The place is filled with birds, mostly moving around with their young. Common Grackles are everywhere and just a few moments before I wrote this a young grackle was sitting on the ground right outside the porch window where I am writing this, begging to be fed by its somewhat more wary parent. There are also troupes of Chickadees and Titmice and there was at least one White-breasted Nuthatch accompanying them (and honking the way nuthatches are supposed to honk, which is what attracted my attention in the first place). Young Baltimore Orioles have been calling their distinctive call from the treetops and noisy House Wrens are in the understory and on the edge. One House Wren was singing loudly in a big old evergreen in a neighbor's yard. But just back of the bank of our pond, only a few minutes later, there was a whole family of House Wrens with a singing male and at least four young. I'm beginning to think that there may be more than one brood or breeding pair of these birds in the vicinity.
Terns have started to reappear on the creek. They are mostly Common Terns but at least one of them was a Forster's Tern in non-breeding plumage (making it easy to ID). We have been seeing this southern species more and more in the late summer and autumn migration but now they are appearing in breeding season. They are, I think, nesting at Moriches Inlet/Cupsogue and there is a chance that they could start breeding on one of the Shinnecock Bay islands. This Forster's was flying with a adult tern in breeding plumage but, try as I might, I could not turn the latter into anything but another Common Tern.
Eric Salzman
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
squirrely stuff
The local squirrels are all in an uproar and I have no idea what is going on. There are a dozen or so of them in the oak and hickory trees just outside our porch and they make all sorts of noises. At times they form a conga line and I can see eight or ten of them in a row sprinting through the trees and even jumping from one branch to another one after the other. Maybe they are actually Squirrel Monkeys; they are certainly behaving more like monkeys than like rodents!
Some more flower notes. Spanish Bayonet a.k.a. Yucca is coming into bloom with its bulbous dangling white blossoms. Yuccas are an 'almost native' and, like the Prickly Pear Cactus (which is native), they represent the desert element in our flora. Yuccas have what is known as "symbiotic pollination mutualism" with the Yucca Moth. What does that mean? It means that Yuccas cannot fruit and set seed without the Yucca Moth; they can only be pollinated when Yucca Moths are present (they actually go into the flower and pollinate it) and the larvae of the Yucca Moth only feed on the leaves and fruit of the Yucca plant! Having read about all this, I went out at night to examine a flowering Yucca and, sure enough, found one of these white moths nestled inside the flower; it would have been easy to mistake it for part of the flower itself.
Sambucus or Elderberry is also in bloom right now. Our local version of this widespread and famous plant grows in wet areas. The flower heads are umbels (like Queen Anne's Lace) and can be eaten the form of fritters. Both the flowers and the black berries that follow are used to make various kinds of potions and beverages, alcholic and medicinal. Elderberry wine is the most famous but strangely enough, the popular Italian aperatif called 'sambuca' is not made from Elderberry as its name suggests. Perhaps it once was in an earlier day.
Eric Salzman
Some more flower notes. Spanish Bayonet a.k.a. Yucca is coming into bloom with its bulbous dangling white blossoms. Yuccas are an 'almost native' and, like the Prickly Pear Cactus (which is native), they represent the desert element in our flora. Yuccas have what is known as "symbiotic pollination mutualism" with the Yucca Moth. What does that mean? It means that Yuccas cannot fruit and set seed without the Yucca Moth; they can only be pollinated when Yucca Moths are present (they actually go into the flower and pollinate it) and the larvae of the Yucca Moth only feed on the leaves and fruit of the Yucca plant! Having read about all this, I went out at night to examine a flowering Yucca and, sure enough, found one of these white moths nestled inside the flower; it would have been easy to mistake it for part of the flower itself.
Sambucus or Elderberry is also in bloom right now. Our local version of this widespread and famous plant grows in wet areas. The flower heads are umbels (like Queen Anne's Lace) and can be eaten the form of fritters. Both the flowers and the black berries that follow are used to make various kinds of potions and beverages, alcholic and medicinal. Elderberry wine is the most famous but strangely enough, the popular Italian aperatif called 'sambuca' is not made from Elderberry as its name suggests. Perhaps it once was in an earlier day.
Eric Salzman
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
House Wren reproduction and the Big Sit
Well the House Wrens did it. A House Wren family with a couple of youngsters in tow was moving through the shrubs on the west side of the pond this morning. The male House Wren has been singing persistently since the middle of May mostly near a collection of little fairy-tale bird houses set up in a neighbor's garden. Whether or not these bird houses were ever used or not is a moot point; I never saw any traffic in and out of any of the the dozen or so boxes (not that I spend a lot of time monitoring them). But the wrens carried off a small brood somewhere somehow. The adult male now follows the brood -- or broodlet -- around and occasionally still sings that chattering song of his. But the most vocal of these birds -- possibly the adult female -- keeps up a loud buzzing as it leads its offspring on the eternal search for food. The youngsters are identifiable by the 'smile' mark at the base of the bill, a prominent feature left over from their days as nestlings (when the mark serves as an indication to the adults where to aim their food delivery). But these nestlings have turned into fledglings and are now moving around with their parents. In spite of its name, the House Wren, a common Pine Barrens nester, is less of a dooryard bird around here than the Carolina Wren but it does use nest boxes that most other birds seem to find too small.
I put two chairs by the pond in a spot that has a view of the pond and marsh but also over Weesuck Creek and out across Shinnecock Bay. Late afternoon on Sunday, the feature attraction was two high-flying Killdeer calling vociferously. Yesterday afternoon a Glossy Ibis came winging across the mouth of the creek and over the marsh. Better than watching television!
Eric Salzman
I put two chairs by the pond in a spot that has a view of the pond and marsh but also over Weesuck Creek and out across Shinnecock Bay. Late afternoon on Sunday, the feature attraction was two high-flying Killdeer calling vociferously. Yesterday afternoon a Glossy Ibis came winging across the mouth of the creek and over the marsh. Better than watching television!
Eric Salzman
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Flowers that bloom in the summer, tra-la
Late June but officially summer and flowers are blooming in great numbers. Although my post on Saturday's Linnaean trip was focused on birds (with a few mammals thrown in), there also was a long list of flowering plants. The most spectacular were the flowering cactus off Dune Road by the Ponquogue Bridge. This is a native prickly-pear (Opuntia) that seems to regard beach sand as the same habitat as desert sand. These creatures have large and beautiful lemony yellow flowers which all bloom at once. Quite a display.
There were lots of other flowers at the beach and in the upland grasslands including Coreopsis or Tickseed, Rudbeckia or Black-eyed Susans, St. John's Wort, Butter-and-Eggs, Deptford Pink, Blue Toadflax, Common Mullein, Moth Mullein, Rabbit-foot Clover, Venus' Looking Glass, various Hawkweeds and other plants too numerous to mention or which, more honestly, I have forgotten. In addition to Wild Rose both Rugosa and Rambler Roses are in full bloom. Many (if not most) of these flowers are introduced species, garden escapes or 'near natives' but Tickseed (an ugly name for a beautiful flower), Black-eyed Susan, Wild or Virginia Rose and, believe it or not, Prickly-pear Cactus are native to the American northeast.
One previously unmentioned incident from Saturday that I did not forget was the singing Vesper Sparrow at Gabreski. There are at least four different sparrow species here: Grasshopper (the rarest), Chipping (the most common), Vesper (the most sought-after) and Field (formerly common, now much less so). The song was coming from a nearby fence so I hopped over in that direction and spotted the bird, first on an emergent Pitch Pine and then perched nicely on the fence. "There it is", I shouted bringing over the crowd of Linnaean birdwatchers. "But isn't that a Field Sparrow?" asked one perspicacious birder. So I decided to actually look at the bird through my binoculars and it was indeed a Field Sparrow singing something very un-Field Sparrow-like (no bouncing ball) and close to a typical Vesper Song. I had boldly called the bird on what I thought was a sure identification of the song. The double moral of the story: (1) some species can actually sing like other species, and (2) can't win 'em all.
Eric Salzman
There were lots of other flowers at the beach and in the upland grasslands including Coreopsis or Tickseed, Rudbeckia or Black-eyed Susans, St. John's Wort, Butter-and-Eggs, Deptford Pink, Blue Toadflax, Common Mullein, Moth Mullein, Rabbit-foot Clover, Venus' Looking Glass, various Hawkweeds and other plants too numerous to mention or which, more honestly, I have forgotten. In addition to Wild Rose both Rugosa and Rambler Roses are in full bloom. Many (if not most) of these flowers are introduced species, garden escapes or 'near natives' but Tickseed (an ugly name for a beautiful flower), Black-eyed Susan, Wild or Virginia Rose and, believe it or not, Prickly-pear Cactus are native to the American northeast.
One previously unmentioned incident from Saturday that I did not forget was the singing Vesper Sparrow at Gabreski. There are at least four different sparrow species here: Grasshopper (the rarest), Chipping (the most common), Vesper (the most sought-after) and Field (formerly common, now much less so). The song was coming from a nearby fence so I hopped over in that direction and spotted the bird, first on an emergent Pitch Pine and then perched nicely on the fence. "There it is", I shouted bringing over the crowd of Linnaean birdwatchers. "But isn't that a Field Sparrow?" asked one perspicacious birder. So I decided to actually look at the bird through my binoculars and it was indeed a Field Sparrow singing something very un-Field Sparrow-like (no bouncing ball) and close to a typical Vesper Song. I had boldly called the bird on what I thought was a sure identification of the song. The double moral of the story: (1) some species can actually sing like other species, and (2) can't win 'em all.
Eric Salzman
Sunday, June 26, 2011
I've been doing bird walks for Linnaean for many many years now -- so many years that I even got some kind of plaque or certificate from the organization. Linnaean is the second oldest natural history organization in the U.S. It was founded at the American Museum of Natural History in 1878 and shares its name (although not its spelling) with the even older Linnean Society of London; both are named for Karol (or Carl) Linnaeus, the founder of modern taxonomy. The latest of these 'walks' started at the Shinnecock Inlet yesterday morning, worked its way down Dune Road all the way to Pike's Beach in Westhampton Dunes and then to airport grasslands -- Gabreski or Westhampton Airport in the Dwarf Pine Plains and ex-Grumman in Calverton -- ending up in the nearby VOR field directly opposite the north fence of the Grumman property. Most of the people on the walk were from New York but there was an East End contingent as well including the East Quogue birders, Eileen Schwinn and Mike Higgiston.
Shinnecock Inlet was busy with terns, gulls and cormorants but only a few lingering Gannets to represent the pelagics. On the Shinnecock stretch of Dune Road, there were some overflying Glossy Ibises, a couple of Piping Plovers, a Black-bellied Plover without a black belly, overflying Killdeer, a pair of Black Skimmers flying and perched, and several Black-crowned Night Herons. Mike Higgiston's attempts to lure out Clapper Rails by hitting two stones together loudly did not seem to work but a rail laughing call was heard close to the road and also further out in the marsh indicating that the rails were indeed there even if stubbornly unseen. At the small Quogue boardwalk refuge, both marsh sparrows were seen (good looks at the Saltmarsh Sparrow which even perched on the boardwalk railing for a viewing; Seaside Sparrow was only briefly seen in the reeds). Also good views of Willow Flycatcher and a fledgling Tree Swallow sitting on boardwalk. At Pike's Beach, with a rapidly rising tide, we elected to use the platform overlooking a small sand island in the bay. In addition to the gulls (including many Laughing Gulls) and terns (Common and Least), there was a somewhat surprising collection of shorebirds here including small numbers of Red Knots in breeding plumage, a few Short-billed Dowitchers not in breeding plumage, a couple of Dunlin and assorted peeps, mainly Sandlerings and Semipalmated Sandpipers. Surprising because we're still a couple of weeks short of the start of the 'fall' shorebird season.
Gabreski Airport, now heavily fenced and more difficult to bird than before, produced soaring Turkey Vultures, Eastern Bluebird, Vesper and Chipping Sparrows plus unseen singing Horned Lark and Grasshopper Sparrow. Grasshopper Sparrows were more easily seen and heard by the eastern runway at ex-Grumman in Calverton along with Eastern Meadowlark and what was almost certainly a breeding Savannah Sparrow pair (or an adult and young bird). Also seen here: American Kestrel and Wild Turkey. Finally, at the VOR field we saw a female or young Orchard Oriole and two beautiful Red Fox. The complete mammal list of the day also included several Woodchucks or Groundhogs, many White-tailed Deer and a fat rat at Shinnecock Inlet. The bird count was 66 species.
Here are Eileen Schwinn's photos of a fledgling Tree Swallow on the Quogue boardwalk, a Common Buckeye butterfly (not so common out here) at Pike's and the Grumman Savannah Sparrow on a bush next to the runway.
Eric Salzman
Thursday, June 23, 2011
avian wannabes and a tail tale
A post-breeding parade of avian wannabes is in progress with the arrival of singing birds belonging to species that normally breed in the upland woods (the oaky part of the Pine Barrens) but not down here by the shore. A few days ago it was a Scarlet Tanager. Yesterday we had a Red-eyed Vireo singing all morning. Today's entrant was an Eastern Wood-pewee who was Pee-a-weeing with all his might as he darted from branch to branch high in the canopy of the trees just back of the house, incessantly broadcasting his tune for the first hour or two of the day as he hunted for his extended breakfast.
A little later in the morning, I took off for Calverton with the aim of scouting out the scene there for my Linnaean walk this Saturday. It begins at 8 am at Shinnecock Inlet and will spend the morning working west on Dune Road all the way to Pike's Beach and Cupsogue; however in the afternoon, I plan to go upland to look for grassland and savannah birds and ex-Grumman at Calverton and some nearby fields seemed like good possibilities -- provided they were accessible. The runway grasslands -- the last major grassland habitat left on Long Island and one of most important of its kind in the northeast -- have breeding Grasshopper Sparrow and Eastern Meadowlark, both of which I saw and heard this morning along with some other birds of note.
Equally rewarding was a nearby field that had recently been cleared but is still good for birds of open habitat. Almost immediately on my arrival, a fair-sized brown bird -- with a large head, a bit of a crest, a longish, rounded, twitchy tail and distinct wingbars -- appeared for a moment on the top of a nearby bush, completely out in the open. This was a new one on me and I was completely stumped until, as it flew off, I noticed the big bill. It was the best view I have ever had of a female Blue Grosbeak. Shortly thereafter, in almost the same spot. a densely blue bird with a conical bill appeared. The male! Yes, but not a grosbeak male; it was an Indigo Bunting!
There was an amusing footnote to this. I checked out Blue Grosbeak in my two favorite reference books: Big Sibley and Pete Dunne. Sibley says the Blue Grosbeak has a long tail. Pete Dunne notes the crest and the tail pump but calls the tail 'short' with a 'bulbous' tip!
Eric Salzman
A little later in the morning, I took off for Calverton with the aim of scouting out the scene there for my Linnaean walk this Saturday. It begins at 8 am at Shinnecock Inlet and will spend the morning working west on Dune Road all the way to Pike's Beach and Cupsogue; however in the afternoon, I plan to go upland to look for grassland and savannah birds and ex-Grumman at Calverton and some nearby fields seemed like good possibilities -- provided they were accessible. The runway grasslands -- the last major grassland habitat left on Long Island and one of most important of its kind in the northeast -- have breeding Grasshopper Sparrow and Eastern Meadowlark, both of which I saw and heard this morning along with some other birds of note.
Equally rewarding was a nearby field that had recently been cleared but is still good for birds of open habitat. Almost immediately on my arrival, a fair-sized brown bird -- with a large head, a bit of a crest, a longish, rounded, twitchy tail and distinct wingbars -- appeared for a moment on the top of a nearby bush, completely out in the open. This was a new one on me and I was completely stumped until, as it flew off, I noticed the big bill. It was the best view I have ever had of a female Blue Grosbeak. Shortly thereafter, in almost the same spot. a densely blue bird with a conical bill appeared. The male! Yes, but not a grosbeak male; it was an Indigo Bunting!
There was an amusing footnote to this. I checked out Blue Grosbeak in my two favorite reference books: Big Sibley and Pete Dunne. Sibley says the Blue Grosbeak has a long tail. Pete Dunne notes the crest and the tail pump but calls the tail 'short' with a 'bulbous' tip!
Eric Salzman
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
snails and songsters
This morning I noticed something that I had not been previously aware of: the open areas of the marsh were covered with tiny snails. This is most likely Melampus bidentatus, the Salt Marsh Snail which feeds on decaying Spartina -- and indeed the snails appeared to be most numerous on mats of dead Spartina alterniflora left over from winter storms and spring high tides. The first question is, what has caused the seeming proliferation of these -- alas -- miniature molluscs? And how come I didn't ever notice more than the occasional snail before? And who feeds on these undoubtedly delicious shellfish? They are, unfortunately, much too small for human consumption and it doesn't seem as though the Raccoons (which frequent the marsh and scrounge the Ribbed Mussels out of the mud for food) have any interest in these miniature molluscs. Nor do gulls ever seem to venture into the marsh at all. But perhaps this a recent population explosion that has yet to attract the attention of the local herons or rails. I'll be watching to see what happens.
Bird activity continues to increase as young birds leave the nest and the adults resume singing. Most notable was a Red-eyed Vireo with a rather fanciful song repertoire; most Red-eyed Vireos are persistent singers but their short songs tend to follow a simple formula best expressed as a simple question-and-answer pattern ("Are you there? I am here. Do you care? Take a look. Can't you see? I am green."). This one tended to go much further afield musically speaking by using a much greater variety of songs, even suggesting little imitations of other birds. These vireos always appear in the spring and they are common nesters in the backwoods but they disappear by the end of May and I have never seen or heard any breeding evidence down here.
Catbirds have started to sing again after a considerable period of silence. And the place is full of family troupes of Tufted Titmice, chirping, buzzing and occasionally even singing. All three woodpeckers have been prominent players in the morning's activities with two or three Flickers popping up from the bushy edge by the marsh, Red-bellieds calling in the woods and even the strangely silent Downy Woodpecker making an appearance. They all, I suspect, have young but I haven't located any of the nesting holes this year.
Eric Salzman
Bird activity continues to increase as young birds leave the nest and the adults resume singing. Most notable was a Red-eyed Vireo with a rather fanciful song repertoire; most Red-eyed Vireos are persistent singers but their short songs tend to follow a simple formula best expressed as a simple question-and-answer pattern ("Are you there? I am here. Do you care? Take a look. Can't you see? I am green."). This one tended to go much further afield musically speaking by using a much greater variety of songs, even suggesting little imitations of other birds. These vireos always appear in the spring and they are common nesters in the backwoods but they disappear by the end of May and I have never seen or heard any breeding evidence down here.
Catbirds have started to sing again after a considerable period of silence. And the place is full of family troupes of Tufted Titmice, chirping, buzzing and occasionally even singing. All three woodpeckers have been prominent players in the morning's activities with two or three Flickers popping up from the bushy edge by the marsh, Red-bellieds calling in the woods and even the strangely silent Downy Woodpecker making an appearance. They all, I suspect, have young but I haven't located any of the nesting holes this year.
Eric Salzman
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
fledglings and fireflies
As fledglings emerge from the nest -- and the turn of the season is birthday time for many birds -- activity begins to increase noticeably. A flock of Tufted Titmice was made up, no doubt, of a busy family with the young birds buzzing away trying to get their parents' attention as their elders move quickly through the leaves and twigs looking for insects. Young Red-winged Blackbirds -- easy to identify because of their short tails and uncertain flying style -- have moved into the marsh and my arrival creates all kinds of anxiety among the adults as the young pop up and move away through the air as fast as they can scoot. I spotted at least one young Baltimore Oriole, repeatedly calling 'cheer-UP' as it flew from tree-top to tree-top to look for food; no adults in sight. The young Baltimores are recognizably orioles but, unlike their parents, they are quite yellow; the first time I saw them, I thought I had a new species. In the insect department, the fireflies are lighting their fires. Unlike fireflies in other places (that have been written up recently), ours do not synchronize their flashes; their brief lights are scattered across the landscape in a seemingly random fashion, diamonds sparkling in the semi-gloom of dusk.
Eric Salzman
Eric Salzman
Monday, June 20, 2011
owl in a chimney, red blobs in the woods
Saturday night was the annual SOFO dinner at the South Fork Natural History Society Museum in Bridgehampton. I had a conversation with a gentleman who lives in Accabonac and who told me that he has a 'Screech Owl' living in his chimney. A little taken aback, I asked what it looked like but, alas, he had never seen it in the daylight. However, he informed me, he does hear it snoring in his fireplace where it apparently has put its nest on the damper! Now my curiosity was really piqued and I asked him how he knew it was a Screech Owl. Because, he said, I have heard its weird screech. Now Screech Owls do not, to my knowledge, snore nor actually screech (they are one of a number of misnamed bird). I suspect that the gentleman is the proud host to one of the few nesting pairs of Barn Owls left on the East End. This bird used to reside fairly widely in old barns and water towers but the barns have all been turned into guest houses or condos and the water towers have all collapsed. A chimney on Accabonac Harbor -- where there is plenty of open space for a Barn Owl to hunt rodents -- might be an excellent substitute.
Yesterday I wrote about the seafood shells on my neighbor's half dock. Apparently, even as I was writing, he had arrived to clean up the dock and attach the floating portion which juts out into Weesuck Creek. This morning, from this vantage point, I was able to watch the intrepid dockside muskrat swim to the next neighbor's dock and dive under. As I have mentioned before, this rodent has made his burrow under that floating dock which apparently keeps dry as it rises and falls with the tides!
On the flower front, Sundrops have appeared (the related Evening Primrose is not yet flowering) along with the common Daylilies, tiny white Dewberry flowers and the romantic rose-red Virginia or Wild Rose. But once again, the 'flower' of the morning was a slime mold -- this time a salmon red affair, again on a rotting log. Its blobs of color jump out from the forest floor, as spectacular as any wild flower.
Eric Salzman
Yesterday I wrote about the seafood shells on my neighbor's half dock. Apparently, even as I was writing, he had arrived to clean up the dock and attach the floating portion which juts out into Weesuck Creek. This morning, from this vantage point, I was able to watch the intrepid dockside muskrat swim to the next neighbor's dock and dive under. As I have mentioned before, this rodent has made his burrow under that floating dock which apparently keeps dry as it rises and falls with the tides!
On the flower front, Sundrops have appeared (the related Evening Primrose is not yet flowering) along with the common Daylilies, tiny white Dewberry flowers and the romantic rose-red Virginia or Wild Rose. But once again, the 'flower' of the morning was a slime mold -- this time a salmon red affair, again on a rotting log. Its blobs of color jump out from the forest floor, as spectacular as any wild flower.
Eric Salzman
Sunday, June 19, 2011
seafood platter and turtle eggs
Our neighbor has not yet attached the floating portion of his Weesuck Creek dock but the stable portion, securely anchored to the shore, is permanently in place and provides an excellent lookout post for surveying the back end of our pond and its outflow, our Weesuck Creek shoreline, and the northeast edge of our woods so I make it a major stop on my morning walk. In the past few weeks, it has been covered with shells -- almost an index to the shellfish of the creek: Quahogs or hard-shelled clams, Ribbed Mussels, Slipper or Boat Shell and Blue Crab bits and pieces account for most of the litter. The question is: who do we have to thank for this seafood platter? I always thought that such debris was due to the gulls that hang out in and around the creek. Could they be opening the hard-shelled clams by dropping on the dock to crack them open? Or could they be dropping them on nearby Weesuck Avenue and then bringing them over here to consume? More recently, I have found shells in the marsh, a stomping ground for raccoons rather than gulls. Are raccoons then the gourmet seafood diners?
This morning I watched a gull land in the water next to the dock, duck down underwater (or should one say 'gull down underwater') and come up with a Blue Crab. It didn't bring it to the dock to pick it apart but then I was standing there on the dock watching it. Naturally, it to fly off to some undisclosed location to enjoy its breakfast. So the gull vs. raccoon question remains open.
In the open area next to our porch, I found the remains of turtle eggs that had been dug out of the ground. Although I have never seen Box Turtles burying eggs in the dirt here, it is perfectly possible that they do. Here the culprit is almost certainly a raccoon. We can rule out gulls although possum or fox are also possible (but much less likely) culprits.
Eric Salzman
This morning I watched a gull land in the water next to the dock, duck down underwater (or should one say 'gull down underwater') and come up with a Blue Crab. It didn't bring it to the dock to pick it apart but then I was standing there on the dock watching it. Naturally, it to fly off to some undisclosed location to enjoy its breakfast. So the gull vs. raccoon question remains open.
In the open area next to our porch, I found the remains of turtle eggs that had been dug out of the ground. Although I have never seen Box Turtles burying eggs in the dirt here, it is perfectly possible that they do. Here the culprit is almost certainly a raccoon. We can rule out gulls although possum or fox are also possible (but much less likely) culprits.
Eric Salzman
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Hazy day in late spring
Last night's heavy thunderstorms were followed by a relatively bright sunrise. Almost as soon as the sun rose, so did a heavy haze as if the warmth of the sun lifted the moisture off the vegetation, leaving it suspended in the sultry atmosphere. As the day progressed and the sun climbed higher, the haze dissolved but the overall humidity remained elevated. In this summery ambience of late spring, bird activity was fairly high
Both our resident warblers -- Pine and Yellowthroat -- were active and singing. The Yellowthroats have been silent for the past few days but now resumed a lively Weech-ee-Weech-ee-Weech. There was at least one flight song, an unfamiliar and fairly rare jumble of song, given as the bird jumps straight up into the air and flutters down again (most of the song is nothing like their usual signature tune but there was a single identifying Weechy-weech at the end of the display). Most warblers have a flight song but you have to be lucky to be there when it happens. Until now our Yellowthroats seemed to be attached to a specific territory but this bird or another was not staying put as its songs would issue now from one bush over here and then from another and then yet another quite some distance away. Also at least two Pine Warblers were calling from different points in the piney woods north of the house and, to some extent, responding to each other. The Green Herons -- there are at least two -- were busy and noisy, sporadic but insistent, and all over the place from the marsh up into the oaks and pines, and even around the house. Somewhere in the woods, there is (or will be soon) a Green Heron nest.
Loud Osprey calls as well. The Osprey nest in the Pine Neck marsh, barely visible beyond the far tip of land, is quite far away but it appears that the adults are feeding young. Perhaps with my new spotting scope, I can get a better idea of what is going on at that nest.
The bird of the morning was a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird working its way along the bushes facing the marsh. It was not feeding on flowers but appeared to be picking insects off the bush bark. Could it be feeding young somewhere nearby (nestlings need protein)? We get hummingbirds regularly in migration but I have never yet found a nest in the vicinity.
The wild roses are starting to bloom. These grow in open areas near the marsh where there is fresh water close to the surface. Nevertheless, I think they are Virginia Rose not Marsh Rose -- it is not easy to tell these two closely related species apart. Catalpa trees are in full bloom with their orchid-like flowers. These trees are actually in the pea or legume family and they are an introduced species but their historic range is near enough that I regard them as 'near natives'. At another extreme, the vine honeysuckle -- the notorious Japanese Honeysuckle, a non-native with large white blossoms fading to yellow -- is also in bloom right now.
Butterflies and skippers are flying in the warmth but, as usual, it will take a little effort to identify them all. Tiger Swallowtail is easy. A less obvious ID was a skipper at the edge of the marsh with a white or yellowish marking on the underwing (not well seen) and when perched, noticeably long dark brown wings with white spots. I suspect that it was a Salt Marsh Skipper; it was new to me and I never got a good look at the under parts which might have helped cinch the case.
Eric Salzman
Both our resident warblers -- Pine and Yellowthroat -- were active and singing. The Yellowthroats have been silent for the past few days but now resumed a lively Weech-ee-Weech-ee-Weech. There was at least one flight song, an unfamiliar and fairly rare jumble of song, given as the bird jumps straight up into the air and flutters down again (most of the song is nothing like their usual signature tune but there was a single identifying Weechy-weech at the end of the display). Most warblers have a flight song but you have to be lucky to be there when it happens. Until now our Yellowthroats seemed to be attached to a specific territory but this bird or another was not staying put as its songs would issue now from one bush over here and then from another and then yet another quite some distance away. Also at least two Pine Warblers were calling from different points in the piney woods north of the house and, to some extent, responding to each other. The Green Herons -- there are at least two -- were busy and noisy, sporadic but insistent, and all over the place from the marsh up into the oaks and pines, and even around the house. Somewhere in the woods, there is (or will be soon) a Green Heron nest.
Loud Osprey calls as well. The Osprey nest in the Pine Neck marsh, barely visible beyond the far tip of land, is quite far away but it appears that the adults are feeding young. Perhaps with my new spotting scope, I can get a better idea of what is going on at that nest.
The bird of the morning was a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird working its way along the bushes facing the marsh. It was not feeding on flowers but appeared to be picking insects off the bush bark. Could it be feeding young somewhere nearby (nestlings need protein)? We get hummingbirds regularly in migration but I have never yet found a nest in the vicinity.
The wild roses are starting to bloom. These grow in open areas near the marsh where there is fresh water close to the surface. Nevertheless, I think they are Virginia Rose not Marsh Rose -- it is not easy to tell these two closely related species apart. Catalpa trees are in full bloom with their orchid-like flowers. These trees are actually in the pea or legume family and they are an introduced species but their historic range is near enough that I regard them as 'near natives'. At another extreme, the vine honeysuckle -- the notorious Japanese Honeysuckle, a non-native with large white blossoms fading to yellow -- is also in bloom right now.
Butterflies and skippers are flying in the warmth but, as usual, it will take a little effort to identify them all. Tiger Swallowtail is easy. A less obvious ID was a skipper at the edge of the marsh with a white or yellowish marking on the underwing (not well seen) and when perched, noticeably long dark brown wings with white spots. I suspect that it was a Salt Marsh Skipper; it was new to me and I never got a good look at the under parts which might have helped cinch the case.
Eric Salzman
Friday, June 17, 2011
Aubade
Aubade is the traditional word for morning music (as opposed to Nocturne or evening music). The days of the full Dawn Chorus have slipped away but there is still a little sequence of sunrise serenades coming in through the bedroom window, especially on clear, bright mornings of which yesterday was an excellent example. The first -- or at least the first that I hear -- is a loud Carolina Wren sitting on a fence just outside the window; this is a bird with one of the loudest, most characteristic and persistent songs of all. No Robins any more; perhaps they are too busy with their nestlings. But I do hear an abbreviated version of the chirping Purple Martin Dawn Song more or less overhead; these birds are coming out of what appears to be a self-induced torpor during the recent run of bad weather. Next on the program are the hoarse cackles of the Great Crested Flycatcher and the melodious little trill of the Pine Warbler in the woods just north of the house. The other wren, House Wren, is a little more distant; he is still calling but not as persistently and not always from the vicinity of the neighbor's Hansel-and-Gretel bird houses where had previously staked out here territory. There are at least two Cardinals calling -- one near the house, the other a distance away; these Cardinals are working on their second brood and they tend to take the highest tree tops in the neighborhood to proclaim their availability. A brief Baltimore Oriole signature tune (mostly they are very quiet now), a couple of distant Black-capped Chickadee whistles, a few modest Tufted Titmouse peals, and a calling overhead Osprey are next. Finally, a single rat-tat-tat of an undetermined woodpecker completes the rise-and-shine recital.
This morning? A very different sort of Aubade: the heavy pelt of raindrops accompanied by thunder rumbles.
Eric Salzman
This morning? A very different sort of Aubade: the heavy pelt of raindrops accompanied by thunder rumbles.
Eric Salzman
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
end of the gloom
Finally an end to the string of gloomy days. Even before the early morning sun clambered up above the clouds, it was clear that the weather had turned from drippy, dark and dank to clear, cool and crystalline. The Purple Martins, which had been so seemingly absent that I thought they had deserted their colony, suddenly reappeared out of their martin houses. Do they go into a state of torpor when the weather is bad? The Barn Swallows were out in something like their usual numbers and the Bank Swallow that accompanies them was identifiable even without lifting the binoculars. As it came low and more or less straight at me, I could see the dark chest band across its white breast. This little swallow is actually, in structure, a kind of smaller version of the Barn Swallow with an aerodynamic shape, slender wings, something of a tapered body and even a slightly forked tail.
The biggest surprise of the day was a Great Blue Heron feeding in the marsh area near the mouth of pond. Great Blues are common most of the year but they do not breed on Long Island and the month of June is the least likely time of year to see them (they are, or should be, in their breeding colonies up north).
Our friendly local Mute Swan family -- two adults and four swanlets -- was in evidence again. They come into the pond between tides when the water is at a medium level that suits their feeding techniques. Although I mentioned that they feed on the algae growth in the pond, this is actually only a small part of their diet. Mostly one of the adults (the male, I think), rocks his body and whips up the pond bottom with his feet. All the birds, adults and young, then tip up to feed on whatever it is that has been stirred up. These birds keep at it even when I watch them from a near bank. I stare at them with my binoculars for long periods and I can see them chomping on something but I cannot see what it is. After a session like this, the female and the young occasionally turn to the algae floating on the surface and slurp some of it without diving or tipping up. Perhaps it's a swan's idea of desert.
Eric Salzman
The biggest surprise of the day was a Great Blue Heron feeding in the marsh area near the mouth of pond. Great Blues are common most of the year but they do not breed on Long Island and the month of June is the least likely time of year to see them (they are, or should be, in their breeding colonies up north).
Our friendly local Mute Swan family -- two adults and four swanlets -- was in evidence again. They come into the pond between tides when the water is at a medium level that suits their feeding techniques. Although I mentioned that they feed on the algae growth in the pond, this is actually only a small part of their diet. Mostly one of the adults (the male, I think), rocks his body and whips up the pond bottom with his feet. All the birds, adults and young, then tip up to feed on whatever it is that has been stirred up. These birds keep at it even when I watch them from a near bank. I stare at them with my binoculars for long periods and I can see them chomping on something but I cannot see what it is. After a session like this, the female and the young occasionally turn to the algae floating on the surface and slurp some of it without diving or tipping up. Perhaps it's a swan's idea of desert.
Eric Salzman
Monday, June 13, 2011
herons and a baby titmouse
Another gloomy, drippy morning only gradually giving way to hazy sunshine. No less than three Green Herons turned up flying together, almost in formation, back into the woods. A little later, one Green Heron came back out of the woods and landed in the marsh. Still later, one of these birds took up the 'on guard' position on the dead cedar on the far bank of the pond and proceeded to give a call that was half way between the soft gulping of the herons in the trees and the classic loud and sharp KEEE-yow that one associates with these birds. What's going on here? A menage a trois? A heron bachelor's club? Competition (two males vying for the attentions of one female)? Polygamy or polygeny? It would help if I could figure out a way to tell the males from the females.
The tide was high and the only bird in the pond was a diving, fishing Double-crested Cormorant. These birds are quite wary and this one took off as soon as he surfaced and spotted me. He spattered the whole length of the pond and finally got airborne just at the mouth of the pond. Later on, at low tide, a Black-crowned Night Heron came to visit.
Northern Flickers feed on the ground at the edge of the marsh under the Marsh Elder (Ivo) and Groundsel (Baccharis). I flush one up on almost every morning walk and, curiously, every one that I get a good look at seems to be a female (i.e. without the black moustache). The calling birds that I hear are presumably the males.
Yesterday's cute-as-a-button baby Tufted Titmouse -- fully tufted, definitely (pe)tit and hardly bigger than a mouse -- was perched on a limb some distance from the split-tree nest site. Since he didn't get there on foot, he/she/it has definitely graduated to fledgling status.
Eric Salzman
The tide was high and the only bird in the pond was a diving, fishing Double-crested Cormorant. These birds are quite wary and this one took off as soon as he surfaced and spotted me. He spattered the whole length of the pond and finally got airborne just at the mouth of the pond. Later on, at low tide, a Black-crowned Night Heron came to visit.
Northern Flickers feed on the ground at the edge of the marsh under the Marsh Elder (Ivo) and Groundsel (Baccharis). I flush one up on almost every morning walk and, curiously, every one that I get a good look at seems to be a female (i.e. without the black moustache). The calling birds that I hear are presumably the males.
Yesterday's cute-as-a-button baby Tufted Titmouse -- fully tufted, definitely (pe)tit and hardly bigger than a mouse -- was perched on a limb some distance from the split-tree nest site. Since he didn't get there on foot, he/she/it has definitely graduated to fledgling status.
Eric Salzman
Sunday, June 12, 2011
nesting titmice, two visitors and a slime mold
Almost every morning I start the day by heading from the house down to the pond before turning onto the trail that follows the edge of the marsh. All spring, I've been aware of the presence of a pair of Tufted Titmice (Titmouses?). It's a slightly unusual spot for this species because this is not their usual woodland habitat but a rather open woodland edge facing pond, marsh and creek. The birds have been there without fail and in the past few days, I've been hearing high-pitched sounds suggesting the presence of fledglings or nestlings somewhere in the area. Tufted Timice, like most of their relatives, are hole nesters but the spindly oaks, Red Cedars and Pitch Pines don't seem to have the knot holes or old woodpecker excavations that these birds supposedly need. Well I solved the mystery today. One spindly oak has split into two trunks about 8 or 9 feet off the ground and the nest is deep in the cavity in between. Mom and dad titmouse go diving into this hole with food in their beaks. They are feeding their offspring in an astonishly vertical position with only the tip of the tail visible at the top of the cavity. Then they somehow right themselves to pop back out and fly off! It looks as though downpours such as those we had last night would have flooded the cavity and drowned the nestlings but at least some of the young in that nest are still alive, still making noise and still being fed by their parents. Possibly the angle of one of the trunks is steep enough to prevent even heavy rain from getting inside. Or maybe the cavity is well drained and the adults could cover the nestlings and slough off the rain with their waterproof feathers. I brought Lorna down to show her the nest site and there, perched at the top of the cavity and as cute as the proverbial button, was a baby titmouse. A very angry adult appeared, holding food in its beak, scolding loudly. After some hesitation, it flew to the nest tree and yelled at the baby, which promptly disappeared, and followed it immediately down the hole. The invisible feeding took only a few seconds before the adult bird clambered back up and whizzed off in search of the next meal.
Two distinguished visitors. On the marsh trail past the titmouse nest there is an old dock washed up by a winter storm and providing a neat observation post. As I was clambering up on this platform, I heard a strangely familiar, difficult-to-place sound coming from the canopy of the tall oak at the corner of the 'front range' of trees facing Weesuck Creek. It was the sound of a male Scarlet Tanager warming up and soon after going into full song. Scarlet Tanagers breed in the backwoods north of town and we see (and sometimes hear) them in May but a June visitor has to be a wandering unmated bird. After a few verses of song, he took off, heading over the creek, perhaps to try his luck on Pine Neck opposite. Another visitor was a Belted Kingfisher zipping over the pond and perching on a tree limb; this is a bird that used to be regular on the creek during breeding season but has become just an irregular flyby, now seen mostly during migration.
Yesterday I described a bright yellow patch glowing on a rotting log in the woods near the house, calling it a mold or fungus. As Jim Ash advises me, it is (or was -- it is no longer visible after the rains) a slime mold, a remarkable product of nature which has been upgraded from being a kind of fungus into a kingdom of its own! Slime molds are now considered to be 'protists' which is neither a plant nor a fungus! Remember how you used to start the game of "20 Questions" by asking "Animal, vegetable or mineral?". Well, now you should ask "Animal, vegetable, fungus, protist or mineral?". That's how different slime molds are from other forms of life! Anyway, this one was a stunningly bright yellow and probably was the yellow slime mold, Physarum polycephalum, or, possibly, Fuligo septica which has the wonderful common name of "Dog Vomit Slime Mold". Ain't nature grand?
Eric Salzman
Two distinguished visitors. On the marsh trail past the titmouse nest there is an old dock washed up by a winter storm and providing a neat observation post. As I was clambering up on this platform, I heard a strangely familiar, difficult-to-place sound coming from the canopy of the tall oak at the corner of the 'front range' of trees facing Weesuck Creek. It was the sound of a male Scarlet Tanager warming up and soon after going into full song. Scarlet Tanagers breed in the backwoods north of town and we see (and sometimes hear) them in May but a June visitor has to be a wandering unmated bird. After a few verses of song, he took off, heading over the creek, perhaps to try his luck on Pine Neck opposite. Another visitor was a Belted Kingfisher zipping over the pond and perching on a tree limb; this is a bird that used to be regular on the creek during breeding season but has become just an irregular flyby, now seen mostly during migration.
Yesterday I described a bright yellow patch glowing on a rotting log in the woods near the house, calling it a mold or fungus. As Jim Ash advises me, it is (or was -- it is no longer visible after the rains) a slime mold, a remarkable product of nature which has been upgraded from being a kind of fungus into a kingdom of its own! Slime molds are now considered to be 'protists' which is neither a plant nor a fungus! Remember how you used to start the game of "20 Questions" by asking "Animal, vegetable or mineral?". Well, now you should ask "Animal, vegetable, fungus, protist or mineral?". That's how different slime molds are from other forms of life! Anyway, this one was a stunningly bright yellow and probably was the yellow slime mold, Physarum polycephalum, or, possibly, Fuligo septica which has the wonderful common name of "Dog Vomit Slime Mold". Ain't nature grand?
Eric Salzman
Saturday, June 11, 2011
herons and hawkweeds
On an overcast, cool, windy and drippy morning, there were few insects and no Barn Swallows at all over the marsh. The Purple Martins were in the air but all flying very high along with two or three twittering Chimney Swifts. Are there really so many insects up there? The martins and swifts must know! Only when I got around to the north side of the property -- the fixed part of our neighbor's dock opposite the mouth of the pond outflow with a view of the nearby Aldrich Boat Yard -- did I see one or two Barn Swallows and another of those neat little Bank Swallows that fly almost as well as the Barns.
From this observation post I could also see a Yellow-crowned Night Heron come flying in from the bay, landing on our creek shore just out of sight but then, as if to confirm the sighting, taking off again for another, closer shoreline spot. It's the first one of the season for a bird that I believe nests somewhere in the vicinity.
Speaking of herons, the Gulping Green was sitting in a pine tree nearby and doing a two-part, almost growling version of the gulp. As I walked back along the path on the west bank of the pond, what seemed like a second Green Heron came flying down the pond from the opposite side and then landed on the bank right underneath the dead cedar. I waited to see if it would climb up to the 'on guard' post at the top (as it did yesterday) but it only hopped up onto a low branch. It was silent and the Gulping Green in the woods -- if it was a different bird -- was also quiet. There's something going on with these great-looking Jurassic Park herons and I hope it's reproduction!
Besides following swallows and herons, I try to keep up with the sequence of flowering plants. Yesterday and today I noted that the locusts (the trees not the insects) had their full white floral sprays high above. And a few loosestrifes (a native species or a garden escape, I'm not sure which) have appeared on the ground by one of our right-of-ways. The stand-up dandelions in the field by the house, bright yellow all afternoon under a cloudy sky, belong to at least two different species. One has very hairy dandelion-like basal leaves, smooth stems (only occasionally branching) and fairly good-sized flowers, one to a stem (Cat's Ear perhaps). The other has less hairy, toothless, elliptical leaves in a basal rosette and smallish flowers in a little cluster on each stem (one of the hawkweeds no doubt). But the most spectacular vegetable appearance (if that's the right expression) was a bright yellow mold-like fungus spread across a rotting fallen log; like most fungi, it appeared overnight and like the yellow composites on the other side of the house, it adds a gay note of bright color to a somber day.
Eric Salzman
From this observation post I could also see a Yellow-crowned Night Heron come flying in from the bay, landing on our creek shore just out of sight but then, as if to confirm the sighting, taking off again for another, closer shoreline spot. It's the first one of the season for a bird that I believe nests somewhere in the vicinity.
Speaking of herons, the Gulping Green was sitting in a pine tree nearby and doing a two-part, almost growling version of the gulp. As I walked back along the path on the west bank of the pond, what seemed like a second Green Heron came flying down the pond from the opposite side and then landed on the bank right underneath the dead cedar. I waited to see if it would climb up to the 'on guard' post at the top (as it did yesterday) but it only hopped up onto a low branch. It was silent and the Gulping Green in the woods -- if it was a different bird -- was also quiet. There's something going on with these great-looking Jurassic Park herons and I hope it's reproduction!
Besides following swallows and herons, I try to keep up with the sequence of flowering plants. Yesterday and today I noted that the locusts (the trees not the insects) had their full white floral sprays high above. And a few loosestrifes (a native species or a garden escape, I'm not sure which) have appeared on the ground by one of our right-of-ways. The stand-up dandelions in the field by the house, bright yellow all afternoon under a cloudy sky, belong to at least two different species. One has very hairy dandelion-like basal leaves, smooth stems (only occasionally branching) and fairly good-sized flowers, one to a stem (Cat's Ear perhaps). The other has less hairy, toothless, elliptical leaves in a basal rosette and smallish flowers in a little cluster on each stem (one of the hawkweeds no doubt). But the most spectacular vegetable appearance (if that's the right expression) was a bright yellow mold-like fungus spread across a rotting fallen log; like most fungi, it appeared overnight and like the yellow composites on the other side of the house, it adds a gay note of bright color to a somber day.
Eric Salzman
Friday, June 10, 2011
Green Heron love?
I thought that, after the thunderstorms and the passage of the front last night, it would be much cooler this morning but it was in fact still very hot and humid with a lot of wet, sticky vegetation and lots of attack insects both in and around the marsh and in the woods. And, not surprisingly, the swallows were out with at least one Bank Swallow flying with the Barn Swallows as it has almost every morning. I got a good look at him today and could see the smaller size, compact build, brown back and -- the clincher -- clearly marked breast band. This bird is a fast, agile swallow, almost as good a flyer as the Barn Swallows it seems to like to hang out with. Might there still be a few pairs hanging on in the East Coast Mines sand mining operation north of East Quogue?
In the pond on my arrival this morning were the two Mute Swans with their four cygnets dipping deep into the water (the tide was quite high). In recent days, there has been a substantial growth of algae in the pond and this is apparently what the swans were ingesting. These swans are tamefowl and they didn't mind my presence at all. They were accompanied by two somewhat more wary Mallards (both males; the male-female pair seems to have split up) and a Snowy Egret (very wary; it promptly took off).
The bird in the "on guard" position in the dead cedar on the far bank -- occupied in recent days by a Willet -- was, surprise, a Green Heron. And, somewhere in the nearby woods, there was the sound of a Green Heron gulping -- the soft growling, repeated 'gulp' that I have been hearing almost every day for the past couple of weeks. The Green Heron on the dead cedar at first seemed to pay no attention and then suddenly it let out a loud, sharp "SKEE-ow" -- the typical sound that one associates with this bird. After a few more gulps, it became obvious that the bird by the pond was responding to the bird in the woods -- not to every single 'gulp' but every third or fourth repetition. Suddenly the gulping bird appeared out of the woods and flew right over the pond and, followed now by the skeeowing bird, flew into the woods on the other side. Green Heron love? I certainly hope so.
Eric Salzman
In the pond on my arrival this morning were the two Mute Swans with their four cygnets dipping deep into the water (the tide was quite high). In recent days, there has been a substantial growth of algae in the pond and this is apparently what the swans were ingesting. These swans are tamefowl and they didn't mind my presence at all. They were accompanied by two somewhat more wary Mallards (both males; the male-female pair seems to have split up) and a Snowy Egret (very wary; it promptly took off).
The bird in the "on guard" position in the dead cedar on the far bank -- occupied in recent days by a Willet -- was, surprise, a Green Heron. And, somewhere in the nearby woods, there was the sound of a Green Heron gulping -- the soft growling, repeated 'gulp' that I have been hearing almost every day for the past couple of weeks. The Green Heron on the dead cedar at first seemed to pay no attention and then suddenly it let out a loud, sharp "SKEE-ow" -- the typical sound that one associates with this bird. After a few more gulps, it became obvious that the bird by the pond was responding to the bird in the woods -- not to every single 'gulp' but every third or fourth repetition. Suddenly the gulping bird appeared out of the woods and flew right over the pond and, followed now by the skeeowing bird, flew into the woods on the other side. Green Heron love? I certainly hope so.
Eric Salzman
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Flycatchers & flowers
The hot weather brings out insects and the insects bring out the flycatchers. Two Great Crested Flycatchers and an Eastern Phoebe turned up by the house yesterday evening to hunt in the last light of day. The orange skippers that I mentioned in yesterday's post were still flying and I became concerned that the flycatchers would turn into skippercatchers but, as far as I could tell, the butterflies survived. Then again this morning, an Eastern Phoebe turned up on the other side of the woods in an open area near a neighbor's garden (the Phoebe is a bird that has become more common around here as a migrant and a breeder). And two Great Crested Flycatchers -- possibly the same ones that I saw last night -- were active on the edge of the marsh, even flying across and around the marsh itself, not the usual habitat for these woodland birds. Like the ones seen last night, they were silent (adult Great Cresteds usually make a lot of noise and even male-female pairs seem to talk to each other). Also one of them at least appeared to have a rounded head without any trace of a crest. Could they have been young birds (in other respects, they looked like the adults)? Great Crested, like Phoebes, are early flycatchers, arriving in April but the second week in June would seem to be a week or two early for mature-looking flying young.
There are other local birds that definitely have flying young, notably the Carolina Wren, a non-migratory species, which has become an early and prolific nester in these parts. When I started birding years ago, Carolina Wrens were South Shore rarities, decimated by the cold winters. Now they are one of a long list of southern species that are flourishing here, as good an evidence of climate warming as I can think of. The brood that hatched and fledged around the house appears to have dispersed but there is another brood active at the edge of the woods near the point where the old (and original) right of way comes into the property from Randall Lane. A curious feature of these broods is that the male sings loudly and continuously even as the young birds scatter into the underbrush. Is he signaling to his offspring? Trying to attract attention away from the vulnerable youngsters? Or both?
The Arrow-wood Viburnum, with its white umbrella floral clusters, is in full bloom in and around the woods and our common local morning glory -- I think it is Hedge Bindweed, Convolvulus sepium -- is already starting to bloom. The rampant Bittersweet is covered with blossoms that are hardly noticeable because they are green. And the Nightshade is starting to bloom; like the reviled Bittersweet, it's an alien weed but it had a very striking little purple and yellow flowers that add an exotic touch to the landscape. The clusters of red berries that will follow are like little tomatoes which is not surprising since they are in the same family. The question is how poisonous these berries might be. We used to call this plant Deadly Nightshade but I suspect that the berries are no more deadly than the tomato (which was once also considered poisonous). However I have no plans to test out this theory and I don't recommend that you try it either. The solanums are a collection of plants that are edible, poisonous, hallucinogenic and even medicinal but, outside of the cultivated tomato and fully ripe potato tubers, I would not pretend to know which or which part of what is which.
Eric Salzman
There are other local birds that definitely have flying young, notably the Carolina Wren, a non-migratory species, which has become an early and prolific nester in these parts. When I started birding years ago, Carolina Wrens were South Shore rarities, decimated by the cold winters. Now they are one of a long list of southern species that are flourishing here, as good an evidence of climate warming as I can think of. The brood that hatched and fledged around the house appears to have dispersed but there is another brood active at the edge of the woods near the point where the old (and original) right of way comes into the property from Randall Lane. A curious feature of these broods is that the male sings loudly and continuously even as the young birds scatter into the underbrush. Is he signaling to his offspring? Trying to attract attention away from the vulnerable youngsters? Or both?
The Arrow-wood Viburnum, with its white umbrella floral clusters, is in full bloom in and around the woods and our common local morning glory -- I think it is Hedge Bindweed, Convolvulus sepium -- is already starting to bloom. The rampant Bittersweet is covered with blossoms that are hardly noticeable because they are green. And the Nightshade is starting to bloom; like the reviled Bittersweet, it's an alien weed but it had a very striking little purple and yellow flowers that add an exotic touch to the landscape. The clusters of red berries that will follow are like little tomatoes which is not surprising since they are in the same family. The question is how poisonous these berries might be. We used to call this plant Deadly Nightshade but I suspect that the berries are no more deadly than the tomato (which was once also considered poisonous). However I have no plans to test out this theory and I don't recommend that you try it either. The solanums are a collection of plants that are edible, poisonous, hallucinogenic and even medicinal but, outside of the cultivated tomato and fully ripe potato tubers, I would not pretend to know which or which part of what is which.
Eric Salzman
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
what did we see?
Did we really see a Red-necked Stint at Pike's Beach?
The second week of June is not the best time to check out the shorebirds but if they're anywhere they'll be at Pike's Beach. There have been Horseshoe Crab landings at that favored spot as recently as last night and this morning's tide was low and starting to turn. We saw Least and Common Terns, Piping Plovers and Willets -- but they all breed so there were no surprises there. Among the migrants we saw Dunlin (one), Ruddy Turnstones (a few), Black-bellied Plover (a couple), Semipalmated Plover (a few), Sanderlings (quite a few) and Semipalmated Sandpipers (dozens, maybe hundreds). With an array of birds like this, there is nothing to do but look at peeps and try to find one that is different from the others. And, lo and behold, we found one in the middle of a flock near the far end of the peninsula, that was covered, front and center, in a reddish wash. A Sanderling in breeding plumage? It looked the size of a Semipalmated Sandpiper except that it had shorter legs. The reddish wash seemed to cover the neck and upper breast and also extended onto the back. A stint? Red-necked Stint? Little Stint? The distance between us and the flock was considerable so we decided to try to creep up on it (not so easy on an open sandy shore), stopping every now and then to use our spotting scopes to get a better look. Eventually the flock scattered, reformed and landed again in another spot. Our target bird disappeared behind a sand ridge. Then we thought we re-found it but now the rediscovered bird with the reddish wash turned out to be one of those breeding plumage Sanderlings with a lot of color; there were two or three of them scattered among less colorful Sanderlings. The tide was starting to come in and the peeps were redeploying -- with or without Sanderlings.
A stint on Pike's Beach? On July 15, 2000, I found a Red-necked Stint AND a Little Stint together on the bay shore here not too far from where we saw the mystery bird today. At one point, I even had both stints in my binoculars at the same time! The presence of these two vagrants was confirmed by photographs. No wonder that a visit to Pike's Beach, even after 11 years, produces that stints-on-the-brain effect.
So what did we see this morning? Eileen took photographs including some through her scope and some through mine Alas, nothing was clear enough. Red-necked Stint is the best guess but we'll never know for sure.
This afternoon, as I was writing this post on my porch, a pair of orange butterflies was zooming around -- fighting? courting? protecting territory? -- and perching on stems just outside. They were skippers -- but which ones? Indian Skipper? Hobomok Skipper? Zabulon Skipper? Skippers are the stints, the peeps of the butterfly world.
Eric Salzman
The second week of June is not the best time to check out the shorebirds but if they're anywhere they'll be at Pike's Beach. There have been Horseshoe Crab landings at that favored spot as recently as last night and this morning's tide was low and starting to turn. We saw Least and Common Terns, Piping Plovers and Willets -- but they all breed so there were no surprises there. Among the migrants we saw Dunlin (one), Ruddy Turnstones (a few), Black-bellied Plover (a couple), Semipalmated Plover (a few), Sanderlings (quite a few) and Semipalmated Sandpipers (dozens, maybe hundreds). With an array of birds like this, there is nothing to do but look at peeps and try to find one that is different from the others. And, lo and behold, we found one in the middle of a flock near the far end of the peninsula, that was covered, front and center, in a reddish wash. A Sanderling in breeding plumage? It looked the size of a Semipalmated Sandpiper except that it had shorter legs. The reddish wash seemed to cover the neck and upper breast and also extended onto the back. A stint? Red-necked Stint? Little Stint? The distance between us and the flock was considerable so we decided to try to creep up on it (not so easy on an open sandy shore), stopping every now and then to use our spotting scopes to get a better look. Eventually the flock scattered, reformed and landed again in another spot. Our target bird disappeared behind a sand ridge. Then we thought we re-found it but now the rediscovered bird with the reddish wash turned out to be one of those breeding plumage Sanderlings with a lot of color; there were two or three of them scattered among less colorful Sanderlings. The tide was starting to come in and the peeps were redeploying -- with or without Sanderlings.
A stint on Pike's Beach? On July 15, 2000, I found a Red-necked Stint AND a Little Stint together on the bay shore here not too far from where we saw the mystery bird today. At one point, I even had both stints in my binoculars at the same time! The presence of these two vagrants was confirmed by photographs. No wonder that a visit to Pike's Beach, even after 11 years, produces that stints-on-the-brain effect.
So what did we see this morning? Eileen took photographs including some through her scope and some through mine Alas, nothing was clear enough. Red-necked Stint is the best guess but we'll never know for sure.
This afternoon, as I was writing this post on my porch, a pair of orange butterflies was zooming around -- fighting? courting? protecting territory? -- and perching on stems just outside. They were skippers -- but which ones? Indian Skipper? Hobomok Skipper? Zabulon Skipper? Skippers are the stints, the peeps of the butterfly world.
Eric Salzman
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Noises off
When I go out to the pond and marsh very early in the morning -- at or just after sunrise -- I find the Barn Swallows in action working along the vegetation and low across the marsh and pond edges. The Purple Martins, however, are still at or close to the colony. These very social birds first seem to send out occasional scouts to check out the situation. Acting initially as a group, they fan out over the immediate area around the colony, then over the marsh and, eventually, as things warm up and the larger insects get going, over a larger and larger area. The Purple Martin flying technique of fast flaps and a glide is quite different from the looping, darting and smooth flowing glides of the Barn Swallows. Occasionally these birds are joined by other swallows -- Tree, Bank and Rough-winged all have shown up -- or by a twittering Chimney Swift or two, almost always high overhead. Each of these species has its own distinctive flight style, often the best way to pick them out.
It has been the Green Heron and not the Willet that has been 'on guard' the past couple of mornings. While the Willet likes to post out in the open on the dead Red Cedar by the pond, the Green Heron sits in a pine or oak tree just back from the edge of the marsh and is well hidden beneath the canopy. I never would have noticed him at all if not for the strange and continuous series of soft 'gulps' that he emits and I which I did not at first correctly identify (I thought it was one of the cuckoos). The sound is hard to place and seems much further away than it actually is; as a result, I only recently connected with the heron. It seems to be a kind of territorial marker and perhaps a come-hither signal as well. The bird sits on a branch fairly high up and gulps away, each 'gulp' separated by at least 10-20 seconds of silence. Insofar as I have been able to watch it during the performance, there does not seem to be any special display although just the effect of the bird sitting on a branch is a display in itself; the staring yellow eye, thick yellow legs, strange muted plumage colors and long, straight, dagger-like bill gives it an almost prehistoric look.
The Green Heron gulps were not the only strange sounds of the morning. At the head of the marsh, there was a rather scary series of rattling or twittering noises coming from the thick forest of reeds covering that area. It was as if someone were trying to start a defective motor but it also had a slightly threatening quality. I worked my way around to the little wooden bridge across the muddy stream that feeds the marsh, sat down on the edge facing downstream where there was a view between the reeds, and waited patiently for something to show. Out of the reeds, down the muddy bank, and into the water came two cute little Raccoons, hardly more than babies, with full black masks but relatively stubby tails (I couldn't see tail markings or even much fur but the light was bad and the tails were wet and bedraggled). Perhaps mama was in the area; some books attribute the twitter to the mother as some sort of reassuring message to the offspring although I am quite certain that in this case one of the babies was making the sound. All I saw were the two young 'uns who paid me no mind as they snurfled around in the mud, stirring things up with their paws, before turning and heading downstream. If mama was in the area, she never showed.
Eric Salzman
It has been the Green Heron and not the Willet that has been 'on guard' the past couple of mornings. While the Willet likes to post out in the open on the dead Red Cedar by the pond, the Green Heron sits in a pine or oak tree just back from the edge of the marsh and is well hidden beneath the canopy. I never would have noticed him at all if not for the strange and continuous series of soft 'gulps' that he emits and I which I did not at first correctly identify (I thought it was one of the cuckoos). The sound is hard to place and seems much further away than it actually is; as a result, I only recently connected with the heron. It seems to be a kind of territorial marker and perhaps a come-hither signal as well. The bird sits on a branch fairly high up and gulps away, each 'gulp' separated by at least 10-20 seconds of silence. Insofar as I have been able to watch it during the performance, there does not seem to be any special display although just the effect of the bird sitting on a branch is a display in itself; the staring yellow eye, thick yellow legs, strange muted plumage colors and long, straight, dagger-like bill gives it an almost prehistoric look.
The Green Heron gulps were not the only strange sounds of the morning. At the head of the marsh, there was a rather scary series of rattling or twittering noises coming from the thick forest of reeds covering that area. It was as if someone were trying to start a defective motor but it also had a slightly threatening quality. I worked my way around to the little wooden bridge across the muddy stream that feeds the marsh, sat down on the edge facing downstream where there was a view between the reeds, and waited patiently for something to show. Out of the reeds, down the muddy bank, and into the water came two cute little Raccoons, hardly more than babies, with full black masks but relatively stubby tails (I couldn't see tail markings or even much fur but the light was bad and the tails were wet and bedraggled). Perhaps mama was in the area; some books attribute the twitter to the mother as some sort of reassuring message to the offspring although I am quite certain that in this case one of the babies was making the sound. All I saw were the two young 'uns who paid me no mind as they snurfled around in the mud, stirring things up with their paws, before turning and heading downstream. If mama was in the area, she never showed.
Eric Salzman
Saturday, June 4, 2011
lots of bugs
'Normal' June weather returned this morning with warmer temperatures, higher humidity, hazy sunshine, and lots of bugs -- mosquitos, no-see-ums, moths and butterflies among others. The proliferation of insects is, of course, good for the birds and it comes just at the time that most species are starting to feed young. I saw a female Red-wing with a fat green caterpillar which she did not swallow but flew off with. The swallows and martins were out in force with at least one Bank Swallow accompanying the familiar legions of Purple Martins and Barn Swallows. A tiny, rather tame butterfly in the path at the edge of the marsh caught my attention. In flight, it showed flashing blue upperparts but, perched with folded wings, the underside looked like a hairstreak with an orange (or red) band. I think it may have been a Red-banded Hairstreak (and not a blue or azure), definitely something new for me. Red-banded Hairstreak is a southern species that has appeared on Long Island in recent years.
Common Yellowthroat #2 -- the bird that sings a loud resonant and non-stop 'weetchity-weetchity-weet' at the corner of the marsh -- appears to have won the singing competition with Common Yellowthroat #1 with its thinner, less penetrating 'weetchy-weetchy-weetch', heard since the first days of May at the head of the marsh but silent for the past two days. But was Yellowthroat #1 really the loser? It was the earlier arrival and it seems to have had a mate so it may have stopped singing because it has young in the nest. In the evolutionary game, that would make it a winner! Highly persistent singers like Yellowthroat #2 are likely to be lovelorn. But who knows? I'll keep looking for a female.
Also heard in the same area: the soft gulping sound of the Green Heron coming from the woods. I am almost certain that this sound means that this heron is nesting (or trying to nest) in the woods between the house and the marsh.
On the flower front: a third round of inflorescence. Multiflora rose is starting to bloom wherever the trails and right-of-ways come out of the woods, viburnum is starting to form its white umbels in the woods and a smaller, more stand-up version of the dandelion (species?) is blooming in more open areas.
Eric Salzman
Common Yellowthroat #2 -- the bird that sings a loud resonant and non-stop 'weetchity-weetchity-weet' at the corner of the marsh -- appears to have won the singing competition with Common Yellowthroat #1 with its thinner, less penetrating 'weetchy-weetchy-weetch', heard since the first days of May at the head of the marsh but silent for the past two days. But was Yellowthroat #1 really the loser? It was the earlier arrival and it seems to have had a mate so it may have stopped singing because it has young in the nest. In the evolutionary game, that would make it a winner! Highly persistent singers like Yellowthroat #2 are likely to be lovelorn. But who knows? I'll keep looking for a female.
Also heard in the same area: the soft gulping sound of the Green Heron coming from the woods. I am almost certain that this sound means that this heron is nesting (or trying to nest) in the woods between the house and the marsh.
On the flower front: a third round of inflorescence. Multiflora rose is starting to bloom wherever the trails and right-of-ways come out of the woods, viburnum is starting to form its white umbels in the woods and a smaller, more stand-up version of the dandelion (species?) is blooming in more open areas.
Eric Salzman
Friday, June 3, 2011
sunshine, a rising wind and 3 photos
Another 'fall' day in June: brilliant sunshine with little or no wind early on and then a rising wind throughout the morning. Brilliant male Wood Duck (to go with the brilliant sunshine) sitting on the pond. One or two Tree Swallows flying with the Purple Martins over the marsh. Marauding crows everywhere looking for eggs and nestlings to feed THEIR nestlings; then squadrons of Red-winged Blackbirds (and other birds) rising up to chase them off.
Here are three photos by Eileen Schwinn taken yesterday:
1) Willet 'on guard' at the top of the dead Red Cedar by the pond
2) emerging flower of the Big-leaf (a.k.a. 'Jurassic Park') Magnolia
3) not the Spicebush Swallowtail that we saw but a gorgeous Black Swallowtail that she photographed later in the day
Eric Salzman
P.O. Box 775 (14 Randall Lane)
East Quogue NY 11942
631 653-5236
es@ericsalzman.com
www.ericsalzman.com
Thursday, June 2, 2011
A beautiful fall day in early June
Today was like a beautiful fall day -- on the 2nd of June! Eileen Schwinn came over, at least partly in the hope of seeing the amorous cuckoos of the day before yesterday. Alas, no cuckoos (although, before Eileen came, I did hear a distant rhythmic call that may have been a Black-billed Cuckoo). The most unexpected sound of the day was a brief double nuthatch call, probably a White-breasted Nuthatch which, however, did not show itself. House Finches, in short supply these days due to a serious eye disease that has decimated their ranks, turned up twice: once a single male, the other time a small group of four birds. The high-pitched sound of Cedar Waxwing was in evidence more than once but no waxwing flocks were seen; the birds may already be paired off and they are difficult to find poking around in the greenery.
A second Common Yellowthroat, singing 'weechity-weechity-weech' in a robust tone has commandeered one corner of the 'front range' -- the tree cover facing east across the extension of the marsh. The first Yellowthroat, singing 'weetchy-weetchy-weetch' in a thinner tone, still occupies the head of the marsh where it has been since early May (and where I have also seen a female). In another bit of bird news, the House Wren that has been singing since early May around the 'Jurassic Park Woods', has discovered our neighbor's collection of a dozen or so Hansel-and-Gretel bird houses surrounding their swimming pool and has moved over to occupy the site. You would expect a cuckoo-clock cuckoo to come popping out of one of these nest box holes but until now, no bird (not even a House Sparrow) has taken an interest. One of them would certainly make a perfect House Wren house and, judging by his persistence, this little troglodyte (Troglodytes aedon) seems to agree.
The Willet was again on his guard post on top of the dead cedar with a second Willet in the pond. Purple Martins were swarming all over the place and there were singing visits from Pine Warbler and Great Crested Flycatcher. Otherwise things were quiet. The morning chorus has dwindled to a few early morning solos as birds are distracted by nesting duties.
Eric Salzman
A second Common Yellowthroat, singing 'weechity-weechity-weech' in a robust tone has commandeered one corner of the 'front range' -- the tree cover facing east across the extension of the marsh. The first Yellowthroat, singing 'weetchy-weetchy-weetch' in a thinner tone, still occupies the head of the marsh where it has been since early May (and where I have also seen a female). In another bit of bird news, the House Wren that has been singing since early May around the 'Jurassic Park Woods', has discovered our neighbor's collection of a dozen or so Hansel-and-Gretel bird houses surrounding their swimming pool and has moved over to occupy the site. You would expect a cuckoo-clock cuckoo to come popping out of one of these nest box holes but until now, no bird (not even a House Sparrow) has taken an interest. One of them would certainly make a perfect House Wren house and, judging by his persistence, this little troglodyte (Troglodytes aedon) seems to agree.
The Willet was again on his guard post on top of the dead cedar with a second Willet in the pond. Purple Martins were swarming all over the place and there were singing visits from Pine Warbler and Great Crested Flycatcher. Otherwise things were quiet. The morning chorus has dwindled to a few early morning solos as birds are distracted by nesting duties.
Eric Salzman
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Guard bird and a living fossil tree
As I approached the pond this morning, the Willet suddenly came hurtling through the air, flying directly at me. Only at the last moment did he alter course, zoom past and circle around ending up on his usual observation spot at the top of the dead cedar on the far side of the pond. I say 'the' Willet because I assume this is the same bird who greets me every morning by flying at me or by watching me from his guard post. But what is he guarding? Has he simply decided that the pond and the marsh area around is 'his' territory (I'm assuming that he's a male but even that is not certain). Or is there a nest, eggs and a sitting female somewhere near by?
With the late leaf emergence of the Tupelos, Black Walnut and locusts, the sprouting of the marsh grass and high tide bushes -- Baccharis (Groudsel-tree) and Ivo (Marsh Elder) -- and the final leafing out of the oaks along the marsh edge, the place is only just now achieving its full spring green. Fallen oak tassels are all over the place, sneeze-inducing pine pollen is in the air and, in addition to the other flowers mentioned in an earlier post, the Rubus blackberries and Black Cherry are blossoming along with clover, yellow cinquefoil and a few other things.
Outside of the woods, the most obvious floral event is the full bloom of the garden rhododendrons. But for my money, the best flower display belongs to the Big-leaf or 'Jurassic Park' Magnolia. This extraordinary flowering tree is presumably a garden escape but it is one of a number of southern and midwestern species that are, for worse or for better, flourishing here by themselves after arriving with human help. Although this off-beat magnolia is sometimes considered to be threatened in its original southern habitat and is supposed to be restricted to 'mesic' or moist habitats, our small woodland grove is thriving with the older trees covered with flowers and many new saplings sprouting underneath. My guess is that the habitat here is 'mesic' only because of the sea fog which has been plentiful this spring and perhaps has helped encourage this spring's record flowering. The giant leaves and huge, upright, messy, white dinosaur flowers are both considered the largest in the catalogue of native North American plants. Eileen Schwinn's nickname of 'Jurassic Park Tree' is not at all far-fetched botanically as the magnolia family is one of the oldest and most primitive of all the flowering plants (it is said that magnolias are fertilized exclusively by beetles because when they were among the first flowering plants and when they appeared bees had not yet evolved). The trees in our grove are at their flowering peak right now, with numerous flowers in every stage of development from unopened buds to stand-up flower bundles, to flowers whose petals/sepals are collapsing to reveal the pineapple-style fruit at the center.
Eric Salzman
With the late leaf emergence of the Tupelos, Black Walnut and locusts, the sprouting of the marsh grass and high tide bushes -- Baccharis (Groudsel-tree) and Ivo (Marsh Elder) -- and the final leafing out of the oaks along the marsh edge, the place is only just now achieving its full spring green. Fallen oak tassels are all over the place, sneeze-inducing pine pollen is in the air and, in addition to the other flowers mentioned in an earlier post, the Rubus blackberries and Black Cherry are blossoming along with clover, yellow cinquefoil and a few other things.
Outside of the woods, the most obvious floral event is the full bloom of the garden rhododendrons. But for my money, the best flower display belongs to the Big-leaf or 'Jurassic Park' Magnolia. This extraordinary flowering tree is presumably a garden escape but it is one of a number of southern and midwestern species that are, for worse or for better, flourishing here by themselves after arriving with human help. Although this off-beat magnolia is sometimes considered to be threatened in its original southern habitat and is supposed to be restricted to 'mesic' or moist habitats, our small woodland grove is thriving with the older trees covered with flowers and many new saplings sprouting underneath. My guess is that the habitat here is 'mesic' only because of the sea fog which has been plentiful this spring and perhaps has helped encourage this spring's record flowering. The giant leaves and huge, upright, messy, white dinosaur flowers are both considered the largest in the catalogue of native North American plants. Eileen Schwinn's nickname of 'Jurassic Park Tree' is not at all far-fetched botanically as the magnolia family is one of the oldest and most primitive of all the flowering plants (it is said that magnolias are fertilized exclusively by beetles because when they were among the first flowering plants and when they appeared bees had not yet evolved). The trees in our grove are at their flowering peak right now, with numerous flowers in every stage of development from unopened buds to stand-up flower bundles, to flowers whose petals/sepals are collapsing to reveal the pineapple-style fruit at the center.
Eric Salzman
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