Tag Archives: bird feeding

Woodpeckers at the Bird Feeder!

Now that the bears are safely tucked up asleep hibernating, and now that snow lies deep on the ground (some days, anyhow), many local thoughts turn to bird feeders.

*Thanksgiving to Easter is a good feeder schedule here in bear country, and we’re doing the bruins a favor if we don’t lure them in. Bears are dangerous just by virtue of their size, and habituating them to human dwellings as a source of food spells tragedy… a fed bear is a dead bear.

*But as this stage, we can feed the birds safely. I find that they love three foods above most others: suet; peanuts; and black-oil sunflower seeds.

*I also provide nyger or thistle seed, though they mostly ignore that until the sunflower runs out.

*Even in the cities and the villages, feeders can bring in an impressive array of species. Have you ever noticed the woodpeckers?

*They seem to go especially for the peanut and the suet, though of course they’ll also take seeds.

*Maybe the most-seen woodpecker at many feeders is the downy woodpecker. It’s largely black, with a white back, white underside, and some white speckles on the wings. It has a small red spot on the back of its head, but this is often hard to see.

*Downies are about six inches in length. I have a hard time estimating size, so I measured a couple of prominent points on the feeder, six inches apart. Then I always have an exact comparison to check the size of the birds.

*All the woodpeckers have relatively long sharp beaks, which they use like chisels or jackhammers to break into trees after insects. Watch a downy at the feeder and you’ll see that he attacks the seed the same way, darting his whole head forward in attack.

*Most woodpeckers have feet constructed such that they usually don’t perch on twigs or branches, as most of the songbirds do. Instead of keeping their feet under themselves they swing them forward, sinking their talons into the trunk of the tree. They hang there upright, using their tails as a prop against the tree.

*But we also have a larger woodpecker, the flicker, that spends a lot of its time on the ground, hunting for insects there. Flickers have speckled breasts, with dark “gorgets” at their throat. There’s no crest, but they do have “mustache” stripes running back from their long beaks. (These are often hard to see.) A flicker is bigger than a downy woodpecker, even noticeably bigger than a robin. It shows a white rump when it flies.

*Although generally groundfeeders, at this time of year flickers will often come to your feeding station.

*Red-bellied woodpeckers are easy to mistake for flickers… they have the same general size (about like a robin, in this case), coloration, and ground-feeding behavior. But the red-belly has a striped “zebra back,” and white wing patches when it flies. The male red-belly has a red “helmet,” while the female has red only on the back of the neck.

*What neither one of them has, particularly, is a red belly, at least not so as you’d notice it from your window. A lot of these names were originally given by guys with magnifying glasses, studying carcases in dissection pans.

*We also have two other woodpeckers that are fairly common, but not too often seen, since they prefer to hang out deep in the woods. The hairy woodpecker looks much like the downy, but is half again the size. The pileated woodpecker is as big as a crow, with an impressive crest and white wing undersides when it flies.

*We could also mention two other feeder guests who, like the woodpeckers, prefer the trunks of trees to the branches. These are the nutchatches… one of them white-breasted and the other… less common, and about a third samller… the red-breasted. They hunt for insects on the surface of a tree trunk, usually starting at the top and working their way downward… the “upside-down bird.” They’ll often hang on your feeder head-down, stocking up for these cold winter nights.

Ever-Returning Spring

Grasses and willow twigs take on a green sheen… sometimes slowly, sometimes suddenly. We go more days in a row without really cold temperatures. We finally notice that it hasn’t snowed for a while, and those odd piles of the stuff under evergreens, or in the corners of parking lots, take us by surprise. They look like archeological finds.

In our family spring’s approach used to herald itself to us by the flow of the maple sap, often in March or February. It foretold a lot of fun but also a lot of hours boiling… 40 gallons of sap plus 40 hours on the boil yields a single gallon of maple syrup. Cartwright’s and others are hosting long long lines. They’re cheerful waiting, even in the cold, for a taste. Because it tastes like spring.

But we haven’t made sugar for quite a few years now, so for us a spring wake-up call “sounds” at the bird feeder. After a few days of silently wondering, we each finally say it out loud. The goldfinches are taking on a faint yellow tinge or glow. Summer plumage is on the way, so spring must be coming soon.

Even before the goldfinch males flame forth in eye-assaulting yellow, and the females assume a much duller summer sheen, we’ll have taken down the bird feeders. Nowadays the Finger Lakes are bear country. Those of us who live outside the built-up section pretty much follow the Thanksgiving-to-Easter rule… only feed the birds when the bears are sound asleep hibernating. So empty feeders, or feeders put away, are signs of spring.

Before we let our feeder run dry this month, it was one day surrounded by brightly-epauletted red-wing blackbird males, scrounging for seeds that had fallen to the ground. In northern Vermont, it’s almost spring when the crows come back. Around here, it’s the red-wings.

In Bath, the eagles and the ospreys return, and start inspecting last season’s nests.

The ice on the little ponds melts, and one day it melts for the last time. It will take seven or eight months to freeze them again. Anglers get their gear out, clean it up, undo tangles, and do some overhauls. The town clerks get set for an onslaught of license buyers.

One morning we scrape the car for the last time, but if we had to name the date, we probably couldn’t. Suddenly we’ll just notice that we haven’t done it for a while, and smugly realize that we won’t, either.

About the end of the first week in February, we notice that the sun’s setting later. Hooray!

Snowdrops push up in gardens, at least in the gardens that get good sun, followed by crocuses. Color again! At last! Here and there, if you walk the woods or the fields, a green sprig or a flowering plant bursts forth, defying its still-moribund neighbors. Just about everything else was still dormant one day when I found a flabbergastingly flowering round-lobed hepatica on Mount Washington, along the Finger Lakes Trail. In Rhode Island a hundred years ago, people went arbutusing in spring.

The world unlocks, sometimes inconveniently. In Vermont the season after maple season is mud season.

For youngsters not too long ago, spring meant new clothes (often unwelcome, if truth be told), for Easter. Even today it still means palm branches (perhaps of construction paper), church breakfasts, chocolate rabbits, and marshmallow Peeps. Or else it means a big meal with a big family, ritual questions, and a glass for Elijah.

Musing on the death of Abraham Lincoln, Walt Whitman wrote, “Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, and thought of him I love.” We hope spring brings you happier triggers, and happier memories.

Off-Season

Off-season. Winter in western New York. What’s there to do?

*Quite a lot, actually, as long as you don’t mind being low-key – which is sort of what winter is anyway.

*Take a walk in a summer activity space, such as a fairground. See how it’s different… in fact, almost new. It will be quiet. You’ll likely have the place to yourself. Memories will surface, but distances will seem askew. You may notice features you’ve never seen before. Try taking pictures. I once got some very good shots of the snowbound fireman’s fair field in Hammondsport.

*Wander the waterfront. The marina space in Watkins Glen or Canandaigua is a new world off-season. Stroll up and down the docks (assuming they’re ice-free!) and remember what the place was like at the height of summer. Look out for overwintering waterfowl. From Hammondsport waterfront you almost always sees rafts of coots, gulls, and mallards.

*Try out a park. Some are no doubt closed, especially those out in rural areas. But pick your way through the in-town parks of Hammondsport, Bath, Elmira, Corning. What are the fountains like with the water turned off? What trees are slumbering in the parks, and when will they waken?

*Along those lines, we once visited Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge in the dead of winter. We had the place to ourselves, just as though it were our personal game preserve. We could stop whenever and wherever we liked without worrying about backing up traffic, and take all the time we wanted with binoculars gazing across the flats.

*Of course, you can have off-season fun right in your kitchen or living room, if you put out a bird feeder. The bears are still asleep, but by Easter or so we’ll have to take the feeders in, unless we live right in the heart of town. On a daily basis we get red-headed woodpeckers, downy woodpeckers, juncos, goldfinches, white-breasted nuthatches, black-capped chickadees. Out cat likes to watch as much as we do.

*Take an urban or village walk, assuming the sidewalks are clear. Steuben County Historical Society has walking-tour brochures for Bath. Some of our towns have heart-health walking routes.

*Twice in the past month I’ve been out walking on the Keuka Outlet Trail, at the Penn Yan end. In January we saw a bluebird… not our typical winter fare! We also inspected some recent beaver work, and glimpsed a muskrat in the offing.

*On my February trip I enjoyed just getting to know the Outlet area in the quiet and sleep of late winter. Much of the Outlet was frozen, at least until you crossed the footbridge downstream from Main Street, where mallards were huddled, just as they had been a few weeks earlier. Seeing the industrial buildings from beneath at this time of year makes you feel as though you possess arcane knowledge, vouchsafed to only a few.

*Besides heading downstream, I also crossed the hump-backed bridge over the Outlet and passed through the little park, then followed the trail a few hundred yards to its eastern terminus. Along the way I stopped at another bridge, under the trees, to watch the stream picking its way through the ice.

*And I came to he baseball field. Empty, deserted, and covered with snow, looking a little dilapidated, as all such places do at this time of year. But promising warmer days, and happy crowds, and summer sun. Back at the feeder, the goldfinches are starting to show their summer glow. “We are nearer to spring than we were in September.”

Backyard Bird List

On our refrigerator is a yellow slip with a long list – all the bird species that we’ve seen on, from, or over our place just outside Bath village.
We started keeping a Backyard Bird List maybe thirty years ago, when the kids were little and we lived outside Allentown, Pennsylvania, and we still keep it up today. I tot up over 30 species on our list, without our having made any really vigorous efforts. We do keep up bird feeders in that Thanksgiving-to-Easter bear hibernation season, and we also have a little pond across the road from us.
Because of the pond, our “backyard” list includes the great blue heron, a four-foot wading bird that stalks about the pond seeking whom it may devour, then darting its spear-like beak for a fish or a frog. Great blues are beautiful and terrifying all at once.
Then, also thanks to the pond, there are the ducks: mallards, buffleheads, ring-neckeds, goldeneyes, and American wigeons. If I really spent some time with my binoculars, I imagine I’d turn up black ducks as well.
That little pond certainly gives us a head start on waterfowl and wading birds, but just about everybody in our region could add Canada geese to their own lists. These beautiful birds pass over in dozens or in hundreds. If we were sending audio files to extra-terrestrials, and we wanted one single sound to define North America, we would send the cry of the Canada goose in flight.
Where we live, we’re also treated to regular flights by flocks of rock doves… or, as most of us call them, pigeons. They fly from the barn a quarter-mile up the road to the silo a quarter-mile down. And back. Again. And again. And again.
Their cousins the mourning doves graze around under our bird feeders, content with whatever droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place below.
We put out thistle seeds, peanut halves, suet, and black-oil sunflower seed, bringing in the usual feeder crowd for our part of the country. Goldfinches come in little flocks, and we watch the passage of the seasons as their yellow plumage wanes and waxes. Tufted titmice come in small groups, while chickadees dart in and out from the foliage. Juncos, like the mourning doves, tend to stay low. So do flickers.
We get the house finch and the purple finch, the house sparrow, chipping sparrow, song sparrow, white-throat sparrow. Cardinals come in pairs, blue jays in twos or threes. Starlings, of course, may show up in flocks at almost any time. Did you know that they have a beautiful song? Every once in a while, though, they throw in a grawk, just to remind you that they’re starlings. Crows flap all around, of course.
Our suet and peanuts bring in both the red-breasted nuthatch and the white-breasted nuthatch. These cute little guys like working their way down a tree trunk upside down, hunting for bugs in the bark. They tackle the suet the same way, clinging to the cage and eating away head down.
Woodpeckers like the suet too, but they prefer to say upright. We get the downy with its black-and-white coat, and the red-bellied, with its dramatic red head. (The names were made up centuries ago, by guys who shot the birds and then studied them in dissection pans with magnifying glasses. You can’t really spot the red belly in the field.)
We’ve enjoyed some specialty sightings, too, of birds who aren’t really regulars, at least with us: the bluebird, the northern oriole, and the ruby-throated hummingbird.
And of course we have our hawks and their cousins. The kestrel is a small darting bird, and the harrier a larger creature with more deliberate movements. Both of them hover when they’re zeroing in on prey. The sharp-shinned hawk is between them in size, while the big turkey vulture soars lazily, often in big creepy flocks, sniffing out carrion miles away.
And all that’s just from the yard, with no more effort than some bird feeders and a pair of binoculars. If we put in some time after dark, no doubt we’d score some owls, while with five minutes of driving we could pick up bald eagles, osprey, swans, and wild turkeys.
Apart from kangaroos, birds and us are the only creatures that go on two feet. And they’re ALL around us! Anytime we step outdoors… anytime we look through the window… we’re with the birds. In apartment blocks… or office blocks… birds remind us that we’re only barely keeping nature at bay. Which, when you think about it, is one of the best things about our lives.
*****
Join us 4 PM Friday, March 7 for the illustrated talk SPRING MIGRATION: BIRDS OF STEUBEN COUNTY, by Dr. Randy Weidner — Steuben County Historical Society Winter Lecture Series, free and open to the public at Bath Fire Hall.