Lilacs and Butterflies

 

The windows are open for the love of lilacs.  Their fragrance wafts through this old schoolhouse and I have just fallen in  love with lilacs all over again.  Their mauve hues and their perfume seem somehow healing.  They are a spring tonic, a form of aromatherapy.

There are usually beautiful yellow butterflies (Tiger Swallow Tails) flitting among the tree’s branches.

I have often mistaken the Tiger Swallow Tail for an American Goldfinch, the male of that species having handsome summer vestments of precisely the same colour as the butterflies’ wings. 

There is a huge patch of lawn which I do not mow until June because the wild phlox provides nectar for the butterflies.  I have seen many species gathered at the phlox and all in harmony with one another.  The wild phlox usually blooms at the same time as the lilacs but this year they are late.  Perhaps the butterflies will appear with the blooming of the phlox. 

Ever hopeful for the welfare of “all creatures great and small” is the theme of “My Rugged Path” blog.

Follow the link:  (butterfly gardens) http://espacepourlavie.ca/en/programming/butterflies-go-free

http://www.greenlivingonline.com/article/create-your-own-butterfly-garden

The Nuthatch

I have been spellbound by nuthatches since first I ever laid eyes on one while hiking along the Rugged Path.  I love his blue-grey back feathers, white breast and black cap.  His short tail helps him in spiralling up and down the trunk of a lofty white pine he evidently likes the seeds hidden inside the tree’s cones.  The seeds are only released from the mature cones and they are sought after by many birds and wee animals to the feast.   

Insectivorous, the Nuthatch also gleans larvae for tree trunks.  Nuthatches will also come to bird feeders in winter.  Suet appeals to them as well as shelled peanuts, “shelled and unsalted, S.V.P.”

His voice is distinctive and easily recognizable.  The bird guides describe the call of the White-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta Carolinensis) as a “yank, yank, yank” which is exactly so.  He generally pals around with the Black Capped Chickadees, those friendly little woodland troubadours who will come to your hand for a peanut.  Nuthatch is hesitant to follow so I place a half peanut (shelled) in the crook of a tree limb where he readily accepts the offering.

 In this month of March, a Red-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta Canadensis) has been coming close but he is so tiny he is surely not an adult.  The white stripe separating his black cap from his black eye stripe confirms that he is the Red-breasted Nuthatch.   This little fellow is closer in size to the chickadee though his short tail makes him look stouter. I was mistaken in thinking he was a solitary waif.  There are in fact, two.  I suspect they are immature birds which begs the questions:  Where are their parents and nestlings, this early in the season?  The Black-capped Chickadees are evidently dear friends to the little birds. 

Normally his range is the sub-alpine forests of the far north dipping south in winters.  His voice is different from the White-breasted Nuthatch’s  Yank, Yank, Yank call.  His call is a little higher pitched with a tin flute quality.  National Geographic Field Guide to the Birds of North America describes it as “a child’s tin horn”. 

I was mistaken about the Red-breasted Nuthatch being a solitary little fellow.  While trudging through the snow on the Rugged Path, there seemed many vocalizations between the little bird and at least one other of his kind, perhaps a prospective mate.

Nesting, according to bird guides requires a huge effort by the parents to successfully rear between 5 and 8 nestlings.  Both parents construct the nest in tree cavities, lining it with mosses and feathers and employing pine pitch and other tree saps smeared around the entrance to discourage insect invasion and perhaps also as a deterrent to predators.

His name is derived from his ability to hatch nuts.  He will place a nut in the crevice of tree bark and break it open with his long slender bill.

 

My cousins, who reside in southern Alberta have seen the Red-breasted Nuthatches as  regular visitors to their feeding stations this year too.I ventured to characterize the wee birds as quite tame but my cousins tell me the western race is “Cautious”.

 

In lore, Nuthatches were considered bewitched birds because of their habit of climbing downwards on tree trunks.  One of their common names is “the upside down bird”.  I think they are simply enchanting. 

 

For detailed and scientific information on Nuthatches, follow the link:

http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/birding/red-breasted-nuthatch/

http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/birding/white-breasted-nuthatch/

 

The Northern Cardinal

The Northern Cardinal  (Cardinalis cardinalis)  has been singing for a number of weeks at this location during the months of March and April.  Various bird guides describe the Cardinal’s  whistle differently but I think the easiest description to remember is the following:   “What cheer, what cheer, sweet, sweet, sweet”  He has quite a vocal range and a number of other calls including the “whoit, whoit, whoit, whoit”  but in spring he serenades his lady and all his human admirers with his “What cheer...” song.

He is a brilliant red in colour with a conical red bill and a contrasting black face and chin but his most impressive feature is his pronounced crest. The female cardinal is similar in appearance in all but colour.  While her wings, crest, tail and bill are red slightly more subdued in hue, the rest of her is a brownish-olive colour.  The males of all species of birds are generally dapper in their attire while the ladies’ frocks tend to be dower in colour, (Nature’s method of camouflage for nesting).

 

The preferred habitat of the cardinal is among hedgerows, streamside thickets, forest edges, & swamps.  Occasionally, cardinals will take up residence in suburban areas.

His singing is a delight to hear when there are patches of snow remaining in the woods. Cardinals are the fire birds of the Northern woods.  Their range has expanded northward in recent years, possibly due to global warming but also loss of habitat in their southern range.

They make their nests close to the ground and thus their eggs are easily plundered.  Both male and female are devoted parents.  They have a clutch of 4 eggs and often two broods in a season.  The Male cardinal takes over feeding of the fledglings while his mate is incubating the second clutch.  

 

The small plot of land which surrounds this abode is sacred to the occupants simply because it has become a habitat to such a variety of avian neighbours, the cardinal included.  My cousin remembers watching the cardinals when visiting some years ago.  That is the impression they leave on our psyches.   Generally it is thought that

 

Stravinsky had the mythical Phoenix in mind when he penned his composition  “The Firebird”  but I always think of the Cardinal as being “The Firebird”.   I send out my best wishes to the Cardinal and thank him for his lovely singing whenever he is near.

 

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With the clearing of great tracts of land in this farming community, small pockets of wild space need to be protected more than ever.  The birds are depending on us to leave a little habitat aside for them.

The untamed patch calls out to the birds.

Once upon a time, farmers kept hedgerows and woodlots.  They rarely cut an oak tree.  The hedgerow protected crops from high winds and helped to contain blights carried on the wind.   They helped to prevent erosion of the delicate top soil  and  the farm animals found shade and shelter near the hedgerow.  The wild creatures, especially the birds made their homes in hedgerows.     Modern farming practices don’t value the wisdom that has been inured through the ages and modern science has confirmed.  Common sense seems to have been abandoned?   “Gleaning”   seems  to be  the operative word in this age of industrial farming.   Why have the old farming  practices derived from the wisdom of the ages,  inherited down through generation upon generation of farming families, been abandoned?

We have to wonder how many ancient lands, once fertile agrarian communities, became desserts?  Time and again, archeologists uncover ancient civilizations lost to the sands of the dessert. 

The delicate balance which makes soil arable is fast diminishing.  Deeper plowing, chemical applications and removal of hedgerows and stream bank brush is hastening the destruction of the good Earth. 

We can help by buying organic produce if we can afford it but also we can reserve a little space in our backyards designated  “This place is for the Birds”.    Where birds thrive, the land is healthy.

 I digress.  This blog is about birds which desperately need at least one twig every few thousand yards on which to land.  The poor birds become exhausted trying to make it from one perch to the next.  

 The small plot surrounding this country abode serves an oasis, a sanctuary where birds can find respite and nesting sites and quietude.

I feel that I have taken on a sacred trust and it has now become my obligation to maintain this sanctuary for the birds. 

This Place is For the Birds.  

Follow the following links:

DW English Saturday, May 9, 2015