Bad Neighbors - Red-tailed Hawk Attack

Crows make lousy neighbors. They throw wild parties in the middle of the day and make ungodly rackets. They harass everyone else in the 'hood and steal from them every chance they get. We are fortunate that we have great neighbors, though we do have crows. Some of our neighbors hate the crows with passion. They have wished them ill, too. If one is not a morning person, crows in residence suck. They start screaming and yelling and fighting at first light and keep it up until dark.  This one is making the life of a Red-tailed hawk miserable. Don't adjust your television set. The photos are soft due to the distance. The Crows are such agile fliers that they don't hesitate to take on the biggest guys out there, either. They seem to know that they can escape if counter attacked. They're mid-air acrobatics can be stunning.    

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This is a crow fighting with a raven for food. The raven has a Red squirrel. These shots were also taken at a long distance.

Now matter how rude they are, nor how annoying and disruptive to the ambiance of the 'hood, it is nonetheless, illegal to shoot or otherwise harm crows. They are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918. Some times, ya just got to put up with lousy neighbors.

  "Swing low, sweet chariot,
"I'm comin' fo' to carry you home!"

When I found this crow on the ground, I thought immediately of the dreaded West Nile Virus. Crows are the most prevalent carriers. The link underlined above has a phone number for whom to contact if you find a crow or other bird that has died without explanation. When I picked the crow up (I was wearing gloves, but not my bathrobe), I saw right away that it had been shot. Under its wing was a bullet hole. Is was not stiff or buggy, so I suspected it had been shot in the air then plummeted unceremoniously through the trees to its death. It seemed a tragic ending for the magnificent flyer that irritated its neighbor just one too many times. American crows are the birds most susceptible to West Nile Virus. WNV causes neurolgical symptoms and encephalitis. It can be transmitted to humans from the birds by mosquitos, but NOT from the birds directly. Holster your weapon, please.

Click on this link for More Crow Stuff - good reading!

Dare To Compare - Raven & Crows In Dogfight

For a week or so, these three American Crows have been nesting in the woods adjacent to our house. They go back and forth, south to north along the shore line in search of material. Occasionally, I see them mobbing a Raven. The aerial combat which ensues is a dramatic dogfight.  This morning, I heard the Blue jays making a tremendous racket in the trees. That's always a sign that something really interesting is about, like a hawk or an eagle. I rushed out in my bathrobe, of course, to investigate. I could hear them, but not see them. Then I heard the crows join in. This meant that whatever was going on was BIG news for them to all join together to mob a threat. There was a magnificent cacophony of screaming, screeching, and cawing. This was punctuated with a Raven's "cronk, cronk." I thought, "Ah ha! This may be my lucky day! I'll get to photograph those crows dive-bombing a Raven!" And, sure enough, they all came zooming by. I could see that the Raven had some food item and that's what all the fuss must have been over. Close examination of the photographs revealed that the Raven had a rodent of the rat variety, or possibly a Red squirrel. I have heard the Raven in the trees in the same area where the crows are nesting. That's where it was headed with its furry morsel. I'm wondering if it also has a nest in those woods. So, I'm going to have to investigate that, but not in my bathrobe.

American crows are about 17" long. The Common raven is larger at around 24". These shots show the identifying difference in tail shape, as well. The crow's tail is straighter across the end. Ravens have more distinct wing 'fingers' and thicker bills. Double click on the image to the right and you'll see the rodent screaming for help.

Payload In A Pond - Painted Turtles, Tapoles and Great Blue Heron

Look at the sexy claws on this guy! 

These are Eastern Painted Turtles. They are common in the southern part of Maine. They like to hang out, or 'bask' in the sun in ponds with still water. These were in Bath at the Oak Grove Cemetery pond. I had gone there hoping to find the Wood ducks. I didn't find them, but there were dozens of Painted Turtles. Generally, turtles are shy and will plop back into the water the minute they become aware of a predator. I pulled the car to the side of the road, left it running and then crept out around it, using it like a big rock. I was able to sneak up on them. These turtles spend the winter bumating (hibernating) in the mud at the bottom of the pond. It seems early for them to be out, but the water temperature in the pond is up to 60 degrees already. That's what it has to be for them to start feeding. They are omnivorous and eat plant material as well as crustaceans, small fish and tad poles. The pond is also teeming with the tads. The turtles would be mating already, though I didn't witness that. When they are a courtin', the boy and girl float and go nose to nose. The boy strokes the girl's cheeks with his enormous claws with a trembling, shivery movement as he does it. If she's into him, he grabs her shell and pulls her to him, face to face. I'll leave the rest up to you. In a couple of weeks the moms will lay eggs in sand around around the margins of the pond. The tadpoles will have developed into frogs, too. The whole place will be just a jumpin'! Herons like tadpoles and turtle babies, too. I'm expecting to see them stalking around poking into the water for these morsels. Raccoons also are a major predator of the turtles and tadpoles. Raccoons and skunks will both dig up the eggs for a rich, runny snack. This postage stamp of a pond supports a tremendous diversity of wildlife.

The tadpoles were big. This one was about 2 inches, so I'm guessing they are Bullfrog babies. I'll be checking.

This Great Blue Heron ("GBH") has all of his breeding plumage on display. He was shaking off water after poking his face in the water. Whatever he had hoped to skewer he missed.

For more information on turtles in Maine, check the Maine Herpetological Society 
web site. Sounds kind of Gothic, doesn't it? And, thanks to Wikipedia.

Ducky Day - Another Wood Duck!

Next to Mallards, Wood ducks are the most shot ducks in this country. Can you imagine shooting this thing?

Wood ducks' red eyes make them look kind of hung over.

 It has been raining for two days without interuption. Even my electronic rain gauge has drowned and isn't keeping score anymore. I'm guessing we've had between four and five inches. At five P.M., the local evening news said that it was about to break the record for the most precipitation in any March. When I left the house to do some errands today, I almost didn't take my camera with me. That's right. You heard me. That's how bad it has been. I thought there wasn't much point as it would be impossible to get good shots of anything. But, I stuck with my personal rule to never leave home without it. And wow, was I glad I did! In Bath, I stopped by the cemetery pond where I had previously taken photos of Wood ducks. There was nothing there except a couple of plastic bags snagged and floating. I continued north to a turn around then headed home. I was discouraged. I also knew that in the middle of the day it was unlikely that I would have seen anything anyway. Most birds and beasts do their feeding early and late in the day. In the middle, they stay at home and catch up on their soap operas. On the north end of the pond is a puddle. As I drove by, through the trees I could see some ducks. I pulled the car off the road and scanned the group of Mallards. Suddenly, I saw not one but three Wood ducks! There were two drakes and one hen. There might have been more, but at least two of them took off into the air. One drake stayed behind. He called and called to his friends "Hey, you guys! Wait for me!" You can see in the photos that there is rain falling and drops on his back. You can see his bill open, too. Wood ducks don't quack like most ducks. The make an adorable little sqealing noise. This guy was probably really ticked off with his pals for dumping him. Maybe they all took off for a sports bar and he was worried that they'd guzzle all the martinis before he got there. I can hardly wait for the sun to come out so I can check out the puddle again. Maybe next time, there will be an alligator.

The Dangerous Season - Deadly Spring Fever

I don't know this man, but I can tell you that he's an idiot, self-absorbed and without regard for at least one of his fellow beings - his dog. I know this about him already because on March 1st, he was in a canoe on the open Atlantic ocean without a life jacket. The water temperature was 39 degrees Fahrenheit. Had he gone into the water, he and his dog would have been dead of hypothermia in under ten minutes. We saw him paddle from the cove and out into the harbor. He struggled to return against the wind and then the outgoing tide. David and I paced by the windows watching him drift further and further out to sea. I felt sick and wondered for a second if he was deliberately trying to kill himself, unlikely since he had his dog. In the summer, there would be loads of boat traffic. Someone already on the water would help him. But, before Memorial Day weekend, there is hardly a soul here. The fishermen who work the water all year don't exactly have an office one could call for an appeal for help; they work from thier boats. If we had a radio we could have made a general distress broadcast. The Coast Guard is an hour away if they are available at all. So, we watched helplessly, praying he didn't go into the water. We watched him dig hard into the chop trying to get to the "Red Nun," a navigational buoy midway between Hermit Island and the Newberry Point shores. He rose on swells and dissapeared into the troughs repeatedly. We could imagine his breathlessness, the burning pain in his arms are he worked, not being able to rest for a second for going backward if he did. We frantically called some guys working on a construction crew down the road who would have been able to see him after we lost site. There was nothing they could do either, just watch him helplessly and mumble "Dumb bastard! What a freakin' idiot" and hope for the best. The dog had no choice in the matter and would have died just as quickly in a flailing panic in the water. I took this photo when the man passed back by our house. He waived to me, quickly, not losing a paddle stroke. Squinting into binoculars, I grimaced, not waiving back. I wondered what he said when he got back to where he came from. Did he have any idea what a stupid, selfish thing he had done? Probably not. This is a dangerous time of year. It's the time when hopes are high that winter is over, finally. The sun is shining brightly and some days it's warm. The songs of birds are everywhere and they have changed to songs of love and desire in the trees. Gardeners and weekend yard warriors go outside for the first time in months and get really carried away. This is the time of year when back injuries are made and raw, oozing blisters appear where skin has ground off under the rake's handle. We'll all be lured by the sun into biting off more than we can chew. In January, seed catalogs with their shimmering flowers beckoned with the sirens calls of addiction, "Buy me, order me, lust for me, you want me!" And I did. Boxes are arriving in overnight mail from southern growers.  The boxes are stamped with red, screaming instructions,"PERISHABLE," "DO NOT CRUSH," "PLANT NOW," "REFRIGERATE!" I was so quick to jump in with my credit cards, but now I ask myself  "What have I done? How will I ever get all of this into the ground? Where will I put it?!" On the kitchen counter the little plants having rushed to get here, now languish, stranded. Shriveled tendrils of young plants wind their way through tangles of packing, yellowing in despair with every day that they aren't planted. Bare root stock, pathetic and hopeless looking sticks, begins to crack open to pinks, thin greens and creamy yellow begging to go into the ground. There doesn't seem to be enough daylight to get it all done fast enough. And yet,they seemed like such a good idea at the time. And then, it will snow. Deep, wet and heavy snow will crush my budding joy. Last night the temperatures plummeted and it will be colder still tonight. The pinging of hail and ice striking the greenhouse glass woke me. I imagined the primrose blossoms freezing and cracking apart. I thought of that man in the canoe, and his dog.

Singing "Happy Birthday!" Song sparrow

Yesterday, March 22nd I photographed this Song sparrow nearly singing its head off. I think I heard it singing "Happy Birthday." It was David's birthday, so that would make sense. Our good friend, Ted was also celebrating his birthday. I happened to speak to Ted on the phone, otherwise, I would not have realized it was his birthday as well. When it came to light that the guys  shared a birthday, I was dumbfounded that I didn't already know this. After all, we are good friends with Ted and his wife and have been for years. The second I finished the phone conversation with our friend, I reached for a notebook in which I make note of birthdays, anniversaries and the like. I also keep the paper handouts distributed at funerals we attend.  Sometimes, I have it in my head that people are still alive when they are not, which can be socially a little dicey. This way, I can check. It's the kind of information that, once upon a time, people kept  in a family bible. I knew if I waited to enter this significant data that I would forget, so I did it immediately. And low and behold, I was stunned to find that I had put Ted's birthday in there some time before and even made note with a jolly exclamation point that the boy's shared the day! It unnerved me that, nonetheless, when I talked to Ted, I had no recollection of this at all. As if this wasn't bad enough, I discovered on the same day that for a year, I've been lying about my age. David is nine years, eleven months and two weeks older than I am. For the two weeks between our birthdays, I lord it over him that he is ten years, an entire decade, older than I am. This year, I couldn't make sense of this mathematically. The numbers didn't come out right when I subtracted 53 from 64 (which is eleven, in case you are looking for a pencil). I thought, "Oh my god! All this time he's really been eleven years older than I am for that two weeks!" How could it be that we've thought all along that he was nine years older than I am? I had this queasy feeling like I was experiencing a tear in the universe. Now, this had my full attention; I had to figure it out right then and there. I mumbled to myself, "If he was born in '46 and I was born in '55, then.........." And that's when the truth came crashing inward, like a meteor busting through the atmosphere and slamming into the earth's crust - in two weeks, I will be fifty five! For a year, I've been telling everyone that I'm fifty-three! It's not that I have been deliberately lying about my age. If I had been going to do that, I would have picked a good old block of time, at least five years, not one. How stupid is that? I have actually had it in my head somehow that I didn't age 365 days last year. Last night, I confessed this to David. It seemed only right since every year, I've given him a ration of crap, albeit good natured, about his being a decade older than I am. He told me he had known for quite some time that I was telling people I was fifty-three, not fifty-four. Shocked, I asked, "Why didn't you tell me?" He said he didn't think it was important. "What difference does it make? I didn't want to embarrass you. I love you no matter how old you are," he said.  I wondered, "Is this what happens to people when they are fifty-five?" The mind begins to go, one lapse at a time, and no one tells you. You keep records to remind yourself of things, but don't remember to look at the records. You make grocery lists, but forget to take them with you, lists of lists which you then can't find. You watch the same T.V. show several times because you don't remember that you've seen it until you're into the third commercial break. You spill food on your clothes and people let it go. And so it goes - you slip down the rope, one knot at a time, spelunking into the abyss of blankness. This scares the snot right out of me, I'm telling you. I've watched this happen to people I've known and loved. In fact, almost everyone I know has a family member that's struggling with this. My ninety-nine year old grandmother started out like that until today there's nothing left of her mind at all. She has to be fed because she can't cognitively connect the dots between hunger and getting  food to her mouth anymore. I'm not sure I really want to know if this is what's happening to my brain. Or, I'll just keep getting younger every year, as I've been claiming, so I won't be effected. I've read that there is virtually no dementia in Liechtenstein or Macau, so maybe I'll just move, if only I can find my keys.......

"Happy birthday to you,"

"Happy birthday to you!"

"You look like a monkey,

"And you smell like one, toooooooo!"

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Dementia Darling

"Where are my keys,"

You asked of me

Once, twice, three.

Weary, I repeated

"Wherever you left,"

What happened to you?

Trying to get home,

You lost your way.

Button your shirt,

Zip your fly,

On your chin- breakfast dirt.

You've become

Someone unknown.

I saw your look,

When you lost my name,

I hoped it was a game.

You're not pretending

As you're slipping

Each day toward the ending.

We are both so angry

You with disconnected rages,

The doctors say

just one of the phases.

                                                  

                                                                                      Robin Riley Robinson

Et tu, Wood Duck?

Wood ducks are perching ducks that nest in trees over water. They reportedly nest readily in nesting boxes provided for them over water, though I've never seen a Wood duck in residence. They are usually set up when ponds are frozen over as it's easy to get out onto the pond surface on the ice. A box was placed on Center Pond this winter. I think it looks really stupid. It's tilted for one thing, and constructed of new wood, it's a conspicuous man-made element stuck into the middle of the pond. I suppose I'll get used to it, eventually. When the boxes are placed too closely together, multiple hens will lay as many as 40 eggs all in one nest. They do not incubate. It's a phenomenon called "nest dumping." There are lots of Wood duck boxes scattered around Phippsburg. The day the baby ducks hatch they leap from the mouth of the nest to the water below unaided by the mother that does no more than call encouragement. The ducklings can fall as far as 290 feet without injury. Now that's a leap of faith! That's why they usually nest over water; it makes a softer landing. In Maine, Wood ducks are migratory. They pair bond in January before they get here. By the time we see them, they are already hooked up.


I took these photographs on March 15th on Oak Grove Avenue in Bath. The ducks were perched over the same cemetery pond where I took the recent Mallard butt shots. The 'pond' is just a wet scrap of swampy land, not really a pond at all. A toddler could wade it without incident. For little more than a mosquito breeding hole, it hosts an amazing diversity of birds and other wildlife. I went by it when I was on my way to meet with my tax preparer. It was raining. That made it difficult to photograph the ducks as it was very dark and dismal, a good day for taxes but not a good day to photograph birds. I had never seen Wood ducks before and so I was nearly trembling. Or, my trembling may have had to do with the taxes. Either way, the photographs are not good, which was very dissapointing to me. I so wanted to share really good Wood duck photographs. I went back five times in two days trying for them again, but for not. To have seen them and only be able to get crumby photos was almost worse than never having seen them at all. I love photography beyond anyone's wildest dreams, but sometimes that thing I love betrays me. I am haunted by Wood duck dreams and will not be quite content ever again until they day I can get some good shots of them. You just wait.
March 15th is "The Ides Of March," the day that Marcus Junius Brutus supposedly killed Julius Caesar in 44 B.C.  "Et tu, Brute?" may be one of the most famous three words in the English language and epitomizes the concept of betrayal. As the story goes (historians contest this), and as William Shakespear's play went, that's what Caesar exclaimed to Brutus when he realized Brutus had betrayed him. Caesar was regarded as a mentor by Brutus and they were good buddies - Rome's own "homies." When Caesar came into power in Rome, he got a little carried away with himself and his power. Rather than wanting the Roman senate to rule, he thought he should be the boss all by himself. He even compared himself to the gods, for gods' sake! He thought of himself as an emperor with a big 'E',and had the ego to match.  Though Brutus loved him, he loved Rome and freedom more. The day came when the senate attacked old Julius and when they did, Brutus gave him up in an act of betrayal to save Rome. "Even you, Brutus," were The Big J.'s dying words.
When my camera and my skills as a photographer fail me in a moment like when I saw these Wood ducks, I feel betrayed, too. It's my own little Shakespearean tragedy.