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A Close Call

A Close Call

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It came out of nowhere, wings flapping, talons at the ready, and before I could process what was happening I was fighting off a red-shouldered hawk. It didn’t want me for lunch. But it was definitely interested in the parakeets sitting outside with me, blithely chirping and hopping around in their cage, taking in the unseasonable warmth.

The red-shouldered hawk is a substantial bird, weighing a pound or more with a wingspan of several feet. I often hear hawks, and I see them occasionally, too, either in flight or perched nearby.

I never thought I’d have to fight one, though. Because the raptor was not discouraged by my first swat. It circled around and came back for more. It knew what it wanted and was determined to have it. Had I not been there it would likely have killed the budgies; its talons are long enough to reach inside the cage.

I often rhapsodize about the natural world — and why not? It comforts and inspires me; it connects me with the divine. But to live among wild creatures means to accept them on their own terms. The hawk is a predator. Parakeets are prey. The flimsy bars of a birdcage are a very small part of this equation.

(A closeup of Toby before the attack. Afterward, he made himself very small and didn’t move a muscle.)

The Bird and the Bee

The Bird and the Bee

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‘Tis the season of stoking up, and the local hummingbirds are doing just that. They’re hanging out near the feeders, sipping nectar and scaring off interlopers. 

Yesterday, I watched as an especially feisty bird sparred with a bee! Yes, a bee. Not a large bumblebee or wood bee, but a modestly-sized honeybee. 

The honeybee was stoking up too, you see, and this did not sit well with the hummingbird, who became increasingly territorial. 

At one point, it looked more like the bee was chasing the bird than the other way around. I wish I could have snapped a photograph of their aerial displays, but these are quicksilver creatures, best observed and admired from afar. So instead I’ll trot out one of the few decent photos I’ve ever taken of a hummingbird. It will have to do.

Copperhead!

Copperhead!

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Wednesday was to be a day of heat and humidity, record-breaking heat, and it would be just that. But it began with a snake-sighting. Not just any snake, but a copperhead. 

This deadly viper is, as I’ve noted before, “Reston’s only venomous snake.” Cold comfort when you reach down into your garden bed and one of them sinks its fangs into you — which happened to a friend who’d recently moved to the area.

That the copperhead I found was most assuredly dead did not totally dispel my discomfort. After all, I traipse through these woods often. What other dangers lurk beneath its calm facade? Does this critter have sisters and brothers, aunts, uncles and cousins? I imagine so. 

Having just returned from a place where coyotes call, mountain lions roam and bears break into suburban hot tubs, why shouldn’t I come upon a copperhead?

Tiny Lizards

Tiny Lizards

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Every year when I’m in Florida I see the tiny lizards known as anoles. They’re cute little critters with big eyes, holes for ears and long tails that detach if you pull too hard on them.

These small reptiles scamper and dart. They puff up and slim down. When frightened, they freeze and hide themselves among the scrub. 

I’ve had time on this trip to observe anoles up close, to watch them do what appears to be pushups but I’m sure is not, to wonder what they eat. (The answer: crickets, flies, mealworms and ants.)

Today I spotted an anole camouflaged on the bark of a palmetto plant. He was missing the fingers of his right hand. It wasn’t slowing him down, though. He was clinging tightly with his remaining digits, and taking life as it comes.

Name That Bird

Name That Bird

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It tweets, whistles, sings and trills. I’m listening to it right now, though on my computer rather than in the field. In my wanderings on and near the beach these last few days, I’ve been spotting a gray bird with white markings. It’s the state bird of Florida, the mockingbird.

There are some who want to replace it with the flamingo, a bird more associated with the Sunshine State, though flamingos have been absent from the state until just recently. 

Without wading too far into this controversy, let me say that the mockingbird is a splendid creature with an array of sounds that amaze and baffle. It finds a high branch on which to perch and sing its heart out. It has my vote, in case anyone asks for it. 

(Northern mockingbird, credit Bob Baker via Cornell Bird Lab)

Patience of the Predator

Patience of the Predator

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Yesterday was a day for wild things. I spotted a doe and a box turtle in the woods, and then, while dining al fresco last evening, was visited by a red-shouldered hawk.

The bird landed on the deck railing, just a few feet from the dinner table, and scanned the landscape. I suppose he was wanting his own dinner, perhaps a chipmunk or squirrel. For a few chilling moments I wondered if it might be me. 

The hawk perched for what seemed like forever, long enough for me to slowly turn in the chair and keep my eyes on him, long enough for me to become restless. I had finished my dinner; he’d yet to have his.

My phone was inside, so I missed the chance to photograph him. Instead, I tried to memorize his details: the long, substantial chest; the yellow legs, hooded eyes and beak that meant business. He was completely still as he surveyed the terrain, able to spot the faintest trace of movement. 

What impressed me most was his patience. He was prepared to wait all night if need be. His was a patience born of need, the patience of the predator.

(A hawk I photographed several years ago. Last night’s visitor was much closer.)

Munch, Munch

Munch, Munch

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Yes, they have to eat, too. But does it have to be my day lilies? Or hosta? Or, based on the nibbled stalks I’ve spied in a neighbor’s yard, the cone flowers, too?

I snapped a shot of this little fellow munching some vine or weed in the woods. To him it’s all the same: impatiens or Virginia creeper. He can leap most fences and surmount most barriers. Stick with the wild stuff, I tell him as I pass on a walk. I don’t think he was listening, though.

A cashier in a garden shop told me about a customer who came in three times to replace the plants deer had snatched from her flower pots. Eventually she gave up and stuck plastic flags in those pots. The deer ate those, too. 

They Grow Up So Fast

They Grow Up So Fast

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Children do, of course. But so do goslings! I’ve been watching this year’s Lake Anne spring babies toddle into semi-maturity for the last few weeks. A few weeks ago, this pair struggled to follow their mom and dad down to the water, slipping and sliding much of the way.  No helicopter parents these.

By now, the spring babies have grown into gangly teenagers who would rather die than acknowledge their ‘rents. Notice the nonchalant way they graze and lag behind. You can almost imagine them grumbling, “Mom, puhleeeeeze! Don’t you have something else to do?”

Such is life. And such is parenthood … throughout the animal kingdom.

(Top photo: Sally Carter)
In the Mood

In the Mood

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Though I remain more of a dog and bird person, I occasionally visit with a tabby cat named Felix. He’s an agreeable fellow; he hasn’t bitten me once.

I like to watch him look out the window as he takes in a glistening, green world full of birds and squirrels that he might love to chase if only he knew they were real. 

Instead, he contents himself with climbing contraptions and scratching posts and an adorable little toy that looks like a laptop. If only he was in the mood, we could both be tapping “keyboards” at the same time. 

The thing about cats, though, is that they’re seldom in the mood. 

Photo Finish!

Photo Finish!

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A photo finish was just what we needed yesterday, or at least just what I needed. A chance to lose the self in the moment, the moment being the “most exciting two minutes in sports,” the Kentucky Derby. 

In this case, those two minutes were followed by several more minutes of uncertainty as judges studied a photograph of the race’s conclusion, the first time since 1996 that such a move has been necessary. When the ruling came down — Mystik Dan by a nose — the crowd erupted. The 18-1 shot had bested Sierra Leone (9-2) and Forever Young (7-1). 

To see those three thoroughbreds thundering to the finish line, looking for all the world like a single unit, was to see grace in motion.

(A 1953 photo finish of the first triple dead heat in harness racing. Photo: Wikipedia)