A chattering, a cackle, a plague

For a few weeks in late October, at different times of the day, a raucous cacophony compels me to go outside to view an autumnal spectacle. I am in awe of this sight! A large flock of common grackles descends on the garden. Hundreds of the birds are paddling in the pool cover, picking through leaf litter, rummaging in the gutters, and perching in noisy numbers in the tall oak trees. Their rasping, scratchy, squeaky sound is quite deafening for all of ten minutes. And then, the squawking stops as some leader or a combined intelligence summons the flock to take flight. There is a perceptible whoosh, almost a roar, as a multitude of wings beats together and the birds fly past me to another location. The sun glints from an iridescence on feathers and these powerful fliers swoop with great speed through the canopy. 

The collective name for a flock of grackles is a chattering, a cackle or a plague. “A big velvet wave” is another apt description that I have read. I imagine thousands of black feathers made luxurious by a purple, peacock blue, emerald or bronze sheen. Their dark shadows and loud chattering can remind you of Hitchcock’s birds. But I think individually they are rather handsome and have such an air of self-assurance, with an intense golden eye and a jaunty strut. Grackles are gregarious and these garrulous gatherings in the fall are preparation for a southerly migration. It’s safety in numbers as large traveling flocks are more likely to discern danger and find areas for forage. I have witnessed them in early spring as they return from overwintering grounds.  A chattering of black birds in bare branches against a blue spring sky often falls silent. Every bird is still, heads cocked as if listening intently, for a hawk perhaps? 

The beak of a grackle is adapted for omnivorous foraging. A sharp ridge or “keel” inside the beak is used to cut through acorn shells like a can-opener and barbs at the back of the tongue prevent live prey from escaping. They wade in water to catch small fish and have been known to steal worms from the mouths of American robins. Many a garden pest, such as caterpillars, grasshoppers, Japanese beetles and house sparrows, are a part of their diet. They benefit by being close to human habitation and will follow a plow to catch soil invertebrates and mice, or will roost near mall parking lots to feast on discarded fast food. 

The plague moniker is most probably given by farmers, whose corn crops have been decimated by hosts of grackles, causing millions of dollars worth of damage. On writing this missive I think I have solved the mystery of my denuded Indian corn ornament, which I hang every fall by my front door. For the first time in many years, and coinciding with this season’s numerous cackles of grackles, all three cobs have been pecked clean of kernels. Resourceful birds indeed!

Box Turtle

I’m on my way to pick up the mail.

You are parked along the driveway.

Back leg extended, neck craning forward in suspended

animation.

Your amber reptilian eye

fixates on me with an air of defiance.

I know where you are headed.

Across the asphalt

to reach the other side of the road.

But would you not be safer here?

Under the juniper hedge,

Sheltered in cool layers of leaf litter.

You know better.

Instincts intact, you stand dead still.

Wait for me to go,

quite unperturbed. I take in the beauty

of your embossed shell.

Golds and russets and grays adorn you.

Your skin is folds, scales and horny leather.

A pert little tail protrudes from under.

Will your sharp claws propel you

to the other side

in your own sweet time?

Half an hour later
vanished.

Hawk Eye

A sharp-shinned hawk has been visiting my garden lately. It is a young bird, quite at home, sitting for quite long periods of time in full view from the kitchen window. This photo was taken when it was sitting on the dogwood tree, which is just yards from the house.  The bird was pulling its beak along tail and wing feathers, preening and altogether having a thorough clean up. Had it just eaten some prey? The yard was eerily silent but every now and again the hawk would swivel its head to observe some tiny motion or sound with its intense hawk eyes. Eventually, some bold chickadees ventured to the bird feeder. I gingerly opened the back door, but before I could aim my camera the hawk had vanished.

Earth's Eye

There is gathering place in my garden where I commune with nature. Downy feathers floating on water, blazes of guano on rocks and footprints in snow on ice are all evidence of avian visitors. Uprooted plants and tracks in the mud tell me that raccoons have been searching for sustenance here and my cat makes a beeline to drink from this pond’s fresh water. I watch the pond in all seasons. In winter I spy from my kitchen window through the bare branches of the dogwood tree.  On a summer’s afternoon I watch, as I relax with a cup of tea in hand, from a strategically placed plastic garden chair. I often observe a myriad of visitors up close by crouching low on the pond’s banks.

This watering hole is my creation. I put a shovel to the ground to build some habitat in a distressed patch of woodland. I sculpted ledges for plants, depths and shallows for breeding and bathing, and a pebbly beach as access for the waders-in. I placed a black rubber liner to prevent water from draining into the sandy base. I hauled boulders and stone to create a natural boundary and to hold the liner in place. I turn on a pump in summer months to recirculate and aerate the water, to keep it fresh and to deter mosquitos from multiplying. I spread a net in the fall to prevent a build up of leaves.

Yet this artifice is a window to many dimensions of nature. Water brings sound, movement and an ever-changing palette of color. It splashes and ripples, gurgles and bubbles. It reflects the sky, clouds, leaves and winter trees. Birds flap their wings and sip through their beaks in this essential element, which also provides a nursery for insects and frogs. And so nature takes over from the man-made and an ecosystem is built. Plants aerate and clean the water, some scramble over the rocks, greening the boundary. Pond lily leaves are landing pads for insects. Along with duckweed they keep the pond from overheating by covering open water. Stems thrust above the surface and bear colorful flowers that attract bees and butterflies. Etched by glaciers or the movement of the earth, each rock carries its own mystery of how it was formed. Some are speckled and rough with granite, some are a smooth blue-grey and some twinkle with mica. All of this has replaced a dry clearing in a suburban garden.

A pond nourishes and shelters. It is a place to gather thoughts, soothe a soul and find serenity. Henri David Thoreau referred to Walden Pond as “Earth’s Eye, a place to measure the depth of one’s nature”. Even a much smaller mirror of a pond has such a power, whether its surface is white with snow, sparkling in sunlight or reflecting grey skies. I see birds bathing in the January thaw, the flash of a hummingbird visiting a cardinal flower, the plop of a frog diving for cover. Life goes on, no matter our misgivings about the state of the world. 

Bivouac

At the height of the day the goldenrods in the meadow are abuzz with bees, wasps, flies and beetles and I hardly dare to brush against them. But in early morning I notice that the golden blossoms are dotted with dozing bumblebees. They are found clinging to stems and hanging onto the underside of inflorescences – whole motionless camps of them. These are the males that have emerged from the queen’s nest and whose sole purpose in life is to mate before dying off in the approaching cold season. They have nowhere better to go for the night than a plant bearing sweet nectar.

The tall plants in the meadow do indeed provide a good vantage point for viewing all kinds of fascinating visitors. A few weeks ago I noticed several yellow bear caterpillars attached to New York ironweed, munching away on the undersides of the leaves and unseen by birds from above. This is the larval stage of the Virginian tiger moth (Spilosoma virginica), a handsome white moth with black stripes and a touch of orange on its abdomen.

Spicing up the Garden

Spicebush Swallowtail (Papilio troilus) on Cardinal Flower (Lobelia cardinalis)

Much to my joy I have seen many large black butterflies fluttering around the garden. I assumed they were black swallowtails as their gloriously striped caterpillars have consumed much of my potted parsley. But today I caught an image of a spicebush swallowtail sipping nectar from a hot red cardinal flower by the pond. The subtle difference between the spicebush and the black is easy to discern once the butterflies have come to rest. The tails on the spicebush are spoon-shaped and the upper side wings lack a post median row of yellow spots. The larvae feed on spicebush and sassafras, plenty of which grow on my property. I am also pleased to report that Monarch butterflies have been more numerous this year than in the past few summers.

Monarch Butterfly (Danaus plexippus)

Say No to Winter Blues

The ground has been covered in layers of snow and ice for several weeks now. There have been warnings of blizzard and wind chill and we’ve been grumbling. Longing for winter to ease off. But the true survivors turn up at the bird feeder every day and by observing them and other wildlife visitors, I feel better able to think ahead to spring. Here is my census: red-bellied woodpecker, downy woodpecker, white-breasted nuthatch, Carolina wren, black-capped chickadee, tufted titmouse, blue jays, northern cardinals, American goldfinch, song sparrow, white-throated sparrow, dark-eyed junco, grey squirrel and white-tailed deer. Fortunately, the deer stay beyond the fence!

Trees and shrubs aid my mood as well. The ailing dogwood tree provides a strategic perch. Its hollows provide shelter and a pounding board for birds to crack open sunflower husks. Bare branches show off the true architecture of a tree and they are also places to monitor the swelling buds of spring. Tree trunks reflect the glow of the setting sun, which I notice goes down later every evening.