the breast tell you who they are.

Indigos seek out brushy cover close to the ground for nesting. But it must be near high perches for the elegant male to sit all day and pour out his exuberant and ceaseless song. A song expert says this about the indigo's song: "One remarkable song that can give an idea of the rhythm was zay-zay zreet zay zay zeah zay-zay- seeteeteet zit-zit zeah." The remarkable thing about this is that the rhythm is exactly like that of a well known human jingle. "Bean porridge hot, bean porridge cold. Bean porridge in the pot, nine days old."

It has been determined that different individuals have songs of many patterns. If you hear a bird singing but are not sure it is an indigo, search it out for certain identification.

Male indigos sing all day throughout the hot days of summer. The hotter the days, the more intense their singing.

Bark strips, weed stems, broad grass blades and skeletonized leaves make up the thick walled nest. It is lined with fine grasses or hair and is usually placed low in the shrubs or branches of prickly vines or bushes. Three to four white eggs with a bluish or greenish tinge are laid. Incubation is 12 days, with nestling fledging in about the same number of days.

Fall migration begins late in August or early September for these brilliant birds and may continue through early November. Some indigos winter in Florida but the preponderance of the massive flocks move on to Cuba, Mexico and Central America.

You will know another season has rolled around when you no longer hear the incessant singing of the indigo.

Choose The Right Bird Feeder

2008-04-30T14:16:00.000-04:00

Hatching Eaglets

2008-04-30T10:21:00.003-04:00

Hawks Moving To The Suburbs

2008-04-28T11:01:00.003-04:00

Once thought to be meadow, wood and stream dwellers, several species of hawk have become yuppies, moving into suburban areas, seemingly without fear.

Weeding a flower bed during one of the few balmy days of early April we hear the asthmatic squeal of a red-tailed hawk. The closeness of the "keer-r-r, keer-r-r" startles us. Looking up, there sat two red-tailed hawks in a large sweet gum tree in a neighbor's yard, the branches where the hawks are perched hanging over our heads.

Were the hawks there when we came out into the yard? We don't know. But now a big black crow is harassing them. The two leave the tree together and begin ascending the warm thermals. They are oblivious to the crow chasing them, the black tormentor using all the expletives in crow language as he follows them skyward.

The two hawks rise slowly in spirals and circles, with the crow screaming and mounting with them. The crow shoots from one bird to the other, squawking and seemingly slapping their backs. In ascending spirals, the hawks soon appear no larger in size than a robin. At last the antagonizer, so high in the sky he appears the size of a chickadee, gives up and descends earthward disappearing over the hill.

It is only minutes before the soaring hawks are back over our yard, still flying not far above the treetops with outstretched wings and tail.

On a balmy day a few days before, we watched the nuptial flight of two hawks. Hearing a blue jay's call, we think, the call being similar to a red-shouldered hawk's cry, we look toward the wooded lot from where the call had come.

Gazing skyward we are surprised to see two red-shouldered hawks flying in circles and touching wings, or so it seems. Such beautiful and majestic movements as they play around in the warm thermals.

Sailing in wide spirals, balancing on wide, outstretched wings, tails wide open like a fan, floating serenely with no apparent effort, they seem to be enjoying their honeymoon flight.

Most hawks mate for life, though they go through nuptial festivities each spring. We haven't located a nest yet, but last summer red-shouldered hawks hung out in the wooded lot and the wooded buffer zones between neighbor's houses.

These two big buteos have been accused of taking chickens but research has shown they seldom take poultry. Their main diet is mice, moles, squirrels, rabbits, grasshoppers and other large insects. The morning we observed the red-tails we found a squirrel's tail in a flower bed, perhaps a victim of the hawks.

The rufous red tail is one of the best identifying marks of the brown-backed red-tailed hawk. Heavy dark bands across both sides of the tail are a good field mark of the red-shouldered hawk. The red shoulders can't always be seen from below.

Although the sexes of both species are similar, females are usually larger. Both hawks are residents of the Central Savannah River Area. Each species increases in number in winter when the more northern nesting hawks come south for some rest and relaxation.

The American Coot Is A Hoot

2008-04-26T10:29:00.003-04:00

Laughable and lovable, it is loud, noisy and fun-loving pond dweller. If you watch it long enough you will die laughing at its antics.

It is an odd-ball. It walks like a chicken, dives like a duck, croaks like a frog and swims like a fish. Wherever there's a pond to its liking, this amusing chicken-like bird with its impish fellows gather like a gang of hootin' football spectators.

This sooty black rail (many people think it is a duck) breeds from Alaska to South America. Wherever it breeds, the inland ponds and lakes are home. It is in our area now, the American coot.

Garbed almost entirely in sombre black, its short and stubby tail is tipped in white. A thick, gleaming white beak sets off its black face. Its eyes glitter and twinkle like scarlet jewels on black velvet. Its feet are pale greenish-olive with toes lobed along the edges.

After a tempestuous courtship, the jovial male coot turns the home building duties over to his wife. With her beak, she pounds together dead stalks of reeds and rushes to build a platform. She curves the stalks over with her bill and "hammers" them to live rushes floating in the water. With all the knocking and hammering going on during nesting season, you would think the prime interest rate has just been reduced again, for construction is booming in the marsh where coots abound.

When the nest is finished and anchored to floating vegetation, it drifts in the water like a pontoon boat. Nests are woven together in somewhat of a wicker basket fashion. Eggs number from six to at times more than a dozen. They are cream-colored and are distinguishable by the small 'pepper-spot' markings evenly sprinkled over them. Incubation is about 21 days and is shared by both parents. Being precocial, as soon as their down is dry, the young leave the nest and swim and dive almost as well as their parents. The father acts as baby-sitter during this time.

It's fun to watch a coot any time. But they are especially hilarious to observe during mating season. Find a choice seat in the reads along side a pond filled with the laughable creatures. (Bring along popcorn to eat for what you see will be equivalent to a three-ring circus.) Scuffling, calling skittering, courting, charging, these spastic, black-colored clowns turn the [pond into a jumble of confusion. Sometimes they fight savagely . . . the eternal love triangle being involved. Feathers fly, and raspy, screechy, honking voices fill the air. In their battles they lock claws as well as bills.

Whenever swimming or walking the coot nods its head in step with its foot movements, like a dove. Its white bill, in contrast to its black head, fairly gleams in the sunlight, an excellent field mark.

The coot is another bird that appears to be adapting to the ways of civilization. It is a wild bird with wild ways, and it can be found in the remotest swamp ponds. But it is also found along heavily traveled freeways where it nonchalantly lets the noise and the constant movement of traffic roll off its back like water off a duck's.

Birds Returning From Tropics On The Decline

2008-04-24T17:19:00.003-04:00

It was in the golden afternoon that he came. A summer tanager, bright even in the subdued April light.

We have been expecting him, though he doesn't nest at our place anymore. He came to the feeder that is set with cones of peanut butter, halves of oranges, apples and grapefruit. He ate, then bathed in the pool, hopped onto the rocks and fluffed his feathers. He then flew to a giant sweet gum tree in the wooded lot without a single chip or chirp, much less song. We believe he had just winged in from his winter vacation.

For some years he nested in our yard in a water oak. But then one year he came, full of joy and singing only to find his summer housing and eateries had been replaced with people houses and bricked walks, lawns and gardens and paved streets. It's enough to make a tanager cry, and I think he did, for he left us and hasn't been back to nest since.

We have more to concern us though than whether he nests in our yard. Scientific reports show that tanagers, flycathers, orioles and vireos are drastically decreasing in numbers each year when they return to the States from their winter stays in the tropics. Why? Because their winter habitat -- Latin American forests -- are being destroyed at almost 100 acres a minute. These forests serve as the only home for more than half of the world's species of plants and animals, including birds.

When migrating birds arrive in the States each spring and find their nesting habitat destroyed, they go looking for other suitable sites just as our tanager has done for the past few years.

Both male and female are beautiful birds, though of different colors. He wears a solid red suit. The wings and tail are usually tinged with a grayish or brownish color, edged in red. The 7 1/2 inch male stays a rosy red all year. Females have a yellow-orange underpants with a light yellow-green back.

First year males look much like the female. Young males by their first spring are not fully red, but are a strange mixture of red and green patches. They mate in this color. Once on a birding walk along the edges of the Savannah River, we saw such a male tending young in the nest.

Of the 350 species of tanagers in the tropics, only five think it worthwhile to visit the States. Two species, the scarlet and summer, nest in the eastern United States.

The summer tanager is the only breeding tanager in our area. The scarlet migrates through the spring and fall and, of course, has the jet black wings and tail, a mark that easily distinguishes him from the summer.

To distinguish the summer tanager from the cardinal, a year-round resident, and often called the winter redbird, the summer is a smaller, more slender bird with protruding black eyes. And he has no crest. The tanager's bill is longer and more slender than the cardinal's red conical-shaped one.

We still have real estate in our yard for sale. We'll sell it for a song and a little grass and rootlet hangout.

May Is An Outdoors Month

2008-04-24T09:32:00.003-04:00

Get ready for May! It is the time for getting out into the marshes and ponds and lake shores. These bodies of water are the most fascinating of the outdoors.

The root-stained, weed-grown, algae-brown waters of the marsh, the cattail-fringed pond, and the lush green necklace of willows and sedges around a blue lake harbor fascinating creatures.

There's just something about a body of water that lures man to it. Is it the timeless sound of the lake waves lapping against a stony shore, or the plant tangled shallows of a pond filled with creatures from insects to alligators, or fresh water ponds formed behind barren dunes on ocean beaches?

May! -- the time of wild strawberries, wild sweet william, wild ginger and wild geraniums, often called cranesbill because of the queer shape of its seed capsules. In the marsh skunk cabbages emerge, beautiful to view from a distance. Its foul odor belies its beauty.

Around swamps and ponds marsh marigolds glitter in the warm sun. The common dandelion is everywhere, its golden flowers enhancing weedy fields and roadsides.

This is the season when indigo buntings sing from lofty, leafless treetops, when meadowlarks sing along fence rows, when orchard orioles are spotted with long green grass lengths for the nest hanging at the tip end of a branch of water oak, and the yellow-breasted chat who you know is around by his grunts, screeches and snorting noises.

Bobolinks, from the pampas of Argentina on their way to northern nesting grounds, sweep over the ripening grain fields with tinkling melodies in their throats.

May is the time to see the striking scarlet tanager, with jet black wings and tail, on his way to more northern nesting grounds. Red-wing black birds throw camouflage aside and blaze crimson epaulets from every bending cattail stalk. Wafting over the gray water is their liquid song, "o-ka-leee, o-ka-leeee." The protective-colored dowdy female is busy nest building.

Look around. There's a common yellow-throat hiding in dense vegetation. You can hear him, "witchity, witchity, witchity," but you don't see him. Lisping among the pines and oaks hung with Spanish moss is a parula. These colorful tiny warblers love swamps, ponds and lake shores where they nest in a swinging swag of Spanish moss. The hooded warbler's haunts are swampy environments . . . low, heavily shaded woods with thick undergrowth. Damp woods around lakes and ponds are favored by this handsome yellow and black feathered beauty.

A great blue heron stalking along the shore of lapping lake water, or standing motionless in the brown water of a pond among reed grass and spatter-dock, is one of the most spectacular visitors of the water habitats.

May! Don't miss the show that's quickly pulling the curtain for the next scene -- summer.

Birds Can Teach Us A Lesson or Two

2008-04-22T10:46:00.003-04:00

Yellowed with age, this tale of the cardinals was found in my grandmother's clippings file.

Characteristics of birds, as we have said before, change little, if any, over the eons of time. Consequently, this scenario could happen outside your window today just as it did at the feeding tray of this couple some 85 to 90 years ago. Birds don't change!

Following is an enchanting account by the observers of the "way of birds:"

"My husband and I were delighted and amused at breakfast recently by an episode outside our dining room window, so amazingly human as to make an almost unbelievable bird story.

"Having fed sunflower seeds all winter to a rose-taupe Mrs. Cardinal and a scarlet Mr. Cardinal from a feeding tray outside our window, we are this summer feeding in addition little Jenny and Jane and Jim Cardinal. (There seem to be two small females and one rose-spotted young male.)

"As soon as these three were able to leave the nest, the parent birds brought them to the tray, and shelling sunflower seeds, put the kernels into the wide open mouths of the little ones. This feeding was accompanied by constant trembling of little wings and strange crying on the part of the babies, which sounded to us like the insistent ringing of little silver bells.

"Soon we noticed that the young birds came alone to feed. They were very helpless at first, and seeing their inability to crack the husks, we fed them shelled seeds at one meal. Deciding, however, that this was an unsound pedagogical principle, we straightway abandoned it and in little more than a day's time all three youngsters could not only feed themselves ably, but could drive away the sparrows that plagued them as well.

"However, (and this is where my story really begins), one morning while Jenny was having her breakfast, Mother Cardinal flew to the tray to break her fast also. Before our astonished eyes and ear, the young scamp, who until that moment had been feeding herself with perfect ease, at once dropped the seed from her mouth and began the infantile fluttering of her wings, accompanied by her babyhood cry -- which she could still muster and which still sounded to us exactly like the ringing of the little silver bell.

"The mother gave no heed to this display -- whereupon Jenny took a seed in her bill and shifted it about with the unjustable pretense of being unable to shell it.

"This method of appeal she alternated with the whimperings and teasings I have just described, until Mrs. Cardinal -- exasperated as nay mother would be -- said to her in effect, 'Oh, stop the nonsense child!' and slapping Jenny with her bill, flew away.

"Thereupon (and to this I set my sign and seal) the little feathered child at once resumed her feeding in a sensible and very grownup manner."

Oh, but what we humans could learn if we would but observe nature!

Warblers Fill The Air With Song

2008-04-20T21:36:00.003-04:00

April is the month of migrant warblers, for it is in this month that the preponderance of these beautiful birds pass through our lawns, forests and parks, northward bound.

Few warblers spend their winters with us. One is the lovely yellow and olive-green pine warbler, a year-round citizen of the South's forests and lawns. He has put on a new bright suit for spring and has already left our yards to build his nest high in a tall pine.

On some sunny morning, we might awaken to find our trees and shrubs alive with colorful creatures that have appeared from somewhere in the night.

This flashy one with yellow, black-flecked breast and bars of white across tail and wings . . . a magnolia. From Yucatan the night before he set out straight across the Gulf, flying ever northward. Today he is resting and feeding along North Augusta's Greenway. Tonight perhaps he will push on. No doubt thoughts of mating and nesting in his old neighborhood have triggered his hurrying on.

Within a week he'll be building his nest in the same spruce thicket in Maine or Quebec where last year he and his mate raised their brood of four. Some members of the family will return to the same area next breeding season.

From his West Indies winter home, this chestnut-cheeked warbler in his spring migration flight passed through the Bahamas and Florida, steadily pushing through Georgia and South Carolina. Some of the flock drop down to feed and rest for the night along streams and wood edges in our area.

A sighting one never forgets is seeing the Cape May warbler feeding from the blossom, the color of his cheek patch, of the tulip poplar. The pointed fir and spruce forests of Nova Scotia beckon this beautiful warbler home for the summer. Here he will build a nest for the six or seven creamy white eggs, richly blotched with shades of brown. These tiny eggs will produce youngsters that in the fall will repeat the age-old migration journey on the same sky roads that their ancestors have followed for eons past.

This flame breasted blackburnian, of fire-throat, as he is often called, is in from the jungles of Peru or Ecuador where he spends the winter. Now during these lengthening, warming, sunny days he is hurrying to the pine grove of southern Quebec where he nested last spring. He and his mate will hand their nest far out on a lofty swaying branch in a jack pine.

Migrating through our area from his winter home in South America, the blackpoll warbler breeds mainly in Canada but has extended his nesting range into the mountains of New York, Vermont and New Hampshire. This white and black warbler can easily be mistaken for a chickadee, though the migrant is a good inch or more larger than his look-alike.

He wears a solid black cap and has a solid, somewhat triangular white cheek patch. His solid white breast is streaked on the sides with black. His back is black and gray striped.

The blackpoll is a late migrant and perhaps has not been through our area yet. Look for him!

Birds Known By Their Eggs

2008-04-19T12:19:00.002-04:00

This spring, think eggs!

Nesting time has rolled around again. Not only will the shape, size, material used and in what situation the nest is placed (a thorny vine, low shrub, in a hedge, in a tall tree, or on a shelf) tell you who the owner is, but the eggs will sometimes clinch the identification.

A bird's egg is one of nature's masterpieces. From the tiny eggs of the hummingbird to the large eggs of the Canada goose, there are remarkable differences.

The range of colors, shapes and markings on bird's eggs are incredible. Many blend perfectly with their surroundings.

For instance, the killdeer's light buff with bold blackish-brown or black blotched eggs blend so well with the surroundings that it takes a sharp-eyed person to find them. This bird builds no nest but deposits the eggs in a slight depression of debris or pebbles. Around a home, a good chance to hide the treasure is a gravelly driveway.

Many of us have cardinals nesting in our yards. If you are not sure the nest you have found is that of a cardinal, being able to identify the eggs will help in its identification. The ground color of the greenish-white, heavily speckled and spotted with different shades of brown will tell you the nest is that of a cardinal. The clutch is usually four eggs.

The mockingbird is another common yard bird. Although material used in its nest is decidedly different than the cardinal's, the eggs are much alike in color and size, and might be hard for one to determine the owner. The bluish or greenish ground color is heavily marked with various shades of brown. To be sure which eggs you are seeing, the difference in the nests would be your best clue. Seeing the owner at home would be indisputable.

There's a great variety in bird's eggs . . . in number, size and color. Yard birds such as robins, cardinals, towhees and brown thrashers produce a clutch of four eggs usually, but sometimes there might be a large set of five or six. The Carolina wren's usual clutch is six slightly buffy colored, reddish-brown spotted eggs in a dome-shaped nest.

Brown thrashers nest at least twice in a season, with robins, cardinals and towhees nesting commonly three times. In the South, the nesting season is longer than in northern states. We had a towhee in our yard once whose young fledged in mid-September.

Cavity nesting birds usually lay pure white eggs. Owls, some hole-nesting, others in open nests, lay pure white round eggs. All woodpecker's eggs are white.

A flicker's nest was found in a felled tree and I examined the eggs. Although the shell was white, the eggs had a pink glow. The shell was translucent and the yolk showing through it caused a lovely pinkish blush.

The eggshell of most song birds is spotted with shades of light to dark brown. Many species of birds have eggs spotted with purple and lilac along with brown and black. Eggshells vary from white, glossy white, buff, to different shades of light blue to blue greens and various shades of green.

No one clue may be enough to ensure accurate identification. It is by the combination of several pieces of evidence that you will succeed in your search to "know your eggs".

Bald Eagles Return To Nest

2008-04-18T09:38:00.000-04:00

First Bird Dance-Off

2008-04-18T09:25:00.000-04:00

Scholarships For Bird Camp

2008-04-18T09:16:00.001-04:00

Robin's Nests Reveal Secrets

2008-04-18T08:47:00.003-04:00

The big northern robins have gone, leaving behind our smaller southern robin who sings to us every day now.

They are all over our lawn and large trees. I suspect they're looking for a nesting site. Although they build in other situations, the most common one around here is to saddle their nest on a large branch of a large tree.

The lawn is full of noisy activity. Males, I assume rivals for the attention of a female, chase after one another, even touching the one chased with his wings. They prance around with the pomposity of a pigeon. Then one flies away with the other following. Some of this activity could be between the sexes.

Without question, the best known and best loved bird in America is the red-breasted robin. Early settlers named this people-loving bird robin because it reminded them of the cheerful little red-breasted bird they left in England. The robin is a species of the thrush.

Why do robins migrate? Cold weather? To keep warm? No. Food is the answer. The bird can take the cold, by fluffing up its downy body feathers, it fashions a pair of thermal longjohns that keeps it snugly warm. What it can't take is the cold frozen ground that sends its favorite goodies, worms and insects, too far underground to be snatched from the frozen turf. Flying south for the winter is a bird's way of finding food in the cold months.

To our northern neighbors, the robin is the true bird of spring. The southern robin is with us here in the South all year, though they leave our lawns and go to nearby sunny swamps for a few weeks during the colder months. Here fruit and seed are plentiful and sustain them until the earth warms and worms start wiggling in the warm, moist ground.

By early April, if the weather has been warm and there have been rains to make mud (a robin's bricks), robin's nests are everywhere to be seen.

Summer days are enhanced by the robin and all his neighbors as they fill the dawn and dusk of each day with a medley of song for an hour or more.

Robins have been called the pottery makers of the bird world. Take a good look at an abandoned robin's nest. Pull off the lining of grass and straw. You'll find a rough, hard, earthen bowl. Using her breast as a mold, the female smooths the wet mud into shape. A robin's nest, because of the thick dried mud layer, is heavier than most birds' nests. Most of the nest building is done by the female.

After the nest is finished one blue-green egg is laid each day until the clutch numbers four. The female broods the eggs for 12-13 days. The spotted-breasted young leave the nest when about 14-15 days old.

Now that you know the secrets of the robin's nesting life, find a nest and keep records of these big events in the lives of a nest of robins. It's exciting and fun!

Birds Quarantined at JFK

2008-04-15T15:13:00.001-04:00

Birds Fall From the Sky

2008-04-10T13:48:00.000-04:00

The Name Truly Fits

2008-04-09T09:04:00.003-04:00

Often habits and body markings are the clue to a bird's name. Just so the chipping sparrow's moniker comes from the dry, one tone chip he "chips" over and over again.

Chippies, or chipping sparrows, are the smallest of the species. You may know them by the name Chip-bird, Hair-bird, Hair sparrow or Red-headed chipping bird.

Measuring only 5 to 5 1/2 inches, this littlest sparrow wears atop his head a cinnamon-rufous cap edged in broad white stripes. A dark streak seems to go through his dark eyes. His throat, breast and rump are silvery gray. His coat is light brown streaked with darker brown. The female is dressed like her mate but sometimes in duller colors. Immature chippies are browner looking than either of the adults and have not yet developed any rufous in the crown.

This spiffy little sparrow is a dooryard bird in our area and nests in evergreen shrubbery and trees around our homes as well as in fields and along roadsides. Winter populations of this social bird are much heavier than summer populations because winter visitors merge with local yokels, creating tremendous numbers.

In early spring, northern visitors begin to migrate from wintering playgrounds in small waves of from a half-dozen to a dozen or more to northern nesting grounds.

This littlest sparrow prefers evergreen trees (in the South, pines) or evergreen shrubs to place its small, delicate cup of grass and curly rootlets, cleverly interwoven and lined with hair. Chippy nests have been found lined with black horse hair, white hair, and even red hair, almost the color of their crown. The red hair could have come from a fox, horse, a dog or even a human.

Four bullish-green eggs, thinly spotted with blackish-brown, are laid in the small cradle. Incubation lasts for northern nesting chippies for 11 to 14 days, with the nestlings fledging in about the same period. In the warm South, the incubation period is close to 11 days and the nestlings fledge in 10 to 11 days.

Its diet is mostly wees seed though it does eat a great many insects and worms, largely caterpillars. I watched one morning as a chippy pounced upon a tent caterpillar. Scores were crawling about not long out of the web. While attempting to swallow it, I thought he would choke, but after several jerks and yanks of his head and neck, one big gulp took it down. Such a large worm for such a small stomach.

The chippy's tinkling trill is easily confused with the quavering trill of the dark-eyed junco and the more musical and slower trill of the pine warbler. Until you are able to distinguish the three (veteran bird watchers are sometimes confused), you must observe the bird to be sure which of the three is singing to you.

The first winter visitors of these friendly little chippies usually arrive in the Central Savannah River Area in late October or the first few days of November where they mingle with the southern born. We always find them on bird walks around these dates, hobnobbing with white-throated, song, field, vesper and swamp sparrows. Along wood edges we observe them with chickadees, Carolina wrens, titmice and kinglets.

The southern chippy could nest in your yard this summer. Look for him.

An Unexpected Surprise

2008-04-08T22:53:00.003-04:00

We awake early on a sunny, dewy day to be greeted by the morning chorus. We lie in bed with windows open and try to name all the birds that are singing so delightfully. We pick out the robin, the brown thrasher, the wood thrush, crested flycatcher (two summer visitors), the mockingbird, Carolina wren, the mourning dove, the titmouse and oh my, yes, it's the red-eyed vireo.

In early April these energetic wood sprites return to us from Central and South America where they have enjoyed another summer with plenty of insects. Now they are back to build their nests and rear their young. Come August and September they'll hazard another long journey so they might live in perpetual summer with an abundance of food.

After breakfast we open the doors to the patio and our little dull, olive-green friend is still singing the same monotonous notes. He doesn't stop, but goes on and on with the monotonous song, "Look up, over here, see me, up here" he sings, repeating the phrase as often as forty times a minute. It has now been an hour and fifteen minutes since we first heard his greeting to us. He seems to be working the new growth of foliage on the oaks, maples and sweet gum trees.

The red-eye of this vireo is not a distinctive field mark unless one is close to the bird. A clearer identification mark of this six-inch vireo is the clear white line over the eye, bordered with black. An olive-greenish back with no wing bars and a gray head are more distinctive markings. The under parts are dull white with sides and flanks being washed with a dirty greenish-yellow. The slight hook at the tip of the large bill, characteristic of all vireos, is also a good field mark in distinguishing vireos from warblers.

The red-eye is a common nester in this area. Check your yard borders, all trees on lawns and wood lots and you'll probably find his nest, if he's in your neighborhood at all.

Its nest is made of wood fibers, bark, weed stems, dried leaves, moss and lichens. The small cup-shaped hanging cradle is placed almost to the end of a branch, usually ten to twenty feet from the ground. It is attached to a fork with part of the nest attached to a third twig growing from one of the branches forming the fork, thus forming a parallelogram. All red-eyed's nests that I have seen are placed in such a situation, the clincher that tells you you've found a red-eyed's nest in bare winter woods when no vireos are around.

The nest is about two and one-half inches across and the same, or nearly so, in depth. It is so strongly and compactly built that it can stand the storms of winter. One hung in our yard for three years.

Vireos are our best leaf debuggers. The spastic warblers flit from twig to twig, leaf to leaf, without cleaning the foliage. Vireos, on the other hand, leisurely search each leaf and twig, cocking their little heads to look up at the underside of the leaf and peck off the bugs hidden there.

Vireos work as the seven dwarfs did . . . singing as they work. Sometime sit in the yard and watch them labor.

Flycatchers Arrive

2008-04-07T20:24:00.003-04:00

When first you see the great-crested flycatcher in the spring, back from his winter vacation in the tropics, he may look as if he collided with a tropical storm on his way across the Gulf. Sometimes his crest looks ratted, a sign that he is not yet over jet lag.

This bushy, crew-cut bird wears a drab olive coat on his back, accentuated with bright mahogany wings and tail. Its lemon-yellow shirt adds to its camouflage of the yellow-green leaves of spring.

A large flat bill, with bristles at the base to help scoop in those noxious insects, is a good field mark. You hear this bird more often than you see him because his voice is so loud and grating. But with all his roughness, he is beautiful.

Found in our wooded neighborhoods from Florida and the Gulf Coast into Canada, this big flycatcher was once considered a woods bird, not a suburbanite. If in your neighborhood you have large trees scattered with woodpecker holes or natural cavities, he'll probably be your neighbor this spring.

The great-crested is a hole-nesting bird and natural cavities seem to be his preference, though he will build in man-made boxes, mailboxes and other cavities.

Hardly a summer passed that we didn't have at least one flycatcher nest on our bluebird trail. Usually the opening of the boxes used had been enlarged by squirrels.

He has a reputation of always using a snake skin in the nest, and it is still used in many. But because man is such a litter freak, this magnificent bird has become a garbage collector, for we now find in his nest long pieces of plastic and other shiny material carelessly discarded by man. This habit of his collecting shiny strings of material can probably put to rest the centuries old tale that he uses snake skins to frighten away predators. Now, we can assume he uses the natural litter of snake skins as decoration.

Twice on our bluebird trail there was a nest with snake skin hanging from the nest almost to the ground five feet below. It fell between the crack in the door and the wall of the box. Now, how did the bird accomplish this?

Eggs laid by this flycatcher usually number from five to six. They have a ground color of creamy or pinkish buff with streaks, scratches and blotches of brown and various shades of purple or lavender. Incubation lasts about 15 days and the young leave the nest when they are around 18 days old.

By September these youngsters are ready to leave for their winter vacation in Mexico, Central and South America.

During the hot days of lingering July this noisy bird drops the harshness of his "wheep" and becomes more or less quiet. His loud "wheep" of early summer is now toned down to a low, almost insignificant note. In August and early September the note has a sadness to it, almost a mournful intonation, like that of his cousin the wood peewee's mournful fall note, ">pur-eee."

You might say he comes upon the spring scene arrogant and self-determined, flinging out his harsh notes at random. But come early September, with his brashness subdued, he bids us farewell until the next April. He's due now. Look and listen for him.

From Barns to Bridges

2008-04-05T15:09:00.003-04:00

Traveling over the 13th Street bridge into Augusta or clicking along I-20, are you aware of a fork-tailed bird gracefully skimming over the new golf course in North Augusta or over the fields and meadows along I-20? Have you noticed that he darts under bridges, probably fluttering about and checking out last year's nest sites?

Twenty-five years or more ago the barn swallow was only an early spring transient through this area. It nested from the piedmont areas of Georgia and South Carolina and north to Canada and Alaska.

Before this country was settled, the barn swallow nested in caves and on rocky cliffs. The early settlers began to change the land to a rural environment with barns and sheds for cattle and for grain storage. This little metallic blue swallow changed the site of his pad quickly, preferring to plaster his nest on the beams and shelves of such buildings.

Barn swallows are people-loving birds like purple martins. They like to build around houses and dilapidated barns. Though barns are decreasing today, we can lure these swallows to build near us by supplying the needs for a nest site, if we live in the right habitat.

A two-by-four joist, rough, not planed, nailed to the outside of a building, flat, wide side against the wall and placed well up under the eaves with about five inches of clearance will bring them in.

The nest is made out of mud and straw and lined with fine hay and feathers, usually white. Five to six white, reddish-brown spotted eggs are laid and hatch in around fifteen days. Within three weeks, six more young swallows are added to the graceful, engaging flights of the chattering swallows.

These swallows have proved they are adept at change. From the time of the earliest colonists, these beautiful birds chose to build their nests in old weathered barns and sheds with open doors and windows where they could enter to safety from weather and predators.

Barns on farms are not needed today as in the past. They're being replaced by tight new buildings with no open doors or windows that swallows love. Horses are being replaced by automobiles and tractors, leaving the birds to find other nest sites when these older buildings are destroyed or replaced.

Being able to easily change its habits, now one of its chosen sites in under bridges and that is one circumstance that has brought it southward. Until around three decades ago, it was a spring and fall migrant in the Central Savannah River Area. As in the past though, it quickly adapted to man's extended highways and bridges and began to nesting space all along these river-crossing cement spans. Now it is a common breeder in our area.

The barn swallow's food consists entirely of insects caught on the wing as it skims low over ponds, fields and meadows.

Measuring 6 1/2 inches, this dark, metallic blue swallow with glistening reddish-buff breast and deeply forked tail has a light chestnut breast and dark chestnut face. The sexes are much alike, though the female is paler in color than the male.

The Redstart . . . Coming or Going?

2008-03-31T15:02:00.003-04:00

When I first see the little tyke he is standing on a rock in the middle of one of the small pools. He timidly puts one foot into the wet stuff, then slips off the rock into the shallow water and begins splashing. After his bath, he jumps onto the rocks around the pool and shakes his feathers dry. Then he flies to a small shrub. From there he darts out into the air and grabs a small insect, flycatcher fashion. Probably a gnat, for swarms are already out.

Leaving the pool, the dazzling little redstart plays among the shrubbery, picking off early hatched insects. From the shrubbery he flies to a slightly leaf-budding sweet gum tree. Sliding along the sun-splashed limbs, opening and closing his orange fan-shaped tail, the tiny bird dances for his breakfast.

Is he here this morning because he remembers his stop at the pool last fall, found it pleasing and refreshing, and now has it on his itinerary for his northward journey this spring?

Dashing out into the air to grab insects, he is likened to the flycatchers, but here his method of securing insects ceases. He is perpetually in motion, seizing gnats and other gossamer-winged goodies in the air. Flycatchers are more sedentary. They sit on a tree branch or fence and wait patiently for their dinner to fly past. Then they dash out and seize it.

The redstart is one of the commonest of the warblers. It is more abundant in South Carolina in the fall than at any other time of the year.

This vivacious little warbler, flashing orange-red tail and wings, gives us a pleasant surprise late in March when he drops into the pool outside our kitchen window.

Most redstarts spend their winter in the West Indies and Central or South America, some 2,000 miles or more from our area. This is an early date for this little guy to be this far north. Because of his earliness, our place is probably just a pit stop for him and in a few days he will be far up the coast, if he has his eye on New England or Quebec. He is probably on his way back to where he was born.

With the exception of the white lower breast and belly, this tiny 5 1/2 inch warbler is dressed all over in black with bright red-orange accents on wing and tail. It has a habit of drooping its wings, fanning out its tail and jumping into the air after insects. It rarely sits still.

The color pattern is the same for the female, though she is grayish olive-green and pale yellow, where the male is flame color and black. Young resemble the female but young males usually have black on the breast and a light salmon wash on the sides of the breast.

Is he a migrant, or has he spent the winter hidden in thick foliage in swamps and along stream banks? If a migrant, he is an extremely early one that hazarded an early arrival, or he has been well-hidden from bird watchers this past winter.

Some Baltimore orioles opt to spend winters in southern swamps and river bottoms rather than seek refuge in tropical forests. Our little visitor may have chosen to do the same.

We didn't hear his "tsee, tsee, tsee-o" song which might mean he hasn't reached his destination yet. Consequently, he'll continue his journey and wait for the females to arrive before he breaks into sweet song.

Sights & Sounds of a Mountain Childhood

2008-03-30T14:31:00.003-04:00

A long time ago I lived in a small village in the North Georgia mountains. In its summers, I enjoyed the simplicity of living and never knew boredom. Those long, sun-filled, mountain- breezed days would last forever, or so it seemed.

There were no radios, televisions or telephones. Communication in the village, over the hills and to distant places came about through mail, foot, automobile, newspapers, books and magazines.

Today's youth would complain, "There's nothing to do. Nothing ever happens here. I'm bored."

But big events did happen in those serene hills. Birds! In April, the big experience was the return of the birds. The coming-home-song of the wood thrush would jolt me out of bed. Quickly dressing, I would rush out into the nippy dawn to find the speckled-throated songster.

And down in the greening orchard, the clear sweet song of the bright indigo bunting bubbled out over the countryside. This small bird began singing as the first sunbeams wrapped the highest hills in light and continued all day long, literally.

For as long as I can remember, phoebes nested on a window frame of my parent's bedroom. We welcomed them home when first we heard the male call in an irritable voice, "phoebe, phoebee," as if he wanted his mate to hurry up and get busy with house building.

Then there's the summer tanager I put to bed each summer night. A big white oak stood below the wall of the front yard and near the road. As darkness crept over the land, I sat under the tree and listened for the tanager's bedtime chatter. "Quick, pick-it-up," he taunted a half dozen times. He seemed to be telling the family to clean up the clutter before hitting the hay. He sputters and spits a few times and then everything is quiet. He goes through this "to-bed" procedure every night, sleeping on the same grizzled mattress under the same green blanket. I wait until he's quiet, then I go into the house. Deepening dusk draws the shutters for the night for both the bird and me.

Our house had a tremendous peaked roof made of weathered shingles. Up from the ground and over the tin-roofed porch, and up the peaked two-story roof, between the two chimneys at either end of the house, ran a lightening rod. It dropped from the peak down the back roof and into the ground at the well porch.

We used to play on the lightening rod. Scrambling up the rod and holding tight, we reached the roof peak. Straddling the peak and grasping the rod, we scampered across the roof to the far chimney. Here, we were in the treetops with the chickadees and titmice and blue jays. And we could look down on the mimosa tree with sometimes a dozen nectar-feeding, ruby-throated hummingbirds. From this exalted position, the horizon expanded over countless mountains and we could see Amicoloa Falls dashing down its rocky slide into a jagged mountain stream some sixteen miles away.

Spanking after spanking we received when we were caught on the roof, but the spankings never deterred us from experiencing this thrill again and again when we could slip to the roof without our mother knowing it.

There's something about the returning birds that sends my senses reeling. The bird chorus that comes with the mountain dawn awakened me to a medley of songs and calls and inspired me to rise with the birds and enjoy the freshness of the morning.

My childhood in the mountains taught me much and has made my life tremendously richer. I feel sorry for today's youngsters who have their sense of wonder of the great outdoors dulled by having only computers and TVs to tell them of the big events of summer days exploding all around them.

Light Leads To Singing

2008-03-27T10:10:00.003-04:00

Spring mornings belong to the birds. The sounds of a dew-studded morning is bird song at its best.

Light! This is what moves birds to song. The northward moving sun brings more light each day and birds are the first to respond.

Even as the sun teased us these past chilly spring days, birds felt its warm touch, and that touch was overpowering. They began to sing way back in cold February. Now bird song in our area is climaxing, but it will continue until late May and early June. It is then that most summer visitors drop courting antics and close their nurseries, causing song to decrease noticeably.

Nearly all of our permanent residents nest a second or third time. From these nestings we have the mating songs and nursery lullabies until late July and August when both residents and visitors go into molt and song turns into call notes and angry shrieks.

Arising early, shortly after six o'clock, we find a pair of Carolina wrens, who have a nest in a basket of ferns on our porch, already busy feeding the six gaping yellow-rimmed mouths in the cradle. The male stops in a near by river birch between every trip to the nest and belts out a loud, "Shree, shree, shree." His industrious mate works consistently, probably cheered on by his go-go yell.

Where the wood lot meets the wall, there's a robin's nest saddled on a sweet gum branch. Here again the mother is busy with breakfast for four babies while dad adds his melody to the morning chorus. His concert was going before we arose, and he's been at it for an hour now.

Choosing a yaupon holly for their twig and leaf nest, a pair of brown thrashers thrash the debris under the hedge. While he and she dress alike, he soon leaves the thrashing to his new wife and flies to a dead branch of a tall pine where his throaty melody fills the scented air. She leaves the ground where she's feeding and flies to the nest. We watch as she settles down. After sitting, quickly she stands up in the nest again, turns around, shakes her wings, then quickly sits again. There were two eggs in the nest yesterday. We expect three when she leaves this morning.

A southern morning would be drab indeed without the clear whistle of the cardinal as he calls, "What-cheer, what-cheer, what-cheer." He's giving a message to his less brightly colored mate who is busy checking out the cherry laurel hedge. Now, while she hides in the foliage, she sings softly and sweetly to her mate. He stops and listens. When she finishes, he begins a loud and long solo.

Two doves on pink feet swish and sway down the driveway, swinging their little hips from side to side, keeping time with their nodding heads. The dove is a prolific breeder and the two have already built their shallow stick nest high in the crotch of a pine tree. One or the other has been cooing since early morning, a soft, soothing note, compared to the loud boisterous songs of the more active yard birds.

And what would spring be without that master of song, the mockingbird. He is a tireless singer. Sitting atop a twig of a nearly-leafed tree, he sings incessantly hour after hour. We're expecting him to buy building space in the yellow jessamine vine.

He's happy and wants you to know it. The mocker has been known to change his song eighty-seven times in just seven minutes. This outburst of song is as much a part of spring as blooming dogwood trees and flaming azaleas.

I Am Green

2008-03-26T08:41:00.003-04:00

Along with the arrival of warblers, another group of dainty birds, though not as colorful as the warblers, will be filling the trees and shrubs in your yards this spring.

Spending their lives among green foliage, vireos wear camouflaged colors . . . olive, olive-green, whitish, buffy or yellowish hues and soft dark grays. Their bills are more curved than the warblers and have a slight hook. The Latin word "vireo" means I am green.

The three species that we are most likely to see in this area are the white-eyed, red-eyed and yellow-throated. The solitary (blue-headed) vireo is a mountain summer resident, nesting occasionally in the piedmont and, rarely, as far south as Lake Thurmond. It is a common migrant through the area, while the red-eyed and yellow-throated are common nesters in the Central Savannah River Area.

Vireos are truly our friends. Watch one search for his dinner. He slowly, deliberately and methodically searches each leaf, above and below it, whereas the excitable, skittish warblers hurry from branch to branch without combing the leaves of harmful insects.

Another way to know you have a vireo in your glasses is to learn their songs. The red-eyed is perhaps the best known vireo in the eastern United States. He wears a gray cap edged in black that sits on his head just above his white eyebrows. His coat is dull olive. It is accented by the white shirt.

There are some birders who think his song is rather tiresome, "you see it-you know it-do you hear me-up here, see me." All through the long, hot summer days, his wearisome monologue, repeated over and over again, fills the humid air. But learn it, then compare the other vireo song's to the red-eyed's.

The yellow-throated is the beauty of the vireo clan with its brilliant yellow breast, its olive green back and its double white wing bars. When you hear it you know it's a vireo because it has touches of the red-eyed's song, but it is more mellow. One song says to me, "e-ay-ee-eight" with a short pause, then repeated. The yellow-throated nests here and is well known by birders in our area.

Another well known vireo of the area is the white-eyed. He wears a brighter olive-green coat than his cousins. His white shirt is washed in yellow on the sides. The two yellowish-white bars on his wings and white throat identify him from a distance. His white eyes are ringed in yellow. This vivacious little vireo wants his own song so he moves away from the typical vireo song. He makes up his own song in chips, chucks and mews which sound like, "chick'-a-per-weeoo. Chick' or chick'-ticha, wheeys, chick!"

The three above described vireos are the most commonly seen in this area. They come in and stay to nest. Three others, the warbling, Philadelphia and solitary vireos spend a few days with us during migration, then move on northward.

If you're not looking for a vireo you might never see one, so inconspicuous are they among the green foliage.

Which Bird Built This Nest?

2008-03-25T11:07:00.003-04:00

"How do different birds know how to build distinctive nests", queried a friend, "and how can you identify the nests of different species?"

Being addicted to the fine art of finding and identifying bird nests, I tried to answer.

Baby birds are born with individuality and a wild wisdom, a guidance factor known only to them and God. When they hatch they already know how to build a nest like the one in which they were born.

The birds of a given species follow a fairly consistent pattern in nest building although individuals sometimes depart from the general rule, both as to location and materials used in the nest's construction.

Cardinals build nests in our yard every year. Without fail the not-so-neat nests are made of small twigs, strips of paper, weed stems, rootlets and grasses. Fine grass and hair are used for the lining. The nest is from four to twelve feet from the ground in a bush, small tree, hedge or thick and thorny vines.

The yuppie wood thrush has two sets of house plans for the two different sites he usually chooses. His country home is placed in the crotch of a sapling, completely filling the crotch with leaves and paper. The outer depth of the nest can easily reach six inches. Dead leaves, weed stalks, rootlets and paper make up the foundation of the nest. It has some weight because of the compact mud or leaf mold inner wall. It is lined with thin rootlets.

Smaller, shallower and cup-shaped, the other style home is saddled on a large horizontal limb of an aged tree. It is cemented to the branch with mud. The same materials are used as in the country place but in lesser quantities.

We believe the same wood thrush built in the identical crotch of the same sapling in our yard for three years. The act of decorating the outside of the nest each year with a long flowing piece of toilet paper told us we had a hippie decorator in our midst, one who didn't cotton to the traditional decorating styles.

When you find a delicate and cleverly interwoven small cup-shaped nest of dainty grasses and tiny rootlets, lined with horse, cow or deer hair, the petite, rust-headed chipping sparrow is the builder.

To be such a chatterer, and so small, the Carolina wren defies his size with the large rough and sloppy nest he builds. It is lined with fine rootlets and hair. It is domed and has a side entrance.

Any old place will do for him to stick his nest, a hanging flower basket, a discarded coffee pot, a cluttered shelf, baskets, a door wreath, on the top of porch cabinets, underneath automobiles. Lean-tos and crannies seem to fascinate him more than bird boxes for nesting sites.

Of the three mimics, the mockingbird's nest is the smallest, the catbird's is in between, with the brown thrasher building the largest.

All three of these long-tailed birds make their nest foundation with sticks . . . the size stick reflecting who's building the nest. For the second layer of the foundation, the mockingbird and catbird use smaller sticks, but the brown thrasher's second layer is loads of dead leaves, then more small sticks with a lining of fine rootlets.

The catbird's lining is of fine rootlets and grapevine bark, paper and plastic. The mockingbird, after a foundation of small sticks, collects litter for his nest . . . leaves, grass, rags, string, hair, down, tree blossoms, paper, and feathers . . . and lines it with fine rootlets and soft hair.

The red-eyed vireos nesting in our yard always place the nest in a tree close to the end of the limb. They choose not a fork, but a sort of parallelogram (a small branch with two almost evenly spaced twigs protruding from it), and attach the nest to the three twigs.

Yet many of these birds have never selected a location or made a nest before. When the small blind, squiggly, pink animal is born there is within it a food preference, a migrating pattern, a nesting behavior, a distinctive set of marks and song, all waiting to begin that struggle known as survival.

But, with all that said, the best way to identify a bird's nest is to find the owner at home.

The Bewitching Beauty of the Bunting

2008-03-24T09:11:00.002-04:00

Two of our most beautiful buntings will fly in on the soon to be fragrant-filled, moon-silvered April nights. Both species, the painted and the indigo, nest in the Aiken-Augusta area.

The painted is thought to reach its most northern and inland nesting habitat near Augusta, GA at the fall line along the Savannah River. It breeds each spring, though sparingly, in the river bottoms, other low-lands, brier patches and hedgerows.

At one time, Augusta was the only locality in Georgia where the painted bunting bred, or even occurred regularly. Merry Brothers brickyard ponds had several breeding pairs observed each spring.

Wrapped in a patchwork-quilt coat, including his intense violet-blue head and vermilion breast, this 5 1/4 inch bunting is a dazzling beauty. There is no blending of hues of the startling colors but each is definitely defined, as if they are hemstitched together.

A beauty in her own right, and outfitted in a green to yellowish-green dress, the female is one of the truly green birds found in the United States.

In her sparkling green dress, she primps before the dun-colored females of other sparrows and buntings. She knows she's a glowing beauty. The adult male wears his patchwork coat the year-round.

In the last decade or so this colorful little bunting has been observed in Aiken, South Carolina, males in summer, females in winter at feeders.

Arriving about a week before the females from their tropical vacation, courtship begins almost immediately with the male strutting and flying before his intended mate. The lethal battles begin with males fighting for a certain beauty.

Those who have witnessed these battles say they are savage and are often fatal. It just goes to show you can't judge a gentleman by his clothes.

On a warm southwest breeze the indigo bunting comes riding in with a song in his heart. He is a high-spirited little tad in indigo blue. His color changes from dark blue to dark greenish or even blackish as the sun strikes him from different angles. He is a persistent singer and immediately buys up his real estate with song.

While awaiting his mate to arrive, the deep-blue colored male spends his time on the highest singing perch available, pouring out his bewitching song to all who will listen.

He is an impressive and persistent singer and everywhere through all the hot days of May, June, July and August you'll hear his cherry "Swee-swee-swee, swee, swee, sweet-sweet-sweet, swee-swee" from his favorite treetop perch.

When courting, this blue-clad casanova follows the tiny brown-dressed female hour after hour, with hardly a pause in his serenade, until she succumbs to his wiles.

After family duties are ended, the male indigo starts drifting southward with his fellows. He changes his blue serge suit to brown coveralls with pockets stitched in the faintest blue. She follows a few days later dressed in her own little brown dress.

In late summer, out in the field, you are aware something is missing, but what?

As the morning wears on, you hear only one lone indigo singing, and it hits you!

Summer is riding away on the back of a little blue-feathered tad.

Spring Follows Its Own Schedule

2008-03-23T09:37:00.004-04:00

The calendar informs us spring has been with us now for three days, but we cannot always depend on spring to exactly follow our calendar.

Azaleas, violets, flowering quince, dogwood and Japanese magnolia were showing color early. Changing weather, now warm, now cold, keeps waking them up and then they have trouble wrapping themselves in their long underwear again for protection in this come again, gone again spring.

The way to tell spring is finally here is when the air is sweet-scented with tea olive, when tender green leaves are popping out all over the boxwoods, sasanquas, blooming azaleas, roses and oxeye daisies are pushing through mulched ground. Spring comes not by calendar's prediction but as an answer to the call of the sun that reaches deep within roots and buds.

Bird songs say spring lies ahead, no matter the rain, or a swing in temperature from 70 degrees to dips of morning lows into the 20s.

One of the most delightful promises of spring is the singing of birds. It is a joy to hear them, a joy to watch their nuptial antics, and a joy to see the beginnings of nest building.

A Carolina wren awakens us from deep sleep on a sunny morning with its loud "sheree, sheree, sheree, tea-kettle, tea-kettle." A cardinal joins in the music. "What cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer" sounds loud and strong. A towhee tweets in the budding azaleas, a chickadee calls his name over and over. When we look out on the front lawn, robins are doing the "River Dance," stiff-legged and unbending straight upper bodies.

Resident birds are already practicing mating songs. The morning chorus gets louder and sweeter and longer each morning. At this time of the season, the choir is made up of local yodelers. They will have picked out locations and some probably will have young before our visitors arrive from the tropics. Then the morning choir grows more beautiful as the voices of our summer guests blend with our local residents.

A goodly number of winter guests will have departed by now, weather permitting, including the dark-eyed juncos, red-breasted nuthatches and purple finches. White-throated sparrows are not in a hurry to leave, some lingering until May. Though millions of red-winged blackbirds opt to stay in the South, millions more are winging northward to nesting grounds in the meadows and marshes, weaving long black lines in the sky.

Within days summer residents will begin to arrive with spring in their throats. The wood thrush, crested flycatcher, orchard oriole, summer tanager, red-eyed, white-eyed and yellow throated vireos jet in through the first weeks of April. Purple martins are here and chimney swifts will be in before the end of the month. The first venturesome hummingbirds, green-backed and ruby-throated, are usually in by the last of March, depending on the blooming flowers.

All our forecasts for the widespread arrivals of our summer guests, of course, depend on the weather . . . spring's only true calendar.

Where Do Birds Get Their Names?

2008-03-22T09:02:00.003-04:00

Have you ever wondered how and why birds were given the names we know them by today? Thanks to bird watchers before us, common names were given to beautiful creatures as they were discovered in the New World's streams, forests and plains. Regardless of whether the names are appropriate today, the birds are stuck with them.

Over the years, some names have been changed but eventually some birds get their old names again. For instance, for hundreds of years, it was the Baltimore Oriole. Then, for a couple of decades it was the Northern Oriole. Now it's the Baltimore Oriole again.

Color played a significant role in naming the birds of North America. Some were named for their habitat, others for the location of nests. Many were named for size and many for their songs or other characteristics. By far the parts of the birds' bodies were used most often, usually coupled with colors.

Checklists used by birders on walks and daily sightings usually give only the common names while bird guides supply both the Latin and common names.

To head the list, there are house wrens, house sparrows and house finches. Because they are cavity nesters, they became opportunists and took advantage of every nook and cranny about houses and other buildings for nesting. Now we furnish them their own houses but they still like people places.

The songs of the peewee and phoebe named them. The chickadee's call note suggested the name for this little mite and cowbirds and cattle egrets had bovine names attached to them because they pal around with herds of cattle.

A few swallows were named for their nesting habitat choices . . . the barn, bank, cliff and tree to name four. Then there are names because of the habitat the bird has chosen . . . the marsh hawk, often called the northern harrier, because he hunts and nests in marshes. The barn owl because old barns are his favorite haunts. The meadowlark, a blackbird, is usually found in meadows and pastures.

Mammals suggested monikers for some birds. The fox sparrow, for his foxy-red color; the catbird, for one of his calls that sounds like a cat's meow.

Some birds are named for states. The Carolina wren and the Mississippi kite are so named. And then there are the Kentucky and Tennessee warblers. For habitat and speed, who else but the chimney swift, a dark, sooty chimney dweller. Then there are those named for their entire body color . . . the indigo bunting, the cardinal and the blue grosbeak.

For feeding preferences we have gnatcatchers, flycatchers and the worm-eating warbler. Many carry the name of America(n) . . . American bittern, American goldfinch, American kestrel (sparrow hawk), American crow, American robin, American redstart.

Others are named for people. The Bachman's, Harris and the Henslow sparrows, Baltimore Oriole, Wilson's warbler.

The crown or crest suggests the names for the tufted titmouse and the great-crested flycatcher, and the two kinglets . . . golden-crowned and ruby-crowned. Other birds are named for the body, from head to foot. We have the red-headed woodpecker, the red-bellied sapsucker, the brown-headed cowbird, the yellow-rumped warbler. Two vireos are named for the color of their eyes . . . red-eyed and white-eyed.

Those named for the tail and wing are also numerous, but we'll wind up with the red-winged blackbird, the blue-winged warbler, the scissor-tailed flycatcher and the boat-tailed grackle.

Enjoy Spring Now!

2008-03-20T10:21:00.003-04:00

Everything is responding to an age-old rhythm. Day and night have changed, shorter nights with longer days bringing more light and warmth. Things that seemed dead are burgeoning with life.

Daffodils stand tall with yellow bloom. New green life pokes up on bleached lawns, swamp willows have a lacy mahogany cap. Bluebirds nestle together on naked limbs and chosen boxes. With nuptial thoughts the male and female cardinals are eating together again at the table. Pine warblers serenaded daily before leaving the yard early for nesting in high pines. Doves softly coo.

February winds change course often but now comes a warm wind, soft as a kitten's fur, more and more days from the southwest. Under its spell, violets bloom, tight red quince buds unfurl, and cascades of yellow-bell brighten yards. Yes, we are aware of how quickly late winter weather can change. A cold winter day could hold them back, but on warm days they rush to catch up, and do. The Carolina wren is up and singing at first dawn. He's looking around for a home, looking over the real estate in our yard. They'll make good neighbors, the wren and the cardinal. Red-tailed hawks soar and swirl in the warm thermals. Purple martins are already here and looking for apartments. Sinuous columns of blackbirds darken the sky as they push northward.

On warm days, spring comes skipping through, tossing aside fragments of winter, gathering in her arms the smell of moist earth, the perfumed essence of tea olive and spice-scented camellias. With color, renewal and growth, spring is on her way, no matter the weather we have today.

Out my kitchen window I watch a pair of doves sashay up and down the driveway picking up fallen grain from feeders. One waddled over to the small rock pool, drank, then fluffed himself out upon a gray rock and sat perfectly still. I was surprised at how hard it was to see him and distinguish him from the gray rocks surrounding the pool.

Nature's camouflage is the "best ever invented" and no doubt it is given to her creatures as a survival weapon. I walk in the yard on one of the near 70 degree days and find another evidence of spring — a little ribbon snake sunning itself on the warm stone walk. Apparently he has not long been out of hibernation and has just shed his old skin. On this day he was a beautiful shiny patent leather black with a sunny yellow ribbon running down his back. I stand still and watch him. He lifts his sleepy eyes and nods, then slides off into the liriope. I look for his cast-off skin but don't find it.

The mockingbird is in fine form this morning. For ten minutes from the top of the chimney he pours out his sweetest, most musical song. Then all of a sudden he starts mimicking other birds. I counted as many as five other birds' songs that came from the mocker's throat. A brown thrasher, the mocker's cousin, is showering the neighborhood with rich, throaty notes of his beautiful nuptial song from high in a bud-swelling tree.

So much beauty and song today that will be gone in such a short time. Get out and enjoy SPRING today!

The Beautiful Woodie

2008-03-19T09:41:00.003-04:00

These warm misty days bring out the incredibly beautiful iridescent color of the wood duck's plumage.

The summer duck, as it is sometimes called, never leaves our area the year 'round. About the middle of this century we began to see a decline in the woodie's numbers. One reason for its diminishing numbers was thought to be the development of wetlands and swampy areas, causing hollow trees and stumps to disappear. A cement front lawn is a big "no no" to a wood duck. Now man is helping the housing shortage by placing nesting boxes throughout the wood duck's breeding area.

If you've never seen either the male or female of this species, and see the female first, you will exclaim her beauty. And she is beautiful in her own right. Her small crest when displayed, sits atop a grayish-green, olive-brown head. Neck and sides are streaked with yellowish-brown. Her breast is spotted with brown. And a lady she is, for she wears a white pearl in the middle of her upper bill. She has brownish-red eyes and wears yellow slippers.

The male's crested head is a metallic green with shadings of blue and purple and white. Back feathers are a glossy green-purple, the breast a purplish-chestnut flecked with darts of white. The belly and throat patch are white. Chestnut, buffs, reds, blues, greens, purples, black and white, with many tones and shades, make up the indescribable oriental feather pattern of this pond dweller. His eyes are blood-red, his short bill black and orange-red.

No wonder he's called the Beau Brummel of the quacking world. Roger Tory Peterson, the father of bird watching, said "descriptive words fail to describe this bird's plumage."

Both male and female are from 18 to 21 inches in length, with a wingspan of 24 inches. Weighing only one and a half pounds, this gorgeous little duck is preening and courting and nesting in local moss-hung swamp lands and sun-splashed ponds that he calls home. Always using a cavity in a tree or a stump, he is one of the few ducks that doesn't nest on the ground. And, he is a loner you might say, for you will most likely find him in ponds with only other wood ducks. He likes his privacy.

The cavity used for nesting is often one chopped out by woodpeckers or in natural hollows created by large rotting limbs. Most nesting cavities are from five to 50 feet from the ground. Usually, the nest is placed near a stream, but not always.

After the mother finds a hollow to her liking, she adds down plucked from her own body to line the nest. Into this cozy bed she lays from 10 to 15 buffy-white eggs. Incubation takes around four weeks.

How do the ducklings, when only a day old, get to the ground or water from so high in the air? They jump! Our ancestors were of the opinion the mother woodie carried the youngsters to the ground or to the pond on her back. This, by observation and photography, has been proven wrong. The mother jumps first and then calls her children to come out to play.

Each youngster perches in the doorway and without hesitation jumps when the mother calls. It free-falls into the air and bounces on the swampy soil then waddle in single file behind their mother to the pond. If they jump into water, they bob like a cork and then paddle toward their mother.

Swallows Are Signs of Spring

2008-03-18T20:26:00.005-04:00

Winter appears to be hardly gone when we sight the barn swallow home from Brazil, darting, zipping and twittering in flight. The sighting reminds us how things change for both man and birds, especially environmentally.

When we came to the Central Savannah River Area some five decades ago, there were no barn swallows around, that is that nested in the area. The foothills of the Georgia and South Carolina mountains were the southern limits of their breeding range. As man alters the environment of North America, birds adapt to the changing conditions or decline in numbers. The barn swallow adapted.

This is the second time this species has changed nesting situations. Before our forefathers came to America, these swallows built in tree cavities, rock crevices and caves. But from the time the first Colonists started building barns, the barn swallow, being an opportunists, left tree cavities and rock crevices for buildings, maybe because barns gave better protection from nasty weather. Because of this habit, this flying feathered saucer has become known as the "barn swallow," a name it holds until today.

Many of these forked-tailed birds still nest in barns. But, as our great freeways swept through the countryside, barn swallows followed, nesting under the many bridges that spanned the thoroughfares. This brought them into our area and carried them even farther south.

The barn swallow is perhaps the best known of the 20 plus species of American swallows. Small and trim, it is easily recognized because of its purplish-blue back, red-brown forehead, rich rufous breast touched with white, long pointed wings and its deeply forked tail. The forked tail is a good identification mark, the barn being the only swallow with such a tail. The female is usually duller in colors, but not always.

These sleek birds feed on the wing, never flying a straight line, but circling, darting, and twisting in the air. Holding their tiny wide-gaping mouths fully open like suction cups, they scoop out of the air hundreds of noxious insects, including gnats, mosquitoes, house flies, grasshoppers, crickets, moths and dragonflies.

The nests of barn swallows are semi-circular or cup-shaped and made of mud mixed with sand. The shape depends on whether the nest is attached to a beam or rafter or a flat shelf. The nests are lined with soft materials and feathers, usually chicken feathers. The three to five white eggs have markings of bright reddish-brown and pale lilac.

This handsome swallow breeds over most of North America, nesting from northwestern Alaska to Mexico and from the Atlantic to the Pacific coast, including much of Canada and the United States.

Barn swallows nesting in Alaska will travel 7,000 miles from the sunny pampas of Argentina each spring to nest in North America. Year after year these swift fliers travel the same sky ways to and from breeding and wintering grounds. Yet they have nothing to direct them but that "something" (wild wisdom) that speaks out from the earth or sky to guide them to their destination.

No matter the weather, spring has sprung when the swallows return.

Marching Into Spring

2008-03-17T12:18:00.002-04:00

Puffy white clouds in a wedge-wood sky tell us spring is in the wings. March is known for its chilling, biting winds, but some days bring a soft warm breeze that beckons buds to blossom, birds to begin their dawn chorus and nuptial songs and all around us there is growing greenness.

Trees were late to lose their leaves last fall, some holding onto their precious finery until after the first of the year. But they haven't been loafing these short weeks of the new year, with sunny warm days now and then. Buds on the beech are long and pointed. Sweet gum buds and big and fat and yellow, like dabs of butter. Fattening buds of the winged-elm are reddish-brown and hairy.

To see the first spring flowers, go for a walk in the woods where emerging fiddle-heads of ferns greet you before uncoiling to become feathery fronds. The bird's-foot violet (so named because of its foliage resembling a bird's foot) and the common blue violet are blooming. Blue flags with grass-like leaves hail you when you go tramping in moist deciduous woods.

Trilliums will be easy to spot because they have leaves, petals and sepals in the whorls of three.

Another spring flower is the trout lilly, or yellow adder's tongue. Greenish-purple points emerge from under brown leaves or grasses. Soon after the stems appear, mottled leaves, and then lemon-colored flowers will cover the roadside ditches and sun-filled woods. The beauty of wildflowers is enhanced by the very wildness about them.

Splitting the air with his home-coming call, that black beauty, the fish crow, announces his presence. Others join him. As they move across the pond, the racket diminishes. Sweet warbles of the bluebird fall softly from the perfumed air of crab apple blossoms. The twitterings of chimney swifts bring spring closer.

On one greening and sunny day, you'll hear the chipping sparrow, the dark-eyed junco and the pine warbler singing. All three songs sound much alike. Knowing this, you'll need to search diligently in order to find the songster.

Everywhere, everywhere music! Cardinals singing, Carolina wrens, brown thrashers, mockingbirds, with woodpeckers drumming and hammering. All these natives or year-round songsters, proclaiming spring with their cheerful carols.

The morning chorus in our area lasts longer than in some. Today permanent residents pour out a throaty opera every morning. By the time these are through courting and nest building, they become busy with family chores, which necessarily mean less singing. By then summer residents arrive with spring in their throats. The wood thrush, the great-crested flycatcher, summer tanager, orchard oriole, join in the dawn chorus.

You know spring is hear when you hear the lovely but tireless warbling of the red-eyed vireo.

The Mystery of Migration

2008-03-15T10:02:00.003-04:00

Have you ever pondered the migration flight of millions of birds twice a year from one hemisphere to another?

This has always been a mystery to man, and scientists continue to study the phenomenon. All through the month of April and the first weeks of May these midgets of forest, field and lawn flow into the United States from tropical wintering grounds.

The late Dr. Eugene Odom, a zoologist, and his associates at the University of Georgia in Athens made contributions toward a full explanation of the mysteries. The fact is only God and the bird know how he gets from wherever he is to wherever he is going

Man asks, how can they fly so far without refueling? Studies show birds store fat, their "high test gasoline," in separate parts of their body, or "spare gas tanks". Man, lacking such a container, spreads his out all through his body.

A migratory bird is thus analogous to the airplane in that "high octane" fuel is added to and used from preexisting "tanks" without appreciable change in the tissue structure of the body as a whole.

This added fat is stored in empty spaces throughout the bird's tissues, much as extra gasoline is stored in the plane's tanks. Because it is not spread through the bird's body, the stored fat is completely independent of the bird's functioning parts.

A migrating bird's fat is "high octane" fuel. A human's fat is only a disfiguring bulge. A bird uses up the spare fat in flight and doesn't have to join the local Weight Watcher's Club once they arrive. Oh, to be a bird when the battle of the bulge attacks.

The how-come mystery of migration was addressed by Odom some years ago. He demonstrated that before migrating these birds build up their fat until their weight is doubled or even tripled, and this fat is the sole source of their long flight energy. No vitamins for these long distances fliers.

We can vouch that hummingbirds get fat before leaving for the tropics. We have from two to five nectar feeding tubes hanging in the kitchen window all through the migration period. In July and August, they come to the tubes, sleek and slim. We watch them grow fat. By the time they leave in September they are "totin' fat" and probably weigh three times their weight of July. By the time they reach their destination, the extra fat (fuel) has been used.

The energy system of man is based on glycogen, a carbohydrate. The fat-based system of a bird functions much better for them.

The available energy of a bird is greater per unit of weight than in humans, the storage capacity greater, and water balance is facilitated because fat, unlike proteins or carbohydrates, can be stored "dry" yet yields water on combustion, scientists explain.

At the current price of gasoline, wouldn't it be wonderful if all the fat and calories in our pizzas and burgers could be stored in an extra tank for the family car or lawn mower?

What To Do With Young Birds

2008-03-14T08:26:00.004-04:00

It's that time of year again . . . nesting time and foundlings!

Every spring, people will be seeking help in handling nestlings (young birds from the pink and naked stage to the not fully feathered stage) that have fallen from the nest. Fledglings are fully feathered but still short-tailed or have no tail at all and are scraggly. They probably have been guided to the ground by the parent birds.

Wrens, mockingbirds, cardinals, brown thrashers, towhees, doves are already building nests. This means that in less than a month babies probably will be falling out of their cradles because of severe weather such as high winds and hail, or other hazardous situations.

If you find such a baby bird, the first thing you must do is try to put the nestling back in the nest. If the nest was destroyed, you might call an experienced wildlife rehabilitator. The Department of Natural Resources can put you in touch with one.

Don't try to raise a bird because the law does not permit anyone to possess any bird, dead or alive, without a permit. This includes feathers, nests and eggs. In other words, by law you are not supposed to try to care for the bird yourself. The possession of a house sparrow, starling or pigeon is excluded.

As far as the fledgling is concerned, leave it alone. It was probably placed where you found it by its parents. This sounds harsh, and although it may be tempting to rescue what you think is an "abandoned" bird, don't do it. Position yourself to watch nature takes its course and watch as almost without exception the parents will return to feed the little one.

They might guide it to a nearby shrub or tree where they will feed it. Just another phase of the difficult transition period of becoming an adult.

Evidently, it is time for the young bird to leave home and unlike many homo sapien parents, concerned avian parents make sure their offspring "go" when the time comes.

They do, however, feed them for a week or two until they learn to feed themselves and become strong fliers. Sometimes fledglings become restless and hop from the nest and climb into the branches of the tree or bush where they were hatched.

When young birds fall from the nest prematurely, they usually perish.

And just remember, it is natural for some nesting attempts not to succeed. It has been determined for most birds that a nesting success rate of just 20 percent for the season is considered a banner year.

If you have cats, keep them in the house and ask your neighbor to do the same until the birds are safe in trees and shrubs.

It is a sobering thought to realize when we try to rescue fledglings from the wild (our years and neighborhoods) that we might become an accidental predator. To best help these young birds leave them where you find them . . . in the wild. In our rush to help, we can do more harm than good because most of the time our best efforts fail!

Spring Arrives

2008-03-13T21:48:00.002-04:00

For those of us in the northern hemisphere, it's almost spring! The calendar confirms it . . . spring will arrive precisely at 1:48 AM EDT Thursday, March 20, 2008.

Spring with color and life and action is on its way. As the earth warms, you can smell it . . . one of the most delightful fragrances of the natural world, the warming of the damp earth.

Down along the banks of most creeks, tributaries, and rivers, shining bright in the midday light, purple violets are peeping through last season's litter. Ferns are uncurling. Pussy willows are budding, swamp willows are putting on mahogany dress and maple trees are tasseled in red and green. Yellow Jessamine is blooming, its sweet fragrance tossed about on warm spring breezes.

The warm wind touches your cheek and tells you spring is here! The sun is bright and cumulus clouds move across the deep blue sky. Chickadees and titmice and Carolina wrens are in an old rotting elm, signing spring and gobbling newly hatched insects. The March sun is a heat lamp for many creatures.

Mockingbirds are signing nuptial songs. A brown thrasher belts out a loud, throaty number from the top of a greening sapling. A spectacular pileated woodpecker cracks the quietness with his raucous and loud "kuk-kuk-kukkuk — kuk-kuk-kuk."

Flocks of pompous migrating robins will leave our lawns and parks to our resident robins weeks ago. Dark-eyed juncos show eagerness to get back to the moss-covered, wind-swept rock outcroppings of the mountains. They packed their gray suits days ago and will leave on the beams of the waxing and waning silvery moon. A remnant of white-throated sparrows will hang around until May. The purple finches that visited off and on since the first snow are gone.

Still with us are the merry little goldfinches, a delight these spring days. They are late nesters, late July and August, and have no thought of becoming bogged down with parental duties at this delightful time of year. They are gay and happy, swarming over feeders and putting on a deeper yellow suit each day. Even the little black hat is beginning to take shape.

We don't have time to regret the leaving of these friends for already purple martins are chuckling around their new homes. Barn swallows are darting under and over bridges, anticipating the mud cradles they will build later in the season.

A first year orchard oriole, with crisp black cravat, announced from a tall sweet gum his arrival from the tropics. The announcement was loud and sweet and short. Then he was off, looking for a site for a swinging apartment which he will build out of slender green grasses.

Yellow-throated warblers will show up on schedule early in March. Rough-winged swallows and fish crows will also be arriving soon.

Be prepared for the vast migration of warblers in April. Millions of these colorful wood imps will move up the countryside all through the days of April.

There's pleasure and excitement awaiting you with bird watching this spring!

The Cardinal's Song of Spring

2008-03-12T14:24:00.005-04:00

Nature brings another proof that spring is easing its way into the southeast . . . a cardinal signing.

This gallant Casanova usually starts his spring mating songs in early February. Although the days remain chilly, he brings thoughts of spring to us through his melodies.

The mate will wait a few days before she commences her musical response. At this time antiphonal singing seems to be "their thing". She begins singing, stops. The suitor then picks up and sings the same song. He then waits for her to sing again and stop before he pitches in. When she changes the song or whistle, so does he. He's courting, you see, and aims to please. Often, they will sing together.

And a gracious wooer he is. Make it a point to listen to the soft and tender musical notes of his whisper song when he serenades his bride in the early spring twilight.

Though not as striking in color as her mate, the female presents a colorful picture in her more subdued clothes of olive and buff browns. Her tail and wings are washed in red, though it is not as brilliant as her mate's.

Both sexes have black faces. The black is wrapped around a large conical-shaped red bill. Both wear a black bow tie.

In the South, the cardinal is one of our best known and best loved back-yard birds. During these chilly days a cardinal winging past your window is like a radiant flying rose, or a ruby that can sing.

If you would like the cardinal to nest on your premises, landscape with thorny shrubs, rose vines, small dense trees and tangles. Give him what he wants and he will pay you handsomely in song for years to come.

In early April a cup of rootlets and grasses is placed in a thorny vine or tangle where usually four greenish-white, heavily speckled eggs are laid. Little pink nestlings are hatched in around 12 days, remaining in the nest for another 10 days or so.

The male is the exemplary father and as soon as the young leave the nest he takes complete charge of them while the female bustles about with a second nest. One birder observed one Cardinal pair building five nests in a single season, and another pair successfully producing four broods. Prolific breeders, these grosbeaks!

In their winter haunts, cardinals often gather into large flocks of 20 to 30 birds.

This red-feathered cavalier is no longer considered strictly a southern bird as he is expanding his range rapidly into the Northern Mississippi Valley and into New England, even into Canada. One reason thought to be responsible for his rapid expansion to the north is increased winter feeding, encouraging him to remain where the grub is.