light in August

My vacation is over, but, simply by virtue of having enjoyed much of it outdoors, certainly well spent. Some of these recent days I wish I could fix and fasten to my heart, to carry with me the elation and the delicious languor and the simultaneous bounty and dearth that have characterized August for me this year.

Monday, August 25
Something felt markedly different in Prospect Park today. I couldn't pinpoint it as the weather or the light, maybe something different in the air. It was humid and in the upper 80s, but it felt so much not summer: the trees are beginning to exhale, to relax a little from showing off their green all year. It sounded different today, too. The still air gave the trees respite from their graceful waving; few birds sang. The new brood of starlings clicked and chittered, adding percussion to an otherwise expectant quietude. Branches voluntarily dropped their seedpods, berries, and nuts onto the leaf litter below, Mother Nature tapping out endless mysteries on the telegraph of the earth.

My stroll began on the west shore of the Lake, where I found my feet surrounded and tumbled over by ground-clouds made of thousands of little downy feathers. It seems the mallards are in their eclipse plumage, which, while not as showy as the breeding plumage, I find to be quite as beautiful: a deep brown tinged with rust. That would explain all the feather-clouds, at least. On the Lake I found the usual Canada geese and mallards and their cohorts, with one addition by the lakeside: a spotted sandpiper. I watched it tiptoe around the much larger geese and occasionally hang back behind a small bush. I noticed it had a feather wrapped around one ankle; perhaps it was on house arrest?

I walked up Wellhouse Drive to sit by the Wellhouse, where I had a great view of a puddle and treetops full of activity. At least three times while I sat here, and it was only about fifteen minutes, I heard a child say, "What is that lady doing?" Am I a lady now? Weird! The puddle attracted such fine species as gray catbird, American robin, and a young Baltimore oriole. In this area's trees I also saw a downy woodpecker, a black and white warbler, and some American goldfinches. As I got up to continue my journey, I scanned the treetops one last time, only to find an orange spot that hadn't been there before. A beautiful adult male Baltimore gave me just a moment of his time before flying off.

As I crossed the Terrace Bridge to take the secret path down to the Lullwater, I felt the watchful gaze of an eastern kingbird standing sentinel on the tallest branch of the barest tree. When I later crossed the Lullwater Bridge, I knew I was in for a treat if only I could find the source of the nasal peek I was hearing. In a not-too-big pine tree at the end of the bridge, I found a great big male hairy woodpecker. I see downies all the time, so it's a treat to see one of these fellows once in a while.

I made my way to the path behind the pools by crossing the Nethermead and climbing that short, steep path. Sometimes I walk backwards up the hill to make my leg muscles confused. I've been surprised lately at the complete lack of red-tailed hawk sounds in Prospect Park. No flyovers, either. Perhaps I'm just out at the wrong time of day, or perhaps they're busy making preparations for autumn. When I reached the path behind the pools - that sounds like a chapter in The Magician's Nephew called "The Wood Between the Worlds" - I stopped at my usual viewing spot. It's an area where the plants don't block the view across the pool, but where I can use the shade of a tall tree to block the sun and rest my arms on the fence while I hunt for birds. I watched cedar waxwings take off from thin branches on the island, whirl and twist in the air, and land again with bug in beak. It's funny to think that while I have a favorite perch from which to scout them, they have a favorite perch from which to scout bugs. Paddling in the shadows of the island were a pair of young wood ducks. I wonder how long they'll stay.

Thursday, August 28
I had books on hold at the Central Library, so I took a nice, long walk with the birds on my way to pick them up. The second I left my apartment building, I heard the mechanical rattle of monk parakeets, and I looked up in time to see a pair zoom by in the direction of Green-Wood Cemetery. I have seen monk parakeets at Brooklyn College, at the feeders on Ocean Parkway and Ditmas Avenue, at a cemetery in Connecticut, and at Green-Wood, but nowhere else. It just struck me as funny that to see an exotic bird all I had to do was go outside.

At the west shore of the Lake, there's a little area made into a sheltered cove by the reeds on the left and the West Island to the right. Sometimes I stop here briefly, and sometimes longer if the benches are unoccupied. Though a few families and their children sat chatting, I stayed to watch two green herons in a tree on the West Island and two double-crested cormorants, one swimming and one sunning.

I ventured to the Path Behind the Pools (it will remain capitalized now that the C.S. Lewis bug has bitten me) to check up on my friends the waxwings. They were active in the afternoon sun, accomplishing daring feats of acrobatics just to get a little lunch. The wood ducks made a brief, if shadowy, appearance. A casual birding couple visited my viewing spot, and I helped them identify the waxwings, a black and white warbler, a downy woodpecker and a young or female American redstart. On my way home from the library, I had a lot of heavy books, so I just observed nature with the naked eye. The second I got back to my block, four or five monk parakeets sped by, crank-ing loudly. Strange that they bookended my day.

Friday, August 29
I went for a walk unarmed in terms of equipment. I really just wanted to get some exercise. But up on Lookout Hill, the birds are just begging to be seen. I climbed the steps and walked the path, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flit quickly to a closer branch. I'm glad I bothered to take one step backward, slowly, to see what it was: a male American redstart, which I haven't seen since spring! The sense of triumph carried me the rest of the way up the hill. I walked around the top wildflower garden, and made my way around the lower one, noticing how very quiet the air was. Usually I'd hear robins and cardinals and maybe chickadees here, but no sounds today. Boy, was I surprised then, when I accidentally flushed about 30 American goldfinches up into the trees! Then, then there was noise.

After having been in Maine and Rhode Island for the past three weekends, the idea of being home in Brooklyn for at least the next three weekends sounds good. I'm hoping to get out to Jamaica Bay this weekend, or maybe next weekend when my mom visits. In any case, I'm nearly ready for it to be autumn, because now I'm a full year into this birding thing, and don't we always miss the part of the year that is furthest behind us? I'm interested to remember what fall birding is like and to experience it in a much less blind and stumbling way than last year. I'm so glad to have been born and brought up in a part of the world where I can see and feel the change of seasons. I could never live somewhere that didn't make me grateful for the current moment and the moments promised to me by the advent of spring, summer, fall, and winter. It is the advent of things new that gives us adventure.

the heart of summer

I am smack-dab in the middle of my first of three glorious weeks of vacation from work. Week 1 I am spending in and around Brooklyn, adventuring my socks off. I've got plenty of time to myself to explore and notice the small things, too, because this is also Chrissy's first week of work at his real, in-his-field, two-master's degrees, 9-5 kind of job. We'll be vacationing with my family in Old Orchard Beach, ME, from August 18-22, sandwiched between several days in Rhode Island. My binoculars and I are going to be seeing some awesome things in the next few weeks.

But before that, I've got a little catching up to do with you, my friends.

Here's a nice shot I got on a recent free Tuesday adventure to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Not too much bird action when I went, but the insects (and children running through sprinklers) were certainly enjoying themselves.

As an aside: I am slowly coming to know and correct some of the weird misconceptions I developed about insects over the course of my life. For example, somehow I got it into my head that honeybees sting and bumblebees don't. But I read recently that honeybees sting once and then they die, but bumblebees sting multiple times and don't die! Also the more time I spend around dragonflies, the more I realize that I was terrified of them as a child. I'm very comfortable now, but something about them was scary. Maybe the name "darning needle" evoked a fear of being stabbed or bitten? No. I remember now. The fear was that a darning needle would sew my lips together. What crazy ideas get into kids' heads!

The ducklings of Prospect Park are pretty much all grown up. I took this photo almost two weeks ago, and when I saw the family yesterday, the three young ones' feathers appeared to have completed their transformation. The ducks look like their mother now, just slightly smaller overall and with shorter necks.

And the juvenile swan is growing fast as well. I saw it yesterday and it seemed huge. This photo is about two weeks old as well. I like the composition of this one.

I don't remember which gorgeous August afternoon it was that I encountered this delicious-looking grub. Rob Jett turned me on to BugGuide, which I think will come in pretty handy. After a bit of browsing the many photos, I think this caterpillar is in the sphinx moth family. I give one photo for an idea of scale and one for detail.


August 7th marked our fourth wedding anniversary, and we spent it walking on Plumb Beach and scooting from there to Floyd Bennett Field and back on the bike path. Even though Plumb Beach is riddled with garbage, the place holds some kind of magic for me. It stimulates my imagination in a way that few things do, brings me back to my childhood and early teens, playing in the yard with my sisters with stuff we found. I think that's what it is; there's so much stuff to find at Plumb Beach that my imagination kicks into gear, saying things like, "Well, this jug and this tin can and this fan blade could be made into some sort of water purification system, and what can I use these tubes for? Oh, and I'll need to find something like a tarp to make a shelter. Oh, wow, a ladder, what luck!" Well, now you know a lot more about me than I intended to share. I absolutely love to imagine. Don't get me started on all those abandoned boats!

Anyway, back to the beach. The shore was heavily dotted with semi-palmated plovers. Lots of common terns around too, and a few laughing gulls. It was no use trying to get a good shot of the plovers; they escaped quickly when approached and the wind prevented me from getting a steady shot through my binocs. But, here are some other neat things we found:

a crab whose attempts to reenter the water were rebuffed by the relentless waves

a washed-up jellyfish

a snail stuck to the wall

We ate our picnic lunch on a partially shaded bench under a tree, with our feet resting comfortably on a well-placed log. After a while I felt something on my shin, looked briefly, and shook my leg like hell. I didn't know anything about praying mantises at the time, so I was a little freaked out, especially because the little bugger kept trying to get back on my leg, even after I stood up and walked a few feet away. It seemed like it was gauging the distance between its perch and my leg.

On Saturday, we encountered this mantis at Snug Harbor on Staten Island. I'm glad my first encounter with a mantis was a normal-sized one.

Also at Snug Harbor, a great big butterfly in the hedge maze, an eastern tiger swallowtail, I think

a path to make anyone feel like Mary Lennox about to uncover a forgotten garden

If you've never been to Snug Harbor, I definitely recommend a day trip there. It's a great time of year to go, while everything's bright and colorful. I'll leave you with a photo of my favorite part of this gorgeous property, where I saw a female belted kingfisher scanning the pond and a pair of American goldfinches releasing white puffs from the bulbs of some purple flowers.

I'll have more soon about this week's adventures in Prospect Park!

a weird week: adventure abounds

The word I choose to describe my life this week is 'frenetic'. I reported for jury duty on Tuesday and sat through several hours of waiting, watching other people's voir dire interviews, and breezing through my own. On one hand, my work situation is such that I have to use my sick time for missing work due to my civic obligation, but on the other hand, I am really interested in fulfilling that obligation and learning more about the justice system. Long story shortened: I was selected to be a juror and had to report Wednesday for noon. I did. At 12:30, they told us to go home and come back this morning at 10:00. So I called my employers and tried to arrange for me to work, because I hadn't missed any of my hours that day, but they didn't end up needing me, so hey, free day for me! The best part of that was that since it was them not requiring my services, not me asking for time off, I still get paid for yesterday without using one of my sick days. Well, actually the best part of all of that is that I spent all that newfound time birdwatching in Prospect Park.

I was dressed for court, not for birding or even being outdoors, but I had my binoculars and a thirst for nature. I entered the park at Bartel-Pritchard Square and passed a small farmstand selling fruit, flowers, and vegetables. I walked fully past it. Then the scent of apples in the sunshine took control of my body and drew me back to the stand, where I purchased an apple as big as my face to enjoy as I strolled in the spring air. At that moment I could not imagine a more romantic afternoon.

I didn't head straight for my usual haunts this time around, because I had a feeling I'd have a lot of time. At this point I was still waiting to hear from my employers; I knew they wanted me to come in, just not what time. I found a mulched path that leads into the woods close to the baseball fields and started up that. I quickly encountered a group of three teenage boys who seemed to be at work building a shelter out of found branches. Their handiwork was quite good. After chatting with them for a few minutes, I continued on the path around the fenced-in area that I soon figured out was the Quaker Cemetery I had always wondered about. Since it's closed to the public, a secret part of the park, I thought maybe the bird activity would be higher than in the well-traveled areas. I crept slowly closer to the fence, keeping my eyes alert for movement and my ears trained for new sounds. It was fairly still and quiet. The trees loomed over me, massive and aged. Even if no leaves filled out the canopy, I expect I'd have a hard time seeing birds simply because of the great height of the treetops. In the lush green carpet of the forest floor inside the fence, I spotted a brown rabbit trying not to be spotted. I also saw a bird with a friendly face, but only for a split second. It was a dull bluish-brown on top, with a complete pair of spectacles, a dull white breast and belly, and a yellow wash from its flanks to its behind. That was the extent of activity in that area. I made my way down a narrow hill-path, my dress pants catching the low branches and my too-big dress shoes cramping my toes with each downhill step.

I enjoyed peering through the fence into the mysterious burial ground. It was beautifully landscaped despite its continually locked gates. It made me think of Ben Weatherstaff and The Secret Garden. That's probably one of my favorite stories of all time. At one point, while lingering near the gate, I noticed some airy seedpods floating down from high above. I traced them back to a branch that was backlit against the sky. This whole time the clouds have been puffy and lovely, but now I notice a distinct darkness settling over the park, the kind that means rain, and soon. I struggled a few minutes to find a better place from which to view the bird disturbing all those seedpods. Eventually I found a magic spot that put the bird against a background of leaves and saw, to my delight, a handsome rose-breasted grosbeak in a red cravat! He was very high, and just as my neck was starting to give out, something impossibly bright demanded my attention considerably lower in the trees. I could not believe the beauty of this bird. It had a grey crown with small white crown stripes, a black mask, yellow chin, breast, and belly, and a black necklace across the yellow, with thick, jagged black stripes descending from it. I didn't have a notebook with me this day, because I've been using it to update my Birder's Journal a little before bed each night, and I keep all that stuff right at my bedside. So I made verbal notes and repeated them to myself several times. Though the urge to throw everything down, whip out my field guide, and look it up was nearly overwhelming, I convinced myself just to let it go for now.

The rain began lightly, giving me, with neither jacket nor umbrella nor the ability to just go home (since I was waiting to hear from work, which is one block from the park), a chance to escape into the well-leafed Ravine. I meandered its paths for a long time, avoiding the steady light rain by instead enjoying the living things around me. When the rain stopped for a few minutes, I went out to the Long Meadow paths to get a view of the pools. Nothing exciting there, but I did hear a strong and musical song in the air, and after a few minutes of following the notes, I found the singer. An orange-yellow Baltimore oriole, singing brazenly from an open branch at the top of a young tree. Another oriole responded with its own song, making a sort of conversation. Then the rain picked up again, and I headed back into the Ravine. Several times that afternoon, I heard a harsh chak repeating and tried to follow it back to a bird, only to discover that the composer of that particularly tuneless song was a chipmunk threatened by my approach. At a waterfall in the Ravine, I saw some brown, thrush-like bird with a light but bold eyebrow. Most likely a waterthrush, but it was too short an encounter to notice more details.

The real delight and torment of my day happened in the north of the Midwood. I saw some movement in the leaf litter by the path - fast, continuous movement. For a moment I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was a duckling! If you know me, or maybe you can tell from my writing, you know I feel and have long felt personally connected to ducks more than any other animal. I was so sad that just that morning I had taken my camera from my backpack, thinking they might not let me take it into the courthouse. I did manage to get a shot with my camera-phone but it's not great. The duckling toddled confidently across the path, despite being hounded by a pair of cardinals, and down the hill, up a log and then into a hollow below the log, all by itself. My first thought was that maybe it was a wood duck just leapt from its nest and its mother would be nearby, but I saw no other ducks nor did I know what to listen for in a wood duck call. I could hear the little guy peeping from its not-very-safe hiding place. I called Chrissy to try to get the number of someone who could help me know whether and how to help this duckling all on its own, away from other ducks and water, in the middle of a forest. After leaving a voicemail for Nora Septoff at Animal Care and Control, I went over to the vale of Cashmere to see if any birders were around who I could ask for help. Nothing. I went back to the duckling's hollow, but it was gone. I scanned the ground in several areas nearby, but could not find the little explorer. I only hope it did not end up as food.

By this point the air had cooled down considerably, and I was chilly in my short sleeves. Also I had eaten that huge apple, a small breakfast, and not much more. I had had enough for the day. I went to Barnes and Noble to warm up. While I was walking, I let my mind wander over the warbler file in my brain, and several names came up, but when I heard 'magnolia', I knew immediately that was the bird I had seen with the impossibly yellow breast and thick, black streaks and that I could stop wondering about it. It was a good feeling later, upon checking the guide, to find that I was correct in my gut-feeling identification.

My life birds today were: rose-breasted grosbeak and magnolia warbler. But I will never forget my first encounter with a duckling in the wild!

All shook up

Lots of things are going on lately, leaving time for only little snatches of birdwatching, and not very attentive snatches at that. I did a lot of traveling last weekend to and from my brother's wedding, and this past weekend I took in a lot of theatre. And we're trying desperately to get our friend's soon-to-be-vacant apartment near Prospect Park, and things are looking good on that front. The "prospect" of a summer near the park thrills me. So I've been busy, and will become even more busy in the next two weeks as we struggle to pack all our belongings and move before May 31. But I've always got my eyes to the skies, and I'll recount to you my more interesting sightings.

May 13, Prospect Park, 12:30-1:00 p.m.

It was really the most pleasant kind of day, at about 65 degrees with bright sun and a warm breeze. After dropping off some forms to our potential landlord, Chrissy and I walked through the park to get me to work. On the west side of the lake, I had a great view of a yellow-rumped warbler on a branch just above eye-level. Scanning the lake, I spotted Canada Geese, mute swans, a double-crested cormorant, and very few mallards. I am also consistently thwarted in getting a good view of those brownish swallows I often see dipping and flapping over bodies of water by the very fact of their speed. I didn't have time to hang out behind the Pools like I usually do, but I did hear a red-bellied woodpecker.

May 15, Prospect Park, 5:45-7:30 p.m.

I got out of work early, with sunlight to spare, so I took a detour through the park. The air seemed dense with robin-song everywhere I walked. I found a common yellowthroat in the same thicket near the dog beach that I saw my first one. Cardinals' chip-ped incessantly from all directions. After a while I realized that while I heard robins singing left and right and exasperatingly, almost every bird I actually saw was a robin, I wasn't actually seeing that many birds, not even dots of movement in the canopy. I resigned myself to a down-day of birding, but still held hope for other birds to show themselves. In the Ravine, I saw most likely a red-tailed hawk take off from a far tree-limb with a lump of prey in its grasp. When I got around to the Audubon Center, I saw a lovely great blue heron coming in for a landing in a leg of the Lullwater that was edged by several great egrets. Around here I caught sight of an American goldfinch and two rabbits, one of which decided it felt comfortable with my watching it eat dandelion stems from a suitable distance. At this point the sky let down some drizzle, and I noticed that the clouds that had earlier just been big, were now big, dark, and advancing in my direction. The rest of my walk was quick, but I managed to see a yellow-rumped warbler, a red-bellied woodpecker, a downy woodpecker, and two rats along the water's edge. I think my greatest joy of that whole walk was the downy woodpecker at the end. I heard its forceful pecking, had a little trouble finding it, found it, and watched it fly to a better viewing location while voicing ki-ki-ki-ki-ki.

May 17, Rockefeller State Park Preserve, Tarrytown, NY

We were itching to try a new mall, find a letterbox, and see Prince Caspian on Saturday. The letterbox clues led us to Rockefeller State Park Preserve, which turned out to be one of the most beautiful and relaxing landscapes I've ever traversed. We packed a picnic of roast beef sandwiches and Nutter-Butter cookies that my mom had given me for the long bus-ride back from my brother's wedding the weekend before. A hairy caterpillar tried to get in on the fun, but he was very slow-moving.

I love the smell of rivers in the warmer months, the sight of rolling green hills, and the feel of warm wind. I had only my binoculars with me, no notebook or field guide, but I wrote down my observations when we got back to the car. One thing I appreciated about the landscape was the amount of open sky. It afforded me some great views of turkey vultures soaring, red-tailed hawks being chased by crows, and crows being chased by mockingbirds. I saw a few little yellow birds, but never for long enough to etch things into my memory. I'm pretty sure I saw a small group of brown-headed cowbirds in the grass. I had seen the same bird in Prospect Park two days earlier singing atop a lamppost, and now I had a better view. Black, glossy body, brown head, stout beak gracefully tapered at the end. And when it sang I was reminded of the squeak that comes from washing windows. On our way back to the car, I heard a beautiful song and stopped to locate the singer. It was a very cooperative Baltimore oriole, singing brightly just ten feet away in the lower branches of the tree I stood beneath. I watched him closely as the wind coming off the Hudson ruffled his feathers, revealing black roots under the orange. Considering the weather, landscape, company, picnic, letterbox, and birdwatching, I think I have to declare Saturday, May 17, 2008, as the newest Best Day of My Life.

Rained out!

If you had asked me two days ago what I was going to do on Friday, I would have told you, "Why, I'll work for two hours and spend the rest of the daylight watching birds in Central Park!" And that would have been a lot of daylight too, considering I got out of work promptly at three today and I was already on the Upper West Side. Very sadly for me, today was a complete washout. I was alternately soaked and just damp for about three hours, and none of it came from being out in the field watching birds - just getting from one place to another! But it was the first hard rainstorm for my new umbrella, and it held up very well in the winds. I'm a little disappointed in its diameter, though, since its small size contributed greatly to the wetness of my entire lower half. The best thing I found out today was that my hiking boots, purchased recently for the purposes of letterboxing and birding in many terrains, are actually completely waterproof. My toasty feet were the only consolation for this washed out day.

But you came here to read about my birding exploits, so I'll give you some recent news.

Wednesday, May 7
I ran out of things to do at work before I had to pick up the kids from afterschool/playdate, so I left a little early and walked along Prospect Park West (toward Grand Army Plaza) to my destinations. The air was breezy but warm - about 73 degrees, I'd wager. I walked slowly along the sidewalk, trying to see where the sunlight illuminated the trees mostly brightly. On the lower half of a tree trunk, I spotted a black and white warbler doing its funny criss-cross hop. In one hop it will face left, then the next hop forward, it faces right, next hop left, etc. It's a very funny pattern of movement. I saw my four most common birds - pigeon, starling, robin, and house sparrow - in good numbers. A bit further down the park I saw a speck descending the bark of a trunk headfirst, and when I got a bit closer and it got a bit lower, I could see it was a red-breasted nuthatch. Female, I think, because the red wash was limited to the flanks from what I could see.

My new bird of the day was difficult to keep in my field of vision; the wind kicked up several times, causing the new leaves to obscure the bird's position or even whether the bird took off. But I was patient and the wind died down, and soon I found the bird again. It seemed largely black on wings and throat, with a white breast, belly, and vent, and what I could only describe as a symmetrical deep blue cloak over its back. Each wing had a small white patch. I'm glad I took my time to look for details, because it enabled me to make some good notes and later identify the bird as a black-throated blue warbler.

As I left the park behind to head down-slope, I glanced once over my shoulder and saw a brief but majestic sight. Just above the tree line, over the Long Meadow I suppose, a large red-tailed hawk flew facefirst into the wind. It seemed suspended in one place by the force of the wind against it. It looked massive with its wings arched to catch the wind, and the impression I got of this hawk was pure strength. It dipped below the treeline, only to regain its former height a second later. It must have made some headway because soon my view was obscured by treetops.

So my life bird today was the black-throated blue warbler and I had a nice appearance by a red-tailed hawk. All this happened within a half hour, maybe less. I love stolen moments.

I didn't get out for long today, because I had to work, but I got out of work around 5:45 and had some time to spare before my dinner date with Chrissy. So I walked a block up to the park, with no real destination in mind. I walked along Prospect Park West toward Litchfield Villa. The waning light was hitting the treetops at the outer edge of the park so perfectly that I had to stick around and see what I could see. Leaning against the stone wall, I aimed my unfocused gaze up at the tallest, brightest tree to gather in any movements. I was in luck! I trained my binoculars on the moving dots and zeroed in on a bird with a black face mask and a bright yellow throat on an olive body - my first common yellowthroat. I saw another one near the dog beach an hour and a half later.

Gray catbirds are everywhere, almost as numerous as robins, it seems. And yet, even knowing I am surrounded by them, I've only heard their signature meowing cry once this season. That cry hearkens me back to my earliest birding days last year when I would hear that call and think it sounded like a baby lost in the woods.

I went down the hill toward the Third Street Playground, and paused to watch five house sparrows enjoy a dust bath in the dirt path. Past the busy Picnic House I went, slower now, listening and looking. Most rustles I heard were squirrels, but a few eastern towhees did their funny leaf-litter dance as well. I saw a man with a huge lens on his camera. He was shooting a white squirrel. I wonder if it was the same white squirrel I saw last year next to a black squirrel. That was a cool contrast. Anyway, we ran into each other a few times in the park, and it turns out his name is Bill, and I don't think he was a birder. He seemed to be looking for nature-y things to photograph. I pointed out to him a robin sitting in its nest cup in a low crook at eye level - a good photo I hope. Later behind the pools we searched for black-and-white warblers together - not that hard a task. Those guys are everywhere lately.

Eventually our adventuring led us in separate directions, and I started looking in earnest for warblers on the path behind the Upper and Lower Pools. On Friday, I had taken one of the kids for a bird walk, just to look with our eyes, and had been ridiculously lucky in seeing new and mysterious birds. I vowed to come back there as soon as I could. And today it was no less interesting. I saw several ovenbirds skulking on the ground and trying to hide behind leaves. I saw a hermit thrush and a palm warbler. And way up the in trees I spotted something black and orange that didn't exactly resemble the Baltimore oriole I saw last weekend. That turned out to be an American redstart.

Satisfied with my short birding adventure, sad about the failing light, and very hungry, I made my way out of the Ravine, back behind the pools and I almost made it out to the Long Meadow when I started chatting with a nice woman birder named Monica. She told me about the recent Kentucky warbler sightings and a little of her own history as a birder. I'm certainly glad to meet so many people while engaged in what can be a fairly solitary undertaking.

My life birds today were common yellowthroat and American redstart. I also saw several birds I couldn't identify on sight or with my notes afterward. I expect that at some point this "take good notes" mantra will set in or take effect, but for now I think I just need a lot of practice.

A Short Stroll

This afternoon I had a short window of time in which to meander the paths of Prospect Park. The air was warm and the sun shone brightly. Instead of my usual route - toward the pools, feeders, and lake - I resolved to find the Vale of Cashmere, which I had visited once long before my birding life began. And find it, I did! Along the way I crossed the Long Meadow and passed a lot of robins and starlings. Though I realize what a pesky bird the starling can be, I am endlessly amazed at the sheer number of different sounds it produces. Today it was a loud clacking noise made while snapping its bill shut. I also enjoy the one that sounds like a human blowing through a noisemaker, specifically the short cylinder with a little fan inside. I hear that one a lot when I am waking up in the morning.

The Long Meadow is so big that one moment you can be in the shadow of a big cumulonimbus cloud while seeing bright light over there, and the next you can be in the bright light while the clouds darken a different 'over there'. I always find that to be an interesting experience, like driving out of a rainstorm. It makes me wonder just where the line is that separates storm from not storm.

On to the Vale! What a beautifully designed hideaway it is. It sits in a hollow between hills and centers around an oddly-shaped man-made pond. The pond is tastefully surrounded with various flowering trees and bushes, creating a haven for small birds. The air was fairly quiet of birdsound, but I saw my first chipmunk of the year, several white butterflies, a friendly pair of mallards, and a cardinal. I found a good spot to stand still to see if that would allow birds to present themselves. After about a minute, I spotted movement in a nearby pond's-edge bush. I could see the shape of the bird, but not colors because of the lighting in the bush. I thought it might be a titmouse because of its posture and small crest, but it seemed a less natural location for a titmouse. Soon the bird came into the light for a very brief glimpse - plain appearance with a very small bill and a bright red crown stripe. The ruby-crowned kinglet disappeared quickly into the foliage and no amount of standing still and being quiet drew him out again. At this time I had to make my way out of the park and resume the other part of my life - NOT birdwatching.