signs of spring?

One day this past week I heard a male cardinal singing from the top of a tree in the alley. That same day, Em El reported seeing a male cardinal feeding seeds from the feeder to a female. Later on, she also saw the female fluttering her wings, as the male retrieved more seed from the feeder. This is a courtship ritual where the female mimics the behavior of a helpless nestling, and the male then feeds her. Northern Cardinals typically begin to breed in March, so these birds have begun courting right on time. Soon they will be looking for a nest site, if they haven’t found one already.

I went out Friday and spent the whole day driving around up in northern parts of the county.  I spent some time at Prettyboy, where there were tracks in the snow to follow, but the snow depth still prevented easy walking.  I had to keep watching where I was stepping, so couldn’t accomplish much in the way of intensive birding.  This was fine, though, as it wasn’t particularly birdy out there.  I walked down to the edge of the reservoir, which was partially frozen over.  The open water was much too far away for me to tell if any waterfowl were present.  I saw and heard mostly titmice and chickadees, although I did find one Brown Creeper working a snag along the trail, which made the trek worthwhile.  As I headed back I found a solitary Blue Jay loitering around not far off the trail.  Another singing male cardinal rounded out the walk.  No one else was present on the trails, and the snowy silence did my soul good.  I only wish I’d remembered the camera!

After Prettyboy, I drove around on some back roads, hoping to find a flock of Horned Larks, and possibly a Lapland Longspur or two mixed in with them, but I had no luck.  I did see some sparrows along the roadsides, but nothing very exciting. The best bird was a single sprightly Savannah Sparrow, hopping around on top of a snow bank.  On the same road, I found an impressive flock of at least 300-400 blackbirds feeding on some exposed patches in an otherwise snow-covered field.  I didn’t have a scope and couldn’t pick out many individual birds, but it looked to be mostly Common Grackles, with a few Red-winged Blackbirds mixed in.  I could see there were a few smaller birds, too, but they were too far away for me to identify.  The flock also kept rising up and shifting back and forth, which while presenting an arresting visual image, further hampered my attempts to pick through the flock for any interesting individuals.  When I reached the end of this road, I spotted a chipmunk poking its head out of a tunnel it had dug through the center of a three-foot high snowbank.  It quickly reversed direction once it saw me approaching.

I ended the day at Irvine Nature Center, which was significantly birdier than Prettyboy, in part because of the feeders the staff maintains throughout the woods.  Many White-breasted Nuthatches, chickadees, and titmice crowded the feeders.  A titmouse even treated me to a cheery song, which made the otherwise very wintry landscape feel less cold for a few moments.  Downy and Red-bellied Woodpeckers were present in healthy numbers, as well, but not the Red-headed Woodpecker I had hoped to find. I did not find many sparrows, either, only a few juncos and a single Song Sparrow.  After another hour of tromping through snow up past my shins, my boots were soaked through and my feet had grown quite cold, so I called it a day.

I returned home to find water finally surging freely through the rear downspout, and most of the ice melted off of the rain barrel.  This warm spell arrived just in the nick of time, as those icicles were looking more menacing with each passing day.

serendipity

It was quite birdy this morning!  Although Larry, Moe, and Curly (the three squirrels) brought along a friend (Shemp, perhaps?) for their now-daily assault on the feeders, there were still a lot of birds waiting around in the crabapple tree and up on the power lines for their turn.  Unfortunately, squirrels don’t know how to share (even with their own kind), and so there was more squirrel feeding going on than actual bird feeding.  Surprisingly, later on a European Starling appeared at the feeder tray while the Mourning Doves were having a go.  I think this may be the first time at the new house that I’ve seen one at the feeders.

The two highlights for the morning, though, didn’t happen at the feeder.  The first one occurred as I was preparing to leave for work.  I took one last look out the kitchen window and my jaw dropped as a Great Blue Heron flew low not far above the roof lines across the alley and then over the house.  Perhaps it was heading for Lake Montebello?  Although I haven’t been over there recently, and it may be frozen over.  Not much other open water nearby.  But it’s always a good sign when my spirit bird appears.  And a new yard bird, as well!

The second highlight happened during my morning commute.  Today was the first day I biked to work after the double blizzard.  As a result, I had to alter some sections of my route due to traffic congestion and ice-covered roads.  Inconvenient as it may have been, I was unexpectedly rewarded when I turned onto one road and heard the “kee-aah, kee-aah” of a Red-Shouldered Hawk.  It was so loud that I just about fell off my bike!  I navigated through some snow onto the side of the road and had some good looks at this noble bird as it surveyed the urban landscape from its perch high up in a tree.  I wonder if it was the same one I saw on Sunday, soaring above the neighborhood?

blizzard of oz yields new yard birds

Well, the dual blizzard effect blew in a few new yard birds to add to my meager list. At one point yesterday, I looked out the window at the feeders (mounted on the deck), and saw a single Song Sparrow in the middle of the feeder tray, flaring its wings and aggressively charging the various members of a rather nonplussed gang of House Sparrows. After a valiant effort to defend its newly discovered cache of sunflower seeds, it flew off into the crabapple tree. A couple of minutes later, a White-throated Sparrow (another new yard bird!) popped into view. The Song Sparrow reappeared shortly afterward and fed undisturbed.

Other blizzard birds at the feeder: Northern Cardinals (both male & female), a pair of American Goldfinches (not seen in the yard since mid-fall), many Mourning Doves, and the local Northern Mockingbird, who has done his very best to micro-manage the whole operation.

Tomorrow I may actually get out to do some real birding.  Oh, and this weekend is the Great Backyard Bird Count, so if you feel so inclined, it’s really easy to participate and can take up as little as 15 minutes of your time for one, two, or all four days. It’s a fun way to help the birds by providing scientists with data on a scale they would never be able to gather on their own.

it snowed…again.

The bird feeding station prior to snow removal.  Even before I got out to clean things up, cardinals, sparrows, and doves were all jockeying for the one section of the feeder not covered by snow.

Not a typical seed eater, this hungry mockingbird made many trips to the feeder while I was clearing off the deck, several times while I was standing only a couple of feet away.  He was so close I could see the seed travel down his throat as he swallowed.

The city has a history of never plowing our neighborhood.  After the big storm of December, it was weeks before the alley and streets were finally snow-free.

r.i.p. j.d.

And the giants keep falling.

not really off the wagon

I’ve been making music again.  It feels really good.  I’ve also finally entered the digital recording age, so I am better prepared to collaborate with a long lost musical soul mate who remains separated from me by a slight, but still significant, geographical divide.  However, I have a hard time diverting the creative river inside me to multiple channels.  So, the prose writing suffers when the music writing flows.  We’ll see what happens.

redemption

Yesterday, I decided to salvage what I could of the day and left the house, observing curiously as the late afternoon blossomed unexpectedly before me.  As fate would have it, during its period of disuse, the chain on my other bike (meaning not my commuter bike) had achieved a patina of rust and gunk that prevented it from making a successful circuit around the drive-train.  So I crouched next to the back door, generously oiling the links and massaging them back into working order, until one of my neighbors arrived home next door.  I hailed her, and we spoke pleasantly at length.  When she went inside, my neighbor from the port side hailed me and we engaged in a discussion of a less sprawling, though just as neighborly, nature than the previous one.  It is good to be friendly with the neighbors, I thought to myself, and I am lucky to have such affable and considerate ones!  With that, I was off on my bike across town to my old birding and exploring haunt where I spent a couple of happy hours tromping through the woods, restoring the waning energy levels of my soul and communing with the natural world.  As the sky darkened, then, and I wound my way reluctantly forth from the woods, the sweet ethereal song of the Hermit Thrushes rose surprisingly from the forest floor and carried through the trees, as if to ease me ever so gently back toward the main road, and harsh traffic, to that which I always must return.

random

Nicest day we’ve had in weeks and I’m stuck inside waiting for a tardy contractor. As I wait, someone intermittently uses a loud drill next door. Sometimes homeownership sucks. Muggings and robberies are up, in both the neighborhood and the city at large. This depresses me on an epic scale. Drilling next door probably indicates installation of new deadbolts. Bars on windows, steel doors, quadruple locks, where does it end? How safe can you be? Muggers lie in wait looking for opportunities. We really have no control over it. The problem is systemic: the haves and the have nots forever divided. No reconciliation possible. Only solution is to take to the woods. The cities are doomed.

In 1960, John Steinbeck traveled the United States with his dog and wrote a book about his trip. At one point he notes, “I wonder why progress looks so much like destruction.”  Since then, we have happily continued to destroy all the natural places, with the exception of a select few that are so overrun they project a carnivalesque atmosphere.  We have built a society so spread apart that most people see the automobile as the only way to traverse the uncomfortable distances between point A and point B. To not own a car is anathema. You are branded a freak and possibly un-American; at the very least, you are suspect. Similarly, to eschew the consumerist lifestyle that is so red-bloodedly American is also viewed with suspicion. Why wouldn’t you want to buy all the latest greatest stuff? You saw it on TV, after all, and it looked totally awesome. And everyone who had that stuff looked really happy. So why wouldn’t you want to be happy? Get out there and shop, sucker.

Often I think I was born in the wrong century, perhaps in the wrong country, possibly of the wrong race, and maybe even on the wrong planet altogether.

I just got back from a work retreat that I had been dreading for quite some time. During said retreat, I spent some late night hours carousing with a few coworkers who I hadn’t really gotten to know beforehand. I found them to be decent and fun to hang out with, at least in my inebriated state. I’m sure they were surprised by my sudden bout of gregariousness. I’m not a mean drunk, but I can be a saucy one. During the work sessions, I was surprised to sense a tiny flame of enthusiasm ignite somewhere deep below the layers of cynicism within me. But I know better. We can talk grand and eloquent away from the office, but reality is grim. Knowing how long it’s taken to get this far (still a sad state of affairs) makes it impossible to expect that even a quarter of our lofty ideas will ever come to fruition within the next three and a half years. And that is not cynicism talking; that’s just pragmatism.

The place where we stayed was a Bavarian-styled inn that was the type of place where the Griswold family would’ve roomed during one of their epically disastrous vacations. My bathroom had a disused-looking bidet in it and a space heater mounted in the wall that smelled like burning dust when turned on. Still, the king-sized four-poster bed was comfortable and the vaguely shabby past-its-heyday look to the entire place was preferable to the sterility of modern hotels. Not a good place to be a vegan, but I got by (barely). I wish I had photos to share, but the camera was left behind.

why, yes, i should’ve finished painting that wall by now

When we bought this house I made a list of things to do/fix soon after moving in. I think my idea was to get it all done and then kick back and relax. There were certain things, like painting, that I just knew if we didn’t finish before moving in, they might not get done for some time.  Well, I was sure right about that. As I sit here at my desk, my eyes wander to the pile of switch face-plates that have yet to screw themselves back into the wall, probably because they are patiently waiting for me to first slap on that final coat of paint.  After so many months of living with half-finished projects, you become dangerously ambivalent to their incomplete status. In all fairness, I did complete some things.  But there’s still a list and I still look at it regularly and sigh. I am quite adept at avoidance, wasting colossal amounts of time daydreaming and mindlessly surfing the Internet. I could blame this on the cold winter, and my desire to hibernate. Really, I could blame it on a lot of external factors. But mostly it’s because I just don’t feel like doing it. I guess I am a slacker at heart.

early reading

Yesterday, the leafless trees etched achingly across the blue sky, and where the clarity comes from all of a sudden I do not know. Like the right lens finally passed across the eyes and the details sharpened into focus. Today drinking yerba mate and feeling okay. Working out, flexing muscles, living outside of the mind; indulging the physical senses, where the grit of life grinds against you, polishing the brittle edges of your psyche smooth. Time to cast aside the shell game and dive in the fray. So far, so good.

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