White-winged Scoters, The Crab Wars

These are White-winged Scoters and an American Herring Gull eating crabs. There are three kinds of Scoter, Black, Surf and the ones shown here. All of them visit the Maine coast in the winter, but breed further inland. White-winged scoters are easy to pick out by the white comma on their eyes. I wonder how their spelling is. At about twenty-four inches long, White-winged scoters are the largest of the scoters which are all a type of diving duck. They dive to the bottom, propelled by their bright pink feet where they take mostly mollusks. As you can see, they like crabs too. They will also eat small fish, aquatic insects and some aquatic plants. Totman Cove, here in Phippsburg, is a feeding ground for lots of sea birds. The bottom is sand rather than mud, but the shore is all  rock with lots of seaweed. This provides two types of food. The White-winged scoters prefer sandy bottoms. I don't. I like to be able to rinse out my bathing suit if it fills with sand, but they like it. As my mother liked to say, "There's no accounting for taste." Lately, there has been lots of sea bird action here, so I have done some 'pier time.' That's when I actually get out of my bathrobe, put on a jacket and sit on the end of the 118 foot pier until my hands are too numb to press the shutter or my memory card is full. Sometimes my battery runs out which happens faster than usual because of the cold. Yesterday, it was all three plus it just got too dark. That's winter wildlife photography for you! In addition to the scoters, there were Atlantic Eiders, Red-breasted Mergansers, American Black Ducks, Common Loons and Common Golden-eyes. I have yet to see a Barrow's Golden-eye in here or a Pacific Loon, both of which would be real birding catches. I do watch for them every day, though. The Herring Gulls do not dive, but hang around the diving ducks to steal their catches. They rely on those guys to do the diving, then bomb them from above and steal their catch when they drop it. The crabs start to sink really fast so the gulls are equally fast at snagging them before they sink out of reach. Even though it's only January, there is courtship behavior happening between male and female birds. All this diving, fighting, splashing and stealing gets the attentions of the Bald eagles. Two of them appeared making it additionally difficult to photograph the birds. When the eagles show up, many of the birds take flight and the rest bunch together and move away from the shore line as fast as they can. Oh, the drama!

Birds In Winter

I took this photograph a few days ago, before it snowed. These bird photographs were all taken yesterday, in the blizzard. I made sure there was lots of bird food, nuts, suet and berries. I have a heated bird bath, too. Surprisingly, it uses very little electricity - about the equivalent of a four watt bulb. Birds struggle to get enough liquid water in the winter. I have seen birds eat snow when there wasn't water. When I see all the ice and snow, I wonder about the creatures that live out in it. I do what I can to help them. I had the luxury of taking these photographs from inside my house, secure in my bathrobe. It was the least I could do. No, really, I mean it. It was the very least.

                                American Goldfinches  in winter plumage, males                                                           

Male and Female Northern Cardinals

Blue Jay and Mourning Dove

American Tree Sparrow

Red-shouldered Hawk

"Red Rover, Red Rover,"
"Send Robin On Over!"

     I hated that game. Played on hot summer nights with neighborhood kids, I always felt like I was on the wrong side. Helpless, tossed, given up; I felt like a loser. I don't remember what the rules were, something about being called out of a group to physically break through a line of opposing kids. I distinctly recall the red-faced panicky feeling. I could never break through the line which was why I was always called. My head swam and my heart raced as I was flung from one side to the other, kids shouting, me nearly falling down when whipped across the line. I was not an athletic child. I was scrawny with tangled hair and huge, chipped beaverish front teeth. I didn't get breasts or my first period until I was  nearly forty. I was a geek before there were geeks!
     I liked science and could name the organisms floating in pond water under the microscope, a gift from my father. Knowing things was how I got a charge and often times, was how I was used by other kids. I was rarely invited to birthday parties or sleep overs but regularly asked to give the answers to tests or homework assignments. Knowing the answers to things was the one thing I could do that gave me an edge. But these days, when I see something like this hawk, I feel like a winner. Seeing it was exhilarating! I was driving home from the post office when out of the corner of my eye, I saw this beast on the utility line. I conducted a U turn on Route 209, camera on the passenger's seat, at the ready, and wound down the window. I knew right away that this was not a hawk I was familiar with.
    At first, when I looked at the photos, I couldn't believe that what it looked like could possibly be true. My palms started to sweat. I recognized right away what it was, but then did not trust my gut. I'm not the most experienced birder, plus I lack confidence in what I do know. I second guess myself. When it comes to hawks especially, I've fallen and I can't get up! In the world of birding it's important to pay attention to details and not jump the gun on identification; credibility is at stake. After all, when making bird identifications there's rarely DNA available. It's what the birder sees that counts. In my case, I'm a photographer as well, which gives me an edge, but not proof positive. When and where the photo was taken is as important as the subject itself.
    I poured through The Sibley Guide To Birds, The Audubon Society Field Guide To North American Birds, Roger Tory Peterson's Field Guide To Birds East Of The Rockies, then consulted the web sites Whatbird and Allaboutbirds. My head was spinning! "Red Rover, Red Rover........." I could hear them screaming and feel myself falling as I churned the pages. Still not confident, I sent the photos to CHIT, my top secret, crack, hawk identification team. When I e mailed the photos, I held my breath and committed that  I thought it was a juvenile, Red-shouldered hawk, highly unusual in Maine in winter. I gulped, pulling the neck of my shirt away from my throat. "Oh God, I'm going to look like a total idiot," I feared. I thought I was going to pass out! Give me a mean spirited kids game over birding any day! At least kids grow out of it.



Red-shouldered hawk with suicidal Chickadee      Juvenile, Red-shouldered hawk - I broke through the line!

All photographs used in this blog are the work of Robin R Robinson.

American robin

Frost

After one of our recent rain events, where everyone north of us got snow, there was beautiful frost on everything. I took these photographs wearing my bathrobe. I had to act fast to capture this beauty before the sun hit it and melted away the delicate frosting.This ephemeral effect only happens when there has been water then suddenly freezing temperatures. It disappears as soon as the rays of the morning sun strike. Now, it's buried under snow and gone.  

All the photographs in this blog have been captured by Robin Robinson.

BATH CITY HALL, DAVENPORT BUILDING

Merry Christmas, Everyone

My husband informed me this morning that it's politically incorrect to say "Merry Christmas." So as not to offend anyone, the proper wish is, "Happy Holidays." He's a lapsed Catholic, so I suppose he would know. I wasn't raised with any conventional religion. We did have a god, the vengeful and frightening god, Dad. My mother was his number one apostle, or hench-woman, depending on how you looked at it. We children were the flock of devoted followers. When people ask me about my religious background, I say I'm a fundamentalist hedonist. Nonetheless, I say "Merry Christmas," and oddly, I mean it. I can actually tell you quite a lot of facts about Christianity, historically speaking. But I can't tell you anything about belief in Christ. I've never understood it and long ago fell off the belief wagon when it came to reverence for mythological beings. People's religious beliefs neither improve nor lessen how I regard them. It's their behavior toward others that concerns me. I would feel more connected to someone who was a caring, thoughtful, honest person, who happened to believe in unicorns, than I do to those who profess to be Roman Catholics, and yet can't be trusted. I had an acquaintance tell me recently with some reluctance that he is Baha'i. When he told me this, he prefaced the information by saying "Now I'm going to tell you something that may really put our relationship at risk." Not so. I know the person to be a deep thinker with terrific regard for other people. I feel safe with and even loved by my Baha'i friend. And yet, I know nothing about that religion. I just recognize human goodness and love. When I say "Merry Christmas," I mean it from deep in my heart, in a naive, childlike way that has nothing to do with Christ. It's a code for the genuine, deep warmth and love I feel when I say it. I say it with belief in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Leprechauns, and the Tooth Fairy. Though I draw the line at unicorns, that's with the understanding that maybe I'll see one on the side of the road one day and change my mind. When I do, I'll write about it, you can count on that.
Thanks to all of you for your support this past year. Thank you for taking the time to read my blog posts, post your comments and your public and private following. Happy holidays, happy Hanukkah, jolly Kwanzaa, happy Festivus and, yes, merry Christmas.    
 

                                                                        This could be God.