Bird Writings

  While on the pier, I began trying to read the bird writings.  Yep, that is just how things have been lately.  I am bored to the point that I find bird footprints to be some strange hieroglyphics that need to be deciphered.  Quite surely, those birds are trying to send me some sort of message with their traipsing about in the near perfect patterns.  If only I could read the bird writings, I might come to understand their feelings much better.  Perhaps the birds are trying to reach out and communicate with me!  Yeah...that is a long stretch, isn't it.

  Most of the footprints on the mudflats, today, were those of the killdeer.  They have been quite busy searching for food as of late.  Their scurrying steps leave a zigzagging pattern in the mud until the next high tide.  The egrets and herons have much larger feet so their prints sink further into the mud and become water-filled rapidly.  There is not much to be read by their steps.

  All of this makes me wonder if we, as humans, are truly the only ones on this planet that have a method of recording our thoughts.  Back in the day, Pop always used to reprimand my handwriting attempts by saying that I needed to "neaten the chicken-scratch".  This would make me try harder since I definitely did not want to be compared to a chicken scratching about the ground.  Most of their footprints were sullied with poop and I figured that was about as nasty as it got.  Pop's words rang in my head as I tried to make each letter perfect and keep the same graceful slant to my words that I had seen with his and Mom's handwriting.  Penmanship was a huge thing back in their day and they were trying to pass along the skill to their kids.  While I never mastered the beauty that their writing with had, at least mine was legible.  That is about it...legible.

  The birds' writings may or may not have some unseen meanings but at least they are interesting.  To a person with cabin fever, anything out of the ordinary is a welcome change.  

The Bird That Named Itself

  Most of the time, people give names to things.  This applies to critters, as well.   Birds' names may obviously be due to color...such as bluebirds...or may be attached to some person who "discovered the bird"...such as the Wilson's snipe that recently visited the Bayou.  Rarely, however, does a critter get to name itself.  One did.  The killdeer screamed its name loudly and long enough until folks realized that it was telling us its name.  When the bird takes off in flight, most folks claim that the bird's call sounds as if it is saying "killdeer".  Since the bird had no malice toward Bambi (or any other deer), it was quite clear that it just wanted us to call it by the correct moniker.

  The winter tides have been inviting to all sorts of shorebirds.  They come to forage the mudflats in hopes of a quick meal.  Tiny crustaceans and minnows are often trapped in the miniature tide pools (tide puddles?) that fill low places in the mud.  Sometimes, these low places are nothing more than a footprint of a bird previously in the area.  This morning, several killdeer were busy working the shoreline.  They ran up and down the mudflat, all the while, bobbing their heads like a working sewing machine.  All was quiet except for their insistence in telling me their names.

  Watching the winter visitors to the Bayou would not be complete without seeing the killdeer.  Although they are here year round, it seems that they are more easily seen during the winter months.  Since the birds prefer wide open spaces, the mudflats give me the opportunity to have them come for a visit.  This also gives me the opportunity to ponder things like their names.  The Bayou critters do keep me thinking!

'Tis the season?

  It is the season alright just not of the holiday sort.  Here on the Bayou, it is the season of low tides and happy shorebirds.  The shorebirds, along with many other critters, can often find easy meals when the north wind shoves the tide far away from the shoreline.  Small tide pools form and hold many minnows, tiny crabs and other crustaceans captive.  These are scooped up by all the birds.  The low tide also brings a myriad of insects out to play.  Drawn by the pungent odor of the mud, the insects are out in the open and they, too, are easy prey.  

  One of the cutest shorebirds to scoot about on the mudflats is the killdeer.  These are a type of plover and get their name from their high-pitched call.  Some folks say that it sounds as if the bird is saying "Kill deer!"  Personally, I have never thought such but they do indeed have quite the screeching call....one they often do in the middle of the night. If you sit quietly in the late evening, it is not uncommon to hear them adding their voices to the symphony of other nightly Bayou sounds. Summertime finds us listening to the serenades of the assorted frogs and toads while the wintertime symphony is taken over by the killdeer, loons and coyotes.  Never a dull moment!

  The killdeer are active now on the mudflats but can be found far inland in fields, yards, golf courses or even parking lots.  They are not particularly picky about their location and seem to adapt well to any circumstances.  Their populations are declining, though, which is truly a sad thing for any species.  Living in close proximity to humans creates a whole slew of problems for the birds with the main ones being pesticides and vehicles.  These birds nest right on the ground and are subject to any sprays that are applied to lawns.  Vehicles (even lawnmowers) present terrible problems for the nesting birds.  If you suspect that you have killdeer taking up residence in your yard, it would be prudent to walk the area before setting out to cut grass.  Many a nest could be saved with a five minute scan of the yard!

  Just so you will know, a group of killdeer is called a "season" hence the title of this post.  'Tis the season....for killdeer to be running the mudflats!

Nevermore!

Ok, so Edgar Allan Poe was writing about the lost love of Lenore and was supposedly talking to a raven but the word rather fit the photographs of today. Maybe not though, since this was redwing blackbirds, not ravens and there was not a dearly departed Lenore. But somehow, the scene reminded me of Poe's poem..odd? Yes, but the fact remains that it did and I have been reciting the poem in my head since this morning..

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary. Over many quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 'Tis some visitor', I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door-only this and nothing more.' "

This has been going through my head all day..I do not ever remember actually having to learn the poem..it is just one of those weird things that pops in the head and is impossible to shake out! I do know that it is not exactly a poem that I would recite at Christmastime..Halloween, maybe..but Christmas?

I had just filled the feeders for the birds this morning and set a few pans of seed on the ground for the doves, when I heard the fluttering of wings. I was happy to think that the doves were already settling in for breakfast before I had even reached the house. I turned to look at the feeders...whoa! Not doves but blackbirds.. redwinged blackbirds.. everywhere! There was probably a good twenty-five or thirty of the ebony birds happily devouring every seed in sight. I stood watching them, snapping a few pictures.. so that is who has been stealing the birdseed before my doves could eat! A never-ending stream of blackbirds was fluttering out of the marsh.. all straight for my feeders. Then suddenly.. none.. they had made a hasty retreat to the oak trees. Confused by this behavior, I watched. What had happened? They were eating so happily one minute and the next they were sitting silently in the branches. Thinking maybe Ms Put had made an appearance or perhaps a raccoon wandered in, I peered through the rose bushes. I saw nothing..still the birds did not return. Then the shadow..ahh..that question was

answered! Just above the trees, a hawk circled round and round the feeders. It was hunting breakfast, too! The buffet had been set with blackbirds for a few minutes but was now bare. I stood admiring the hawk until it soared off over the Bayou searching for some other prey. It had missed its chance at the "Blackbird Buffet". As soon as it was "All Clear" the blackbirds were back with a vengeance! They stayed until all the feeders were empty and then back to the marsh! My poor doves had waited patiently but to their disappointment, nothing was left for them. I hastily refilled the feeders and pans and scooted back indoors as I was quickly getting chilled.

It was cold this morning, I have to admit that. The trek to the pier was one of frost and ice. All along the marsh edge was a thin layer of ice. Again, the north wind had pushed the tide out well past the pier leaving little frozen tide pools on the mudflats. Out on the flats, searching for their breakfast were several Killdeers. These small birds were running about screeching at each other and any other intruder..me! I have been hearing them at night doing the same screeching..it seems they never sleep! (Nor do they want me to sleep!) I like these little birds but I do wonder about their name..Killdeer. Hopefully, they are named after some guy that discovered them and not for some bizarre habit they have of going around killing hapless deer! Some cold, rainy day, that might be a good research project..find out how they got their names! Killdeer...hmmph!