Archive for the ‘bird song’ Category
a new birdfeeder
My coke bottle bird feeder finally succumbed to the weight of our colossal grey squirrel.
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My next attempt at a home-made bird feeder – a feeder made from a string of coconut shells. I cut the shells in half and removed the coconut many years ago, in an attempt to make a wind chime. They have been hiding in a bag in the closet and are part of my latest de-cluttering effort. I drilled a hole in the bottom of each half and strung them on a nylon chord. Let’s see what the birds think of them.
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Back to my writing. Enjoy your sunflower seeds, birds (and squirrels).
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Copyright Jane Tims 2018
bird feeder visitors – personalities
I put my feeders up late this year, but the birds have found them. So far the diversity is low, but the numbers are high. We have chickadees, goldfinches and nuthatches. I know from my bird diary of other years, redpolls, purple finches and blue jays will come later.
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I spend a little time each day watching the birds. And, as in other years, I am amazed at how different are the personalities of these birds.
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Black-capped Chickadee (Poecile atricapillus) – sings ‘chick-a-dee-dee-dee’ or ‘fee-bee’
- the chickadee hoards food, storing food in times of plenty under bits of bark or a patch of lichen. Canada’s Hinterland Who’s Who says a chickadee can remember where it has stored its food up to 28 days.
- the chickadee is a grab and go kind of feeder. They zoom in on a sunflower seed, pick it and leave.
- chickadees hang out in flocks, and have a hierarchy and a ‘pecking order’. The birds are very aggressive with other birds, chasing away other chickadees, nuthatches and goldfinches.
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Red-breasted-Nuthatch (Sitta Canadensis) – sings a nasal ‘yank-yank-yank’ over and over
- the nuthatch walks head-downward after it lands and in Newfoundland is called the ‘upside-down bird’.
- nuthatches are very solitary at the feeder and are easily chased away by chickadees.
- they get-their-food-and-get-going, not hanging around even for a second.
- nuthatches also hoard and hide food.
- Hinterland Who’s Who says these birds carry tree pitch to build their nests!
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American Goldfinch (Carduelis tristis) – sings ‘perchickoree’ and flies in a series of hanging loops, potato chip, potato chip.
- at this time of year goldfinches are dull olive-yellow.
- they hang out at bird feeders, staying put until they are chased away. They arrive at feeders in flocks and feed quite happily side by side.
- although they eat sunflower seeds, they seem to prefer thistle seed.
- Hinterland Who’s Who says goldfinches go into feeding frenzies before snowstorms, putting on significant weight before times when seeds are scarce.
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Do you feed the birds and what kinds of birds come to your feeders? Do they have distinct personalities?
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Copyright 2018 Jane Tims
blue jay on a fall day
Our cabin is a great place for relaxing. Sometimes we have work to do, but sometimes we just sit back, read, watch birds or talk.
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Often the birds come to us. I have had a hummingbird hover in the open door, just to check out what is inside that peculiar box on the hillside. We often see waxwings in our big pine trees or catch a glimpse of a goldfinch sashaying by.
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This past week, a blue jay came to call. It perched on our grape arbour for a while and then examined our ATV trailer thoroughly. I don’t think he had a clue he was being watched and photographed.
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dark choke-cherries, scarlet keys of ash
hang, counterweight to summer
blue jays strip the branches, berry by berry
v-beaks and hollow throats
(from my up-coming book “in the shelter of the covered bridge”)
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Copyright Jane Tims 2017
robin in the rafters and in rain
If you are a bird, this is the time of year for nest building! An American robin has built a nest in the support beams of our deck. Years ago we had fun watching a robin build a nest and raise a brood in the rafters of our cabin.
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This year’s nest builder thinks the deck is his alone. Going in and out by way of the deck gets us a scolding. The robin puffs out its chest and tries to lure the marauders away. I am afraid to go near to get a photo since I might disturb eggs or chicks, so a photo of a robin’s nest in winter will have to do!
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Sudden Storm
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dusk
half darkness
the moon rises
a sliver from full
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spaces yawn
liquid robin song
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aspen, motionless
poplar tremble
a nuthatch rustles in the leaves
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wind chime plays a scale
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cloud stretched across the moon
a hand pressed to the treetops
leaves turn to the silver underside
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warm splashes
polka-dot the patio
puny dust storms on the step
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streamers stripe the glass
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curtains of rain
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Copyright Jane Tims 2017
song of the Hermit thrush
Every morning I listen at my window for the morning bird chorus. This morning, my first Hermit thrush of the year! It is my favorite of the bird songs, melodic and heavenly, phrases repeated in different keys. A year ago, I heard the song and wrote the following poem. For the process I followed in writing this poem, see this.
Hermit thrush
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Catharus guttatus
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neither visceral nor guttural, ethereal
tip-toe in tree tops
air pulled into taffy thread
a flute in the forest
froth on a wave
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rain trembles on leaf tips
guttation drops on strawberry
a lifted curtain of mayflower
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I saw you there
hidden in the thicket
and I followed
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climb the ladder and sing
then step to the rung below
heads up, thoughts of the new day
parting of the beak
pulse at the throat
hairs lift
at the nape
of the neck, fingers
warble the keys
between middle and ring
catharsis
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Published at http://www.janetims.com July 1, 2016
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Copyright Jane Tims 2016
morning birdcalls – Northern Parula
After a hot day, a cool night. This morning, our windows are wide open and a Northern Parula is busy in our grey woods.
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His distinctive call – ‘whirrrr-zip’ – has an upward lilt at the end. I can catch only a glimpse of him, certainly not long enough for a photograph.
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The Northern Parula is a small warbler with a bright orangy-yellow upper breast. He builds his nests of Old Man’s Beard lichen (Usnea spp.) – there is lots of this lichen hanging from the trees in our grey woods, so of course he is here! This is a watercolour I did of him last year.
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Copyright Jane Tims 2017
morning bird chorus – ephemera
When I was a child, one of the things I prized was my collection of ‘bird cards’. These were an advertising give-away from ‘Cow Brand Baking Soda’ (Church and Dwight Limited, Montreal, Canada).
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I would spend hours looking at these, putting them in order of the ones I liked best, thinking about the birds depicted. The Meadowlark was a local bird I had seen many times and his call was as familiar to me as breathing – he always made it to the top of the pile! Today the winner would be the Cedar Waxwing who sits in the tops of the pines at our cabin, or the Goldfinch who spends all winter at our feeders!
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Today I still have two packs of these cards. They are in sets of 16 in a paper envelope. The card sets are called ‘Useful Birds of America’ and the front of each card shows an image of a bird by artist Louis Agassiz Fuertes (1874-1927), an American ornithologist and artist. On the back, there is a tip on how to use ‘Cow Brand Baking Soda’, the bird’s common name, its scientific name and a charming paragraph about its appearance and habits. The card concludes with a short message still relevant today:
For the good of all, do not destroy the birds
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Copyright 2016 Jane Tims
Hermit thrush
Another surprise in the morning bird chorus — a Hermit thrush. I have been listening for it all spring and at last, this morning, the ethereal notes.
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How to describe the song of the Hermit thrush? T.S. Eliot described it in The Waste Land, in V: What the Thunder Said :
… sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop …
and
… who is the third who walks always beside you …
and
… In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves …
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A technical description of the Hermit thrush song is ‘a beginning note, then several descending musical phrases in a minor key, repeated at different pitches.’
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The song is clear, flute-like. To me the essential characteristics are the change in pitch at the beginning of the new phrase and the hint of water within. If you watch the Hermit thrush while she is singing, she stands tall, tilts her head back, looks into the distance with her bright black eye, lifts her feathers ever so slightly and opens her beak. Her throat swells a little but otherwise you are left to wonder, where do those notes begin?
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If her song was another sound, it would be a flute in the forest.
If it was a smell, it would be the sweet scent of mayflowers, as you part the leaves with the back of your hand.
If it was a touch, it would be lifted hairs at the back of your neck.
If it was a taste, it would be syrup drizzled over iced milk.
If it was an image, it would be guttation drops on strawberries.
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What other words describe the song of the Hermit thrush?
clear
precise
covert
alone
sweet
tremolo
pure
hidden
pensive
thoughtful
thicket
froth on a dancing wave
raindrops trembling on the tips of leaves
the step from rung to rung on a ladder
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If it was a vowel, it would be every vowel
If it was a consonant, it would be ‘c’, ‘l’, ‘r’, or ‘v’
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Hermit thrush
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Catharus guttatus
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neither visceral nor guttural, ethereal
tip-toe in tree tops
air pulled into taffy thread
a flute in the forest
froth on a wave
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rain trembles on leaf tips
guttation drops on strawberry
a lifted curtain of mayflower
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I saw you there
hidden in the thicket
and I followed
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climb the ladder and sing
then step to the rung below
heads up, thoughts of the new day
parting of the beak
pulse at the throat
hairs lift
at the nape
of the neck, fingers
warble the keys
between middle and ring
catharsis
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Copyright 2016 Jane Tims
Mourning dove
I woke this morning to another new bird in the mix of the morning bird chorus — a Mourning dove. In this area, the Mourning dove is a common bird, seen pecking at seeds beneath feeders or hanging out on the telephone lines. But I haven’t heard one in our grey woods for a while.
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The call of the Mourning dove gives it its name. It begins with a low question and continues in a descending series of coos.
Oh no, no, no, no, no
Dear me, me, me, me, me, me
I decided to try and capture this sound in words.
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Mourning
Melancholy
Monotonous
Sad
Solemn
Hollow, mellow
A reed, the inside walls of a bottle
An emerald bottle, buried to its neck in the sand
Breath across the mouth of a bottle
A child’s feeble attempt at a whistle
Light and shadow inside a vessel of glass
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If the call of a mourning dove were a colour it would be amethyst
If the call of a mourning dove were a sound it would be wind blowing down the stairway of a tower
If the call of a mourning dove were a taste it would be chowder, thick and left too long on the fire
If the call of a mourning dove were a touch it would be a wooden shawl, wrapped round and round until it was no longer warm but strangling
If the call of a mourning dove were a song it would be hesitant, riff-driven, repeated over and over
If the call of a mourning dove were a smell it would be the cloying perfume of lilac
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If it was a vowel, it would be ‘o’ or ‘u’ and sometimes ‘y’
If it was a consonant, it would be ‘m’, ‘n’, ‘r’, or ‘w’
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Heavy or light
Loud or soft
Tall or short
Sad or happy
Bright or dull
Sharp or dull
Nearby or distant
Solemn or joyous
Spacious or confined
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So, from all this, a poem. This is the second draft of a poem about the mourning dove which never mentions the bird except in the title.
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Mourning dove
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Zenaida macroura
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wind wakens, descends the stair
notices shadow, gaps in cladding
the hollow of the tower, breath
across the mouth of a bottle
amethyst, buried in sand
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the reed widened, a solemn song
the riff, the echo, a distant train
expands across the valley
and a child hollows her hand
shapes her lips for a kiss
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tries to whistle, her breath
a sigh, a puff to cool
the chowder, still simmers
on the fire, thick
and needing stirring
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potatoes, corn and onions
curdled cream, a woollen shawl wrapped
round and round, warmth tightened
to struggle, viscous as lilac
unable to breathe
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For other posts and poems about the Mourning dove, see https://janetims.com/2012/01/16/keeping-warm/ and https://janetims.com/2015/01/30/for-the-birds/
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Copyright 2016 Jane Tims
morning chorus
This morning it began at 5:02. First the relentless delirious Robin.
Cheerio, Cheerie, Cheer-up … Robin
Oh dear Canada, Canada, Canada … White throated sparrow
Whee, whee, whee, wheezie … Black-throated green warbler
Ah-ah-rooo … Local rooster
Teacher, teacher, teacher … Ovenbird
Tweet-terreet-terreet-tereee … Goldfinch
All happy to greet the day.
Now 5:42
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November 3, 2015 ‘morning fire’ Jane Tims
nichepoetryandprose 