Birds of the Pacific Northwest
Anna’s Hummingbird
Robin
Chickadee
Eagle
Seahawk
Take the road less traveled (and GO SEAHAWKS!),
Beth
Birds of the Pacific Northwest
Anna’s Hummingbird
Robin
Chickadee
Eagle
Seahawk
Take the road less traveled (and GO SEAHAWKS!),
Beth
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
~John Keats, To Autumn.
If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.
~Dorothy, Wizard of Oz
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Nature never goes out of style
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Spring is sprung, the grass is ris.
I wonders where the birdies is?
They say the birds is on the wing.
Ain’t that absurd?
I always thought the wing was on the bird.
Bushtit contemplating the sunshine
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We are proud of The Urban Cabin’s little backyard. It’s a certified “Wildlife Habitat,” and we have so much fun watching their comings and goings.
Last week, we experienced a veritable Bird Festival…so many birds, of different types–ALL AT ONCE–in our yard. It was spectacular. In the first picture you can see the baby Flicker, the Bluejay and the Starling. But what you can’t see is Anna’s Hummingbird, the robin on the fence or the Downy Woodpecker in the tree. And then, the deluge of birds that followed.
Here’s what we saw:
Baby Flicker. We often see the adults, but rarely the offspring.
Red-breasted Finch. Their chests get more red as the summer progresses.
Stellar Jay. We see lots of Scrub Jays but not as many of the Stellars. Love their “do.”
Robin. He was watching his family take a bath.
There was a LOT of “argument” as more birds jostled for space on the birdbath.
Then the Starlings show up. Party crashers for sure.
Big Papa says they are the “drunken soccer fans of the bird world.”
Downy Woodpecker. This was first sighting for us. Obviously he got the memo that day.
Last, but not least (though where size is concerned, definitely least), an Anna’s Hummingbird. I LOVE these little guys.
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Last weekend we watched local family drama play out in our backyard. Three robin chicks were leaving the nest. The first thing that clued us in was all the commotion in the trees, tweeting, chirping, squawking and the flurry of wings. Soon, we spied two chicks in our plum tree. Shortly afterwards, we saw chick number three hopping around on the ground near our fence.
The chicks were impossibly cute, round little balls of speckled feathers, bits of fluff still hanging on. No necks to speak of, just a big yellow beak that periodically opened as wide as the Grand Canyon to accept worms, berries and grubs Mama and Papa stuffed down their hungry gullets.
One chick found his way to the fencepost and we caught him doing deep knee bends, squatting down and then up on his spindly bird legs, as if to say, “I’ll be darned, look how these things work.” For the most part they sat, in relative safety, under the cover of foliage on the trees, just taking it all in.
Mama and Papa robin, on the other hand were as hard working as any two birds with a family of fledglings could be, racing through the sky this way and that to find food for their youngins,’ while fending off the cadre of cackling crows. They would team up in a moment’s notice and dive bomb the crows to keep them at bay. We were both pretty impressed that Papa robin pulled equal weight in the “kitchen.” Each parent took turns keeping watch on the rooftops surrounding our yard as the other went in search of snacks.
Big Papa and I were tuckered out from the flurry of activity after a couple hours. Later in the day when we ventured back out to check on our little flock, we saw that two of the three chicks were gone, hopefully off to greener pastures. One of the three chicks was still nestled into the crook of a branch on our apple tree.
Mama and Papa robin continued to keep an eye on him and feed him, but we were a bit worried when he was still there the next morning. Special needs chick? Our neighbor thought he was the runt and that his failure to “fly the coop” didn’t bode well for his future. We kept our fingers crossed that he just needed a bit more time to get himself together.
Monday morning he was still in the tree. Big Papa managed to catch a glimpse of him during a test flight from the tree to a ledge on the nearby apartment building. A few hours later, he was back in the tree. Wings, legs, and feet all seemed intact and in working order. Maybe he just liked our little oasis and was reluctant to strike out on his own. When I returned later in the afternoon, he was gone. I guess he was just a late bloomer, something I understand. The plum tree seems a bit lonelier without him and our backyard is certainly quieter.
I think about our own brood of one, who we’ll bring to nest with us in the Urban Cabin. When he fledges, I’ll be on the verge of seventy. Right now, from where we sit, the distance from the branch to the ledge seems impossibly far away. It’s hard to imagine a kiddo running around the house, much less leaving the roost a couple decades down the road. Still, like our backyard buddies, that day will come when he stretches his wings and takes flight.