wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.

Category Archives: Birds


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The Lonely Sea and the Sky

Last week the Captain and I went to a nearby beach. I took a few pictures and thought, “Why am I taking pictures of nothing?” When I looked at the photos later, I thought how lonely the sea and the sky looked and John Masefield came to mind. I have always loved his poem, “Sea Fever.”

(By the way, did you know that John Masefield was England’s poet laureate from 1930 to 1967?)

The first line was especially appropriate.

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

The rest of the poem didn’t fit because the sea was really quite tame, and the wind was not like a “whetted knife.”

But the loneliness of the great expanse of water was prevalent.

You may want to click on these photos to enlarge them, especially the ones with the lonely creatures in them. They are so tiny in an immense world.

In the first photo, the general setting. Notice the pink and blue striations in the water.

Now, notice in each subsequent photo, the one lonely thing in the setting.  You will need to click to enlarge or you won’t see much. Use the back arrow to return to the page afterwards.

A sea duck, minuscule, the ocean immense,

Alone though he be, he relaxes, not tense.

The marker buoy rocking so gently and slow,

It warns of the rocks where the water is low.

 

A lone paddleboarder, is breaking the rule,

She stands as she’s dipping the water so cool.

The seal glides alone but with grace and finesse,

He searches for love and is feeling distress.

Could that be his love on the far other side?

Stay cool and don’t splash, just swim up with a glide.

**For sure you need to click to enlarge the photo to find Mrs. Seal on the far side of the photo.

And lastly and leastly, a lone club is measly,

But even a stick can feel beastly.

 


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A Glimpse of May

Scotch broom is considered invasive because it crowds out other plants, but it provides shelter for many birds who can hide in its thick growth. Bees love it too.

It makes a background for puppy poses. Here is our springer spaniel, Ruby, when she was a pup.

The irises are having a little chin wag.

 

Miss Bossie runs the meetings.

Other members of the community listen in.

The columbines provide a slurpy snack for the hummingbirds, who then zoom off to spread the word that spring is really and truly here.

Precious first flowers

That bloomed after showers

Are chatting and preening all day.

 

Puppies roll over

As if they’re in clover,

Now spring has come, why don’t we play?

 

Hummingbirds sipping,

They fly away dipping

And buzzing, “Hurrah, now it’s May!”


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It’s Dogwood Time

It’s time for the dogwoods to bloom. There are many bigger dogwood trees around, but ours is still quite small.

The robin is enjoying the spring morning sunshine while he wonders about the petal count of these flowers.

Most flowers have a number of petals that fall into the Fibonacci sequence, a mathematical sequence in which each number is the sum of the two preceding ones. So it goes like this: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144 … and it goes on forever.

Our Pacific dogwood usually has between four and six petals, so it’s different from most flowers which tend to follow the Fibonacci sequence.

Next time you’re in a flower garden, see which flowers you can find that have either  3, 5, 8, 13, or 21 petals. You’ll be surprised at what you find.

*Fibonacci sequence was used and further explored by an Italian mathematician, Leonardo Bonacci, who was called Fibonacci, possibly as a name made up from “filius Bonacci” (son of Bonacci). He was born about 1170. Yes, about 850+ years ago.

I bet he loved doing puzzles or writing code.

So what’s the next number after 144? The first nine commenters got it easily, so how about the next three numbers?

 


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It’s Just Lunch

This is a post I did ten years ago, but I was reminded of it this morning when I heard the unmistakable DEE-di-di-di-di of a merlin in our nearby wooded area.

Warning: This is from a sad but true story that happened in my own yard back then (ten years ago).

 

The songbirds always let it be known when there’s a killer in their midst, be it a cat, a raccoon, a hawk, or a crow. Today, it seems that every bird in my little acre was shrieking with alarm — not just the usual robin whose nest was threatened, but the chickadees, nuthatches, and many others as well. When all the birds sing happy songs, it’s background music, but when they sound like several fire alarms going off, something is wrong. I went out onto the deck to have a look.

In the tall firs next to the house, many songbirds were divebombing a predator who sat and watched from her perch on a dead broken branch. I ran back into the house for my camera. The merlin (a small falcon) didn’t seem to care about me being there. She was either a juvenile or brazen or both. However it was, she allowed me to take many pictures, even posing a bit.

She ruffled her feathers, being Mrs. Cool. I’m not afraid of you!

??????????

The songbirds set up the alarm in the whole mini forest around my yard. A chickadee and a nuthatch, both tiny birds who are often chosen by the falcons as appetizers, bravely sat on the branch directly behind the merlin, scolding her.

The merlin merely gave them a look that said, “Who? Me?”

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Then she looked down at the ground to see if her lunch was still there. I suspected she had done something because she had blood on her hands … er … beak.

033“Yes, it was me,” she said. “I’m not proud of myself.”

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She shrugged her shoulders.  “It’s just lunch.”

039My little puppy, Emma, found the falcon’s intended lunch, lying on the ground below the tree. A juvenile red-shafted northern flicker, one of my favourite birds in this area.

??????????

I was choked. I don’t want to hear another person say a word about “Mother Nature.” There is nothing “motherly” about nature. As beautiful as nature is, it is also very cruel when we apply our human values to it. But that’s how it has to be.

And I do think the falcon was sorry.

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I waved my arms but the falcon didn’t want to fly away. It was only when I opened the big patio umbrella that she flew off. The songbirds settled down and silence hung in the air.

??????????

When I picked up the flicker, a single tail feather fell to the ground and as I walked away, I heard one lonely bird calling. It had to be the mother giving one last quavery call to say an anguished goodbye to her baby.

 

My apologies that the story is so sad, but life can be like that sometimes.


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Red Hot Pokers

The hummingbirds and Bullocks oriole share the red hot pokers, but not at the same time.  These photos are from another year, as it’s a bit early for the pokers to bloom, but I was inspired by Cindy Knokes’ oriole photos to dig out my oriole photo. Please visit Cindy’s blog too, if you haven’t already done so. https://cindyknoke.com/2024/04/21/goldies-2/

The red hot pokers soon will bloom,

Just waiting for some sun,

Then to their petals I will zoom,

And hover till I’m done.

 

The juicy nectar waits for me,

I stretch my long tongue down,

To lap the sweetness running free,

Within the petals round.

 

I need to hurry – sip and fly,

Ere Bully Bullock comes,

I do my best to drink it dry,

‘Cause he and I aren’t chums.

 

 

I am an emperor of birds,

You see my royal stance,

I rule the land with so few words,

It only takes a glance.

 

It could be that it is my size,

I’m not a little hummer,

I feed on flowers, they’re my prize,

Especially in summer.

 

 

But one thing hummers share with me,

That is our love of bugs,

The creepy crawlies that we see,

They simply call us thugs.

 

 

The hummers take the tiny ones,

To suit their appetite,

While I eat big ones by the tons,

I’m not a little mite.

 

 

And so we share the poker plants,

There’s food enough for all,

In time I’ll go and eat some ants,

And any bugs that crawl.

 

 

 


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Robins Changing Their Tune

 

Where is my mother? I want to be fed.

Need her soft feathers a-warming my head.

Safe in our nest with her covering us,

We will be quiet and not make a fuss.

 

 

Home’s getting crowded now. What a tight squeeze!

Hurry. Get stronger, wings. Carry me, please.

Life is too cramped in this wee, little nest,

Out in the real world, I know it is best.


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The Owl’s Lunch

When owls eat, they don’t have the best table manners. Unless the animal they are eating is too big, they swallow it whole.

Unlike many other birds, owls (and herons, grebes, cormorants, and several other types) don’t have a crop where they store food before it goes into their stomach. The eaten “food” goes straight into the glandular stomach where enzymes and acids begin the digestion. From there, the “food” passes into the muscular stomach which mushes up the softer parts of the victim, leaving behind only the undigestible parts like the bones, fur, and teeth (or feathers if it was a bird that they ate).

Then hours after the edible parts are liquefied and have passed through, the owl throws up the leftovers. The official way of saying that in “bird study talk” is that it casts a pellet.

Here is a pellet that an owl left behind on top of an upturned aluminum skiff in  our back yard.

I got an old pair of tweezers and took the pellet apart to see if I could find the bones.

If you click on the photo, you may be able to get a better look.

To the right of the larger long bones, you can see five tiny claws and below those, I have laid out the very thin long bones that I think might be rib bones.

One piece of fur was not matted together, and I thought it looked like it might have belonged to a rat. Also, I think the long bones are too big for a mouse.

Below the piece of fur at the top of the bone collection, are some of the vertebrae.

Some parts are missing, and they might have passed through the owl, or possibly been part of a second casting. Just guessing here.

I made sure to wash my hands and sterilize the area where I put the bones and fur. If the owl’s meal was a rodent,  it might have been carrying some bacteria or viruses.

Some people may find this post gruesome, but I thought it was a fascinating part of nature that we don’t often see.


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Looks Aren’t Everything

As Easter time is drawing near,

With menus contemplated,

I feel I’ve nothing much to fear,

My life is consecrated.

 

The turkey and the piggie’s hams,

Are not as worry free,

They’re eaten with a plate of yams,

While I watch from my tree.

 

In India, I’m semi wild,

I am the national bird,

I am protected like a child,

To harm me is absurd.

 

And yet, some farmer’s love me not,

Because I eat their grain,

They poison me and hope I rot,

To never eat again.

 

My feathers bright, a detriment,

They draw the danger in,

But always it’s my sentiment,

My beauty lies within.

 

And this is why I like to be,

In Czechia far away,

A lady there loves only me,

So this is where I’ll stay.

 

She feeds me walnuts, seeds, and grain,

She sweeps away the snow,

I live a life of bliss, no pain,

Now I know where to go.

 

I serenade her with my call,

I guard her house all times,

My cry is loud and heard by all,

She need not fear for crimes.

 

 

 


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Calling All Girls

*Turn on your sound for the video clips.

 

I sense it is that time again,

When I should find a gal,

Someone whose looks drive me insane,

Someone to be my pal.

 

She’ll hold me close and nuzzle me,

What bliss is yet to come,

I’ll call her and she’ll fly, you’ll see,

To visit when I drum.

 


 

I hear so many songbirds call,

My drumming will be loud,

Beware the chimney and don’t fall,

Just stand here tall and proud.

 

Ah, here she is, she’s come at last,

Now I need to be cool,

I can’t acknowledge her too fast,

And then be played a fool.

 

 


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Herring Time Again

It’s herring time again. The seiners are taking turns setting their nets. Seagulls love it when the herring are seined. The fish mill around the ever tightening seine net looking for an escape, but hungry seagull mouths are waiting for them at the surface.

 

And for those who escape the net or those who are naively swimming around free, thinking that all is well, a surprise is waiting. These sea lions get their fill of herring in between having naps on these floating breakwaters.

 

Sometimes a nap after a big meal is just the thing.