Archive for June, 2008

A flower by any other name

Orange Hawkweed

Summer wildflowers are beginning to come out. I’m seeing many that I tend to associate with the hot, still, “dog days” of summer. Flowers such as chicory, daisies, vetches, bladderwort, Viper’s Bugloss, and others. One that I spotted recently was the above. I’ve always known this as Indian Paintbrush, so I was a little surprised to find, when I Googled “Indian Paintbrush”, that the actual wildflower of that name is not this plant and has nothing to do with it. (When Blackburnian asked what today’s blog topic was, I showed him a photo of the plant, and he said, “Oh, Indian Paintbrush?” So I’m not the only one to have thought that was its name! They do look very paintbrush-shaped.) So now what? I thought I’d try the wildflower ID tool that Winterwoman at A Passion For Nature posted about a little while ago, but it turns out it’s down while the site manager switches ISPs and gets everything up and going again.

So I did a search for Ontario Wildflowers, found a site that listed names alongside pictures, and located my flower. It’s Orange Hawkweed, Hieracium aurantiacum, and like virtually every other wildflower I’ve posted about lately, it’s not native to North America. (Incidentally, the true Indian Paintbrush is native.) It goes by several other names, including Devil’s Paintbrush and, in Europe, where it’s from, Fox-and-cubs. One website indicated that the name Hawkweed originated from ancient Greece, where they believed that hawks would eat the flowers to improve their eyesight (although it was actually used as an herbal remedy for sight problems, this not likely true, but a delightful image nonetheless). It’s a member of the aster family, Asteraceae, like daisies, dandelions, asters, and others, with many rayed “petals” around a central cluster of tiny individual flowers.

Orange Hawkweed

It was introduced to North America, possibly Vermont in 1875, as a cultivated garden plant. At some point it escaped from cultivation (this brings up images of plants growing legs and sneaking away) and quickly settled into disturbed habitats around human development. Among its favourite spots are roadsides, abandoned and regenerating fields, and waste places such as empty lots - the sorts of places where nothing’s established and it’s easy to gain a foothold over native plants, or where the conditions are harsh enough that few native plants would prosper. However, it’s also found in natural areas where conditions are suitable. It’s now found coast-to-coast, though it has a much stronger presence in the east, near its original “release” site. The species is on the noxious weeds list of many states and provinces, and is prohibited from distribution or cultivation in most of these. It has also been introduced to Australia, Tasmania and New Zealand, where it is also problematic.

Orange Hawkweed with skipper

Despite its non-native status, the flowers still attract many native insects. I’ve seen butterflies, such as this skipper, visiting them, as well as bees, flies and ants. The plants tend to be passed over by herbivores, however, and heavily grazed areas may end up with large populations of the flower, as the grazing down of native, palatable vegetation allows for the hawkweed to take root.

When the plants go to seed they’ll produce little tufts, like the seeds of dandelions. Each flower stem can have up to 30 flowers, each of which can produce as many as 30 seeds. They generally rely on wind for dispersion, however the invasive spread of the species is aided by hitching rides on passing animals and people (who can carry the seeds much greater distances). Once a seed and plant is established, it spreads locally through rhizomes (underground roots that can produce whole new plants some distance from the parent) and stolons (sideways stems that lie flat along the ground, putting down roots at intervals and starting new plants). Because of this vegetative reproductive strategy, pulling up individual plants may not necessarily remove the whole patch, as remaining bits of rhizomes or stolons have the potential to regenerate.

Orange Hawkweed with ant

Although it can be very widespread and abundant in some areas, at my parents’ there are only a few small patches. I seem to remember there being more, when I was younger. There also seemed to be more dandelions on the lawn, too, though, and daisies and Queen Anne’s Lace and New England Asters in the fall… Pollinator populations are falling, but I highly doubt that it’s enough (yet) that the wildflower community is being taken over by grasses, so perhaps it was just the slightly distorted memory of a child, when everything seemed bigger and grander.

Yellow Hawkweed

There are actually hawkweed species native to North America. Wikipedia lists 51 species of Hieracium in the United States. Flora Ontario gives 19 unique results for the genus Hieracium. All of the other 18 species are yellow. Identifying Orange Hawkweed is a breeze, but identifying the rest requires a bit more deliberation. I think the one above is Yellow Hawkweed (among many other common names), Hieracium caespitosum, because it appears to be the only one of Ontario’s species that tends to clump all of its flowers at the top of the stem, rather than branching them more spread out, in a more open pattern. It’s also a fairly common species, relative to the others. Unfortunately, like the Orange, it’s also an introduced species. I’m sure if I keep looking I’m bound to come across a native meadow wildflower eventually… (It really says something about the state of our ecosystems, doesn’t it?)

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Gray, but not really

Gray Treefrog

The weather cooperated for me, and I was able to get some mothing in on all three nights I was at my parents’. The nights were relatively warm, and there was quite a bit of activity at the blacklights, so I took my time browsing over the sheets looking for species I hadn’t seen yet. I have the one sheet set up on the clothesline, which is not far from my mom’s water garden, an old watering trough, not used for that purpose for many, many years and now filled with rocks and aquatic plants. While I was standing there, a frog started calling from the water. So I thought I’d have a peek and see if I could spot him.

After circling the garden a couple times I determined he was in one particular corner. I checked all the spots I thought a frog should be, along the water’s edge, in between the rocks, in the flower bed, couldn’t see him. I finally decided he must be up inside the water spout feature, an old hand pump that, decades ago, had been used to pump water up from the property’s well. The pump perches at the corner of the trough, with the pipe set in the water, such that one edge of what used to be secured to the ground now forms an overhang over the water. I figured he’d crawled under there. So I returned to the moths. On my next trip back from the house, my headlamp just happened to pass across the top of the pump - and there he was. Such a great ventriloquist!

Gray Treefrog

He’s a Gray Treefrog, though he’s not a very gray treefrog. The species’ name is Hyla versicolor, the latter part being a reflection on the frogs’ variable colouration - some individuals are the gray that gives the species its name, while others are bright green, brown or yellowish, and there’s a range of colouration between them all. In addition to this natural variation, Gray Treefrogs are able to change their colour, like a chameleon, though the process is not nearly as fast as in chameleons. They are covered in black mottling, the extent of which varies also according to individual and surroundings. A frog on a tree trunk can be nearly impossible to detect as it adjusts its colour and mottling to blend in. And, as if all that wasn’t enough, the frog’s colour is also influenced by the ambient temperature, with more or less black being shown according to whether they need to absorb the sun’s heat or not. Males will generally have darker throats than the females, but of course I didn’t have a female to compare to.

The treefrog’s normal “base” colouration is gray - dead frogs and those in unnatural surroundings will usually be this colour. So I’m not sure why this one’s bright green - perhaps he’d just crawled up from the grass and hadn’t had time to change yet.

Gray Treefrog

In all colour variations, there are three things that make this species of treefrog distinguishable from other frog species (other than the fact that no other frogs climb trees). The first is the black mottling on the back, usually in somewhat linear patterns to create borders to slightly darker areas (though some individuals may not show these markings). The second is the wide sticky pads at the end of each toe that allows the frog to grip the tree (or other surface) when climbing (all treefrogs show this feature, of course). And the third is that both Hyla versicolor and its nearly identical sister species H. chrysoscelis show yellow on the inside of their thighs, usually not really visible unless the legs are extended or one looks closely, like here. The two sister species share much of the same geographic range and are really only separable by call.

Websites also indicate that the species has a pale spot under the eye, and it took me a while to figure that out - I was looking for an actual white or pale dot, but they were using the word “spot” as in region or area, and were referring to the patch of skin bordered on each side by darker patches. Really, the “pale spot” is exactly the same colour as the rest of the frog, it just looks pale because it’s a small area bordered on by dark markings. In the case of my individual, his dark markings aren’t even very dark, they’re barely different than the light areas.

Gray Treefrog Gray Treefrog

He seemed strangely unperturbed by my being there. He’d pause for a moment as I moved from one side to the other, perhaps assessing the sound, but wouldn’t stay quiet for long. It’s prime breeding season, after all! It probably also helped that I had the headlamp on, and as I shone it in his face it hid my silhouette from view.

It’s amazing how much their throat can inflate. When not calling it’s just a loose pocket of skin, held close to the body, deflated and loose like a dewlap. When he fills it with air, it balloons to the size of his head. The throat sac isn’t involved in sound production directly, but rather acts as a resonating chamber, amplifying the sound so it broadcasts across a much greater distance. I read at one spot that this call can be heard up to a kilometer away (a little over half a mile).

The Gray Treefrog has a short, moderately high-pitched trill, which in my area is only really easily confused with the much longer, sustained trill of the American Toad. The trills of H. versicolor and H. chrysoscelis are distinguishable by differences in speed and pitch (length is the same; speed refers to the separation between the individual notes that make up the trill - usually in milliseconds). I rather suspect this would require some degree of experience with the two species to feel confident about labeling it one or the other. To complicate matters, the speed of the trill varies with ambient temperature, and is slower in cooler weather (which makes sense, being a cold-blooded creature).

Gray Treefrog

A close look at his eye, and ear. A frog’s ear is not a hollow tube like that of vertebrates, but a tympanic disc at the skin’s surface. It’s a little like having our eardrum right on the side of our head, instead of tucked well inside. The same general structures apply to convert the vibrations of the membrane into signals to the brain. However, a frog can also “hear” with its lungs. The change in air pressure, particularly with loud noises, will also create vibrations in the lung linings, which are sent to the brain much the same way as from the ear. Also, the lungs have a direct link between them and the ear, equalizing pressure, which is presumed to serve as a protection to the eardrum against the frog’s own incredibly loud calls. An average frog’s calls are 90-95 decibels - about as loud as a lawnmower or jackhammer. Eight hours of sound this loud can permanently damage your hearing. Unless you’re a frog!

Gray Treefrog

He certainly was loud, especially when I got right up close to him. He was also very alone. The nearest other calling treefrogs were at least 50 meters/yards away. Treefrogs tend to be more solitary than other frogs, not being as confined to an area of habitat the way wetland frogs are, so it wasn’t too surprising that there weren’t other males nearby. However, it seemed his efforts hadn’t yet attracted a female. He’s in a good spot, with a handy predator-free water body right there for her. She’ll lay potentially up to 2000 eggs, singly or in small clusters, over the course of the breeding season. I haven’t seen any eggs in the little water garden, but will have to pay attention for them now, or tadpoles if I’m not around for a stretch (the eggs will hatch in a remarkably fast 3-6 days after being laid, depending on water temperature). How neat would it be to have treefrog tadpoles in your water garden?

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Life on a maple branch

Box Elder Bug laying eggs

One of the necessary chores that comes with keeping horses, of course, is having to muck out the stalls. It’s a pleasant sort of physical labour, where you feel you’ve had a good workout and been productive at the same time. If kept on top of every day it’s neither a lot of work nor very time consuming, but can add up quickly if neglected.

It was while I was busy doing this that I noticed today’s subject. I was returning from dumping a wheelbarrow load, my mind on other things (such as wondering how Mom still does this every day, at her age), and so wasn’t paying a lot of attention to bugs or other critters. If this bug had been anywhere else on the maple tree I probably wouldn’t have noticed, but it was at the tip of the very lowest leaf of the branch that hangs over the driveway, pretty much at eye level. And the bug was red and black. Hard to miss.

It was busy laying eggs. Naturally, I didn’t have my camera since I was working in a spot I wasn’t keen on the camera being, so I dashed indoors to grab it and came back to run off a few shots. She was oblivious, focused on the task at hand, I guess, And I was able to manipulate the leaf to pick up the best light (and also to keep it steady and easier to focus on in the light breeze).

Box Elder Bug

When I came back inside and looked it up in my Kaufman guide to insects, it was shown there as a Box Elder Bug, Boisea trivittata. I thought, Elder? What’s it doing on the maple, then? And it wasn’t alone. A few leaves above it was this solitary individual, who seemed to either be lost or looking for a mate as it roamed from leaf to leaf. A few leaves further I noticed a pair copulating (below). I’m not sure if the larger one is the male (as is traditional in many species) or female (since she’s the egg-layer and needs the size to haul them about). They certainly didn’t seem to feel out of place.

Box Elder Bugs

Well, it turns out the Box Elder is actually more often called Boxelder, and is not a type of elder at all, but rather a maple, a member of the genus Acer. The Eastern Boxelder Bug, as it’s called on BugGuide.net, is also sometimes known as the Maple Bug, and will lay its eggs on the foliage, seeds or bark of Boxelder and other maple species, and also ashes. So it wasn’t in fact out of place at all. The nymphs, when they hatch, feed on the seeds of the trees, as well as opportunistically on dead insects. The adults primarily feed on the plant’s juices.

Box Elder Bug eggs

Apparently the adults are most often seen in the fall, but are also around in the spring. BugGuide indicates the spring period is primarily May, so what they’re doing out in late June, I don’t know. It could be that the May date applies to a different area than here, since the species is found across most of North America east of the Rockies. Supposedly they can be a house-invader in late fall, as they’re looking for a place to spend the winter, much like ladybugs, but I don’t think I’ve ever noticed them doing that here.

I left the female to it and she finished up laying. When I checked today there were about ten of these small, soft eggs, no bigger than the head of a pin. I don’t really know, but I would guess that the pale crescent you see on one end of the eggs is akin to the yolk of a bird’s egg - the fertilized cells sit on that, and that’s what the developing embryo uses for food.

Edit: Commenter Ted indicates, “The orange crescent you noted on the bug eggs is actually the outline of the operculum, which is the “cap” of the egg - when the nymph hatches, this cap will pop off and out will crawl the nymph. Eggs of most “true” bugs (order Hemiptera) have these opercula, as far as I can tell.” Thanks, Ted!

Parasitized caterpillar

The branch was surprisingly full of activity for just a little section of tree. While examining the bugs, I happened to notice a light green caterpillar just a few leaves over. I don’t know what species this is, and I couldn’t even tell you if it was a butterfly or a moth, though I’m inclined to think the former. I used to believe that moth caterpillars were hairy and butterfly caterpillars were smooth, but it turns out that either can be either, and so now I know of no reliable way to differentiate the two. The inchworms, though, those little guys with feet at each end, who inch rather than crawl, those guys are moths, as are the really, really fuzzy ones like the Woolly Bears.

I didn’t notice it at the time, but in looking at the photo as I cropped it down, I spotted a white glob at the back of the caterpillar’s head. I’m fairly certain that this is the egg of a parasitic insect, probably a fly. There are a number of species of flies that lay their eggs at the back of the head of caterpillars, where the caterpillar can’t remove it. When the egg hatches, the larva burrows into the caterpillar’s body, and lives there, without killing the host, until it’s ready to emerge (at which point the host usually dies). Some caterpillars, such as tent caterpillars, have evolved a response of rapidly twitching their front end back and forth when they see a fly so that it’s a much harder target to land on.

Caterpillar

Also in the area were many of these fuzzy caterpillars. Again, I don’t know what they are, but they were very brightly coloured, and the density and length of the hairs makes me think moths. There were many different instars, or larval stages, of these caterpillars on the branch, from the fairly mature one above, to a middle-aged and even rather young. On a few leaves I spotted the empty, shed skins (below) of caterpillars as they move from one instar to the next.

It’s amazing how much there is to see when you stop to look; if it hadn’t been for that one bug, laying its eggs on the low-hanging leaf, I would have just walked right on by, thinking the branch was empty.

Empty caterpillar skin

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By the hundreds

Moth jars in fridge

Hundreds of moths

This is my 100th post. It arrived rather quickly, it’s hard to believe I’ve written that many entries already, on subjects as varied as fungus and flora, birds and bugs, earth hour and green parties (the events, not the political groups). I thought the hundredth post deserved special attention, to mark a milestone, but I wasn’t sure how by. I spent some time thinking about it, and finally decided upon a post of hundreds - recent observations of multitudes of whatever it is I’m observing.

I happen to be at my parents’ this week, taking care of the horses while my mom’s away at a conference. Unfortunately, they’re not as easy as goldfish where you sprinkle them some food and they’re good to go for a while. I don’t mind coming out to care for them, though, as it gives me an excuse to visit the countryside. One of the things I use that excuse to do is catch moths, of course. I had a few sheets up last evening, and this. It was on the cooler side overnight last night, about 15 C (60 F), but there was still a good selection of things coming in to the sheets and trap; this evening is warmer and there’s much more activity. Since I need to photograph everything in order to later identify it, I jar the moths I don’t know and tuck them in the fridge. It doesn’t take long for the fridge to fill up. The above photo is the state of things after last night.

Insects on Goatsbeard

Hundreds of bugs

In my mom’s garden there are a couple clumps of goatsbeard (Aruncus dioicus), a perennial native to North America and western Europe. It produces sprays of white flowers, which insects absolutely love. I highly recommend that any budding entomologist buy themselves a goatsbeard for their garden. It gets everything: butterflies, of course, but also day-flying moths, wasps, bees, flies, beetles. You can even find mosquitoes nectaring on the flowers. During the plant’s peak blooming period, which lasts a couple of weeks and is about this time of year, the blooms will be alive with activity, covered in bugs. Hundreds is not an exaggeration here. The longer you stand there, the more you see. It attracts some pretty interesting things.

Beetles

Hundreds of beetles

Earlier in the month I did some mothing down at the research station. Or tried to, anyway. I didn’t actually end up catching very many moths, though I’m not sure why; it was fairly warm that evening. However, what I did end up getting lots of were beetles. In many shapes and sizes, but the most apparent were the June Bugs. These guys aren’t a lot of fun to have come buzzing in to a sheet at the best of times, since they’re clumsy and just as liable to run into you as the sheet. Having about 100 come in to the light was almost creepy. In this photo, those large dark spots are the June Bugs; there are 67 visible on the sheet, and there were easily a few dozen more on the other side, on the ground, and in the nearby vegetation.

Colewort

Hundreds of flowers

The colewort in the garden is also still going strong. Because the plant is ginormous, there are easily hundreds upon hundreds of flowers blooming on it. The colewort attracts a lot of insects, too, and has a fairly strong and pretty scent. Yesterday I watched a few interesting beetles, flies, and a tiger swallowtail dropped by to sample things. This wouldn’t be a bad plant for the garden of an entomologist, either, but it does take up a lot of room.

Chokecherries

Hundreds of berries

I noticed while making the rounds of the garden that the chokecherry tree is beginning to put out its berries. They’re still far from ripe, being a green the same shade as the leaves, but they’re nearly full-size now. The tree is covered in them, and staring up into the canopy creates an interesting effect, almost abstract in appearance.

Hail

Hundreds of hailstones (and raindrops)

The last couple of weeks we’ve had regular, near-daily afternoon thunderstorms. Many of the thunderstorms have included hail, often rather large hail. I tried to take a photo of some of the rather large hail, but couldn’t really capture it any better than this. It’s been strange just how much rain we’ve got this year. I heard something about this June being the wettest on record (so far), but can’t seem to corroborate that. All this rain is especially strange compared to last summer, which was the polar opposite - days upon days of nothing but clear skies and sunshine, not a drop of rain in sight. My parents actually had concerns over their well running low and had to implement a strict water conservation plan. Won’t be an issue this year.

I actually started this post last night (Tuesday), but have been quite busy filling my mom’s shoes while she’s gone. In addition to the dentist appointment, which was quick and went well, but still took a chunk out of my day. I have new respect for the amount of work my mom (or my sister, when she’s here and takes over) puts in around here, especially with the horses. I don’t think I fully appreciated just how much time was involved in caring for them.

In any case. Here’s to another happy hundred.

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Emeralds in the garden

Emerald Spreadwing - male

When I went out to photograph the wrens, I also poked about the garden a bit. It had rained all afternoon, so all the foliage was damp, but also vibrant. Not much was flying, as far as insect life, and I was mostly looking at the flowers (many of which, after a week of daily rainstorms, were looking a little bedraggled with their heads on the ground). But when I leaned in to the garden edge to peer more closely at something, a cloud of metallic-green damselflies rose from the vegetation, disturbed by my approach.

These may be the first damsels I’ve seen this summer in any numbers. I think I’ve seen the odd one here or there, but not many. Damselflies are the smaller, slimmer cousins of dragonflies, and can be told apart by the general size and chunkiness of their heads and bodies. Also, most damselflies will rest with their wings folded behind their backs, while dragonflies usually rest with their wings spread. These damselflies are the exception, however, and tend to rest with their wings open, though rarely as broad and flat as dragonflies. There are many species that do this, all classified in the group spreadwings.

Emerald Spreadwing - male

Dragonflies and damselflies together are part of the order Odonata. There are about 300 species of dragonflies, and 130 species of damselflies in North America north of Mexico. All but two of the 19 North American spreadwings are classified in the genus Lestes. In general they’re associated with the edges of ponds or slow-moving streams. There’s certainly ample water at my parents’, but the garden is some distance from it, so it was interesting to find so many of them there. Many of the spreadwings can be difficult to tell apart from one another, some requiring examination of the genitalia to do so, but I believe these were all Emerald Spreadwings, Lestes dryas.

Emerald Spreadwing - female

The females are browner than the males. There are very few species of Odonates where the two sexes are the same or very similar in appearance; generally you can tell them apart fairly readily. However, the surefire way of doing so is to look at the end of the abdomen. Although I didn’t get it in focus in this (or any, as it turned out) photo, you can still get the idea. In males, the abdomen ends in appendages that look like a pair of pincers. These are used to grasp the female gently but firmly around the neck during mating, and two damsels found like this are called “in tandem”. The female has a thicker tip to the abdomen, with a special structure that includes an ovipositor to lay the eggs. The female curves her abdomen around underneath her and touches the tip to a swelling on the underside of the abdomen just behind the male’s thorax (can sort of be seen in the second photo), where she receives the sperm. This is usually called the wheel position, and one can sometimes observe a pair flying together like that.

Emerald Spreadwing - female

Spreadwings, like all odonates, are carnivorous predators. Adults have strong mandibles and some of the larger dragonfly species may bite if handled, although it is little more than a strong pinch and doesn’t deliver any venom. They kill their prey by biting it, and “chew” it to ingest it, rather than eating it whole. They eat mainly small flying insects, such as mosquitoes, small flies, and others. The larvae are aquatic, with adults laying their eggs on vegetation, rocks or other substrates at the water’s surface. They look only vaguely like the adults, being not as thin and lacking wings. The larvae eat other aquatic insects, but may even take (very) small fish. Odonates undergo incomplete metamorphosis, meaning they lack the pupa stage that most insects have. Instead, the last larval stage crawls up onto some vegetation, where the skin on the back splits open and the adult climbs out.

Emerald Spreadwing - male

Because they’re predatory, both damselflies and dragonflies have excellent eyesight. They have a pair of large compound eyes that are their primary means of detecting prey, but also several occelli across their “forehead” that they use for sensing small changes in light and dark, which helps them to orient upwards. The eyes are another useful feature to separate damsels from dragons - the compound eyes of the latter meet at the top of the head, while those of damselflies are usually widely separated. The eyes are also very important for avoiding predators. Damselflies can be eaten by just about anything larger than themselves. They’re not as strong fliers as dragonflies are, and as a result are often meals for their larger relatives. Adults are also eaten by birds, frogs, and spiders (getting caught in their webs). The nymphs are eaten by larger aquatic insects, amphibians and fish.

Emerald Spreadwing - male and female

Here a male rests on a leaf just above a female. I’m not sure what happened to the male’s abdomen. It’s possible he had a close call with a predator, or when he emerged from his last larval stage his yet-to-harden abdomen was in a funny position. Most insects have very soft exoskeletons when they emerge from metamorphosis. It’s a little like a human baby’s skull - because it has to fit through a very narrow passageway, much of the skull is soft and doesn’t become fully firmed up until the baby is anywhere from nine months to about two years old. In insects the process is necessarily a little quicker - the adult itself may only live a week or two. Insects “wear” their skeletons on the outside, with their muscles attaching to the inner surface, rather than the other way around in vertebrates. The exoskeleton needs to be flexible enough to fit in the cramped space of the pupa or final larval stage, but when the insect emerges, it straightens, wings are expanded by pumping with fluid, and they harden through exposure to air. The air also helps to develop their full colouration, as they are often quite pale when they first emerge.

Unfortunately, there aren’t any really good printed references to the damselflies of North America, which is a funny oversight since there aren’t an overwhelming number of species. Part of the problem is that many can’t be conclusively identified by colouration alone. There are a few good regional field guides, however. In the east, one of the best is A Field Guide to the Dragonflies and Damselflies of Massachusetts, and in the west Introducing the Dragonflies of British Columbia and the Yukon (I’m pretty sure this has damselflies as well, as I recall referencing it while working out there a few years ago - it was part of my employer’s library, but I really liked it).

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Home among the colewort

Wren box and colewort

One of the things I love about waking up at my parents’ house is the sound of the birds singing in the morning. Specifically, the House Wren, who has settled in just under the guest bedroom’s window. For the last half a dozen years he’s sung from the garden, adding some very bubbly life to the backyard. Although my mom had always put out seed for the birds, we only put up some birdhouses when I got into birding myself, in university. It didn’t take long for the wren to discover them; I think he moved in the next summer, and he, or his offspring, has been there since.

There are now six nestboxes set up at various spots on the property (one of which has two compartments). In any given year most get used. In previous years there have been Tree Swallows in one, and Eastern Bluebirds in another, but for whatever reason they’re absent this year. However, to make up for that, we have three House Wren pairs that have set up territories at three of the boxes. I occasionally hear them counter-singing at one another, reinforcing their territory boundaries.

The garden wren has three boxes to choose from, but picked the one right next to a large flowering colewort. To put it in perspective, in the photo above the shepherd’s hook the box is hanging from is about as tall as I am. The colewort is a pretty amazing plant, growing to huge proportions, and it completely dominates that section of the garden. When my mom first planted it I don’t think she knew at the time just how big it would get. She had intended to pull it up after the first year because it took up so much space, but ended up leaving it. The wren thinks this is great, as it provides lots of good cover, right near the nest. I’ve seen the little birds foraging in and under the bush frequently.

wren1

When I went out to wander about the garden this week, I noticed the wrens took great exception to my presence. They hopped about first the crabapple tree, then the nearby apple tree, chirring at me and expressing their displeasure. When I located one with my binoculars, I could see it was carrying a mouthful of food. I didn’t leave right away, and it ended up swallowing the food so it could more easily focus its attention on distracting me. Birds only carry food, and get this worked up, when there are young nearby, so I knew they must have a brood in the garden nestbox.

wren2

I hid myself behind the corner of the garden shed, and waited for the adults to calm down enough to return to the box. Eventually the one (I think the male) did, coming to perch on the top of the shepherd’s hook and scout the area. He had a fat mouthful of bugs. It amazes me how much they can cram into their little beaks, you’d think as soon as they opened their mouth to grab another food item the first would fall out, a little like watching a dog try to pick up two tennis balls. Birds have amazingly dexterous bills, considering that they’re not flexible or opposing like our fingers. Can you imagine trying to weave a nest using just a pair of chopsticks?

wren3

I leaned around and propped my camera up on the corner of the shed, hoping to remain out of sight, but the wren spotted me and decided it wasn’t safe yet to duck in to feed the youngsters. He took off for the crabapple tree again, mouth still full of insects. Birds generally won’t approach their nest unless they feel confident that the coast is clear. It’s less their own safety they’re concerned about, and more trying to prevent tipping off a potential predator to the whereabouts of their young. A lot of time, effort and energy goes into raising a brood of young, and by the time they get to the age where they’re needing to be fed a lot, often it’s too late in the season to re-lay. So it behooves the parents to be overly cautious - given the harsh realities of migration, there’s a good chance one or both of the parents may not return to try again next summer.

wren4

Eventually they did both settle down, and came in to the box where the hungry mouths were waiting. I think this is the female, as she was quieter, and appeared a mousier brown than the bolder male, who somewhat resembled a Winter Wren in the darkness of his patterning and barring of the chest. Of course, there’s also two colour morphs of the eastern subspecies of House Wren, a brown and a grey, and it could be the pair is composed of one of each, unrelated to sex.

wren5

Delivering the goods.

wren6

Off for another load. Young birds, like young humans, basically spend all their time eating and sleeping and growing. A newly hatched nestling will need to be fed every 15-20 minutes, which keeps the parents hopping to try to find enough food to fill as many as five or six hungry bellies.

wren7

About 40 meters/yards away, another male sang atop his chosen nestbox. I notice this one’s paler, but is definitely a male, so maybe the colour difference in the first pair is simply a morph after all. There wasn’t any evidence of a female associating with this guy, but she could be inside the house incubating. While she’s on the eggs, the male doesn’t have a lot to keep him busy and will spend most of his time singing and defending the territory.

wren8

He moved to some nearby saplings where the lowering sun’s rays illuminated his pale breast. It’s really a shame that a single photo can’t capture the burble of a House Wren’s song. Their mandibles tremble rapidly like the bird is shivering with joy as the cheerful notes tumble out of its mouth. I might see if I can borrow Blackburnian’s camcorder to get some video clips of the House Wren and other things.

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A few colourful moths

Sphinx_drupiferarum

I’m at my parents’ this evening, and it is chilly, unseasonably cool (it seems to me) for a mid-June night, nearly summer. I would ordinarily be outside, checking for moths on the blacklighted sheets I’d have set up, but it’s too cool for that tonight; approaching 10 C (50 F), the moths are, for the most part, tucked into sheltered spots waiting for a warmer night to fly.  Since it’s June, there ought to be many nights of 20 C (68 F) temperatures that would be much more ideal. I’ve got my trap running anyway, since it involves very little effort and hey, you never know. But I’m not expecting much when I check it in the morning; the couple times I’ve peeked out the window at it I haven’t seen anything at the sheet I set up behind the light.

In contrast, earlier this month I had some excellent, warm nights. I have yet to see any nights with a sheet covered in moths, but that’s probably just as well - my identification isn’t good enough yet for me to be able to pick through the common stuff to locate the more unusual species, and I would probably feel a little overwhelmed. Even just the couple of busy-ish nights I’ve had, with 50-80 species, have been enough to keep me busy for many hours the next day. Another disadvantage to not knowing anything is that I have to photograph every moth I encounter if I want to identify it, whereas if I already know 40 of those 50 species there’s not much photographing that needs to be done the next day.

The other problem with getting so many moths is trying to choose a select few to post to the blog. With such variety, how do you narrow it down? For the non-moth’er, the large or colourful species are the obvious choices, but even among that group there is quite a selection. I eventually settled on half a dozen that I thought were the most interesting from the last few weeks. Narrowing it down to just the species I had identified helped considerably as well.

The above moth is a Wild Cherry Sphinx (Sphinx drupiferarum), which came to the blacklight at my parents’ last week. I happened to be checking the sheet as it flew in, and I knew something that large had to be a sphinx, so I really wanted to catch it. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my large-moth containers there at the sheet with me. I didn’t trust it to remain (it still hadn’t settled on the sheet, but was buzzing across its surface), so I ended up catching it in one hand, creating a loose cage with my fingers. Good thing I did, too, as it’s a somewhat uncommon species, and one that The Moth Man hadn’t seen before, so we needed photos.

Silver-spottedGhostMoth

On a similar note, another uncommon species that he hadn’t seen so we needed photos of was this one, the Silver-spotted Ghost Moth. The reason this species isn’t often seen is less due to its abundance, however, and more because of its habits. Most moth’ers attract their moths to some sort of lure, either a UV light or sugary syrup concoctions. This moth rarely comes to lights, so it’s infrequently caught. It has a sort of lekking behaviour, where giant swarms of males form in the evening near the species’ host trees, alders, and female moths will come to check them all out. The moths are most often encountered in these swarms. In the case of my moth, it was the rare individual that did come to check out the light, and I found it sitting in the trap. This species is also unusual in that, taxonomically, it is more closely related to the wee bitty moths than the larger moths, but it itself is about two inches long.

Isabella Moth (Wooly Bear Caterpillar) - Pyrrharctia isabella

The caterpillar of this moth will be more familiar to most people than the moth itself. This is the adult form of the Wooly Bear caterpillar, that fuzzy, brown and black caterpillar frequently seen in the fall and perceived as a predictor of the nature of the impending winter. For such a distinct-looking caterpillar, the adult is rather bland, although its abdomen has an orange wash to it. The adults are known as Isabella Moths (Pyrrharctia isabella).

Pink-legged Tiger Moth - Spilosoma latipennis

There are a number of different species of tiger moths, which are generally characterized by being about an inch in size and fuzzy, with a fuzzy caterpillar stage. The Isabella Moth is part of this group, as is the above, appropriately named the Pink-legged Tiger Moth (Spilosoma latipennis). There are two tiger moths that are nearly entirely snow white, this one and the very similar Agreeable Tiger Moth. The primary difference is in the legs - the Agreeable’s are a yellow-orange instead of pink. I’ve seen a few Agreeables so far this spring, but this was the first Pink-legged I’d caught.

Harnessed Tiger Moth

Yet another bunch of tiger moths have black and tan-striped wings. This one is a Harnessed Tiger Moth. There are half a dozen or more species with this sort of pattern, and telling them apart relies on the size of the stripes, the presence of cross-bars, and the colour and pattern of the hindwings. Last week I also caught a Little Virgin Tiger Moth, very similar but for the orangeish rather than pinkish hindwings, and thinner and more numerous stripes.

Stone-winged Owlet - Chytolita petrealis

When Blackburnian and I were at his mom’s place, we went for a walk through the bit of forest that backs onto her property. As we walked we kicked up many moths, about an inch in size and a bland tan colour. They were these guys, Stone-winged Owlets (Chytolita petrealis), so named for the stone colour of their wings (apparently; I think of stones as gray, not beige, personally). The long up-curved “snout” is actually a pair of palps, and are used as sensory organs. Many moths have palps, but they’re more exaggerated in some species than others.

Unicorn Prominent - Schizura unicornis

This last one is the subtle but beautiful Unicorn Prominent (Schizura unicornis). I’m not sure why it’s been called unicorn since it has no obvious horn (unlike the previous moth). I love the shades of mocha, peach, olive and teal in the wings of this moth. I couldn’t get him to do it again for the photo, but while he was sitting in the little jar I had him in he had his hind end and wings tightly furled together and raised up in the air, like a bit of peeling bark. The prominents are a varied bunch, with some mottled like this one, others smooth and sleek, and still others rather fuzzy like the tiger moths.

As usual, if you’re interested in browsing some of the other species I’ve caught, check out my moths photoset on Flickr.

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Wrigglers, tumblers and skeeters

Mosquito

It’s that time of year - the time when any foray out to the country or conservation area necessitates packing a can of deet-filled bug spray, when bug jackets and bug traps and bug lights and bug incense all start flying off the shelves. When many people lose many hours of sleep listening to a whine in the corner of the room. When a new dance move, more widespread and familiar than the twist or macarena, begins to be seen at outdoor gatherings. When the mosquito starts to fly.

Mosquitoes are ubiquitous and cosmopolitan, occuring on every continent except for Antarctica. We tend to think of the insects as simply “the mosquito”, but in fact there are 3000 species around the world. Most of these occur in the tropics, however North America has somewhere between 150 and 170 described species north of Mexico. In Canada, where the climate is, for the most part, much harsher and habitats less varied than through the US, that number is just over 70 species, and in Ontario it’s somewhere around 50. But still. Fifty species of mosquitoes just in my home province. Identifying the various species usually requires an expert and a microscope. The Roger Tory Peterson of mosquitoes, Richard F. Darsie Jr., has dedicated most of his career to learning and studying them all and their life stages, and is still going strong at age 90. He lives in Florida, still frequents the University of Florida’s entomology department, and continues to update his 380+-page identification and range guide to North American mosquitoes. I sure hope I’m that active and together when I’m that age!

Mosquito

For the rest of us, the 150 species all just get lumped into the same broad category of “the mosquito”. Mosquitoes are members of the order Diptera, which contains the flies. Like all flies, mosquitoes have just one pair of wings, a pair of vestigal wings called halteres, used for stabilizing the insect in flight, and a pair of relatively large compound eyes. Unlike most flies, mosquitoes have a specialized mouthpart, a tubed proboscis that they insert into the skin of their target to suck out blood. The proboscis is not a smooth tube, as one might expect, but is serrated, which minimizes the points of contact that the proboscis has with the host’s tissue. Unlike a smooth needle which most people can feel being (painfully) inserted, the tiny serrations ensure that very few, if any, nerves are contacted while the mosquito is feeding, and it’s possible for the host to never feel the bite or know the mosquito is there. Of course, it’s not foolproof, and often the proboscis will hit a nerve on the way in - resulting in a quick reflex that the mosquito may or may not survive.

Only female mosquitoes take blood. Mosquitoes don’t actually need blood to survive - males will never ingest any, and a female could live out its whole life without ever having a “blood meal”. Adult mosquitoes actually feed on nectar, like most flies. An adult can live for 2-3 weeks, or as much as 6 months, depending on the species. The longer-lived species are generally ones that overwinter as an adult rather than as an egg, and can sometimes be found buzzing around your house in the dead of winter when there’s a warm spell.

The blood is necessary for the development of eggs, as the female needs the protein available in the blood to produce them. Female mosquitoes generally find their targets at a distance of tens of metres/yards by detecting exhaled carbon dioxide and various body secretions such as sweat, and hone in once they get closer through sensing infrared heat given off by the target’s body. Some people will attract more mosquitoes than other people based on these things (for instance, men, because they’re generally warmer and sweatier, are likely to attract more bugs than women). Mosquito repellents work not by poisoning the mosquitoes or creating a distasteful barrier, but rather by disorienting the mosquito’s infrared honing system. Because of this repellents are not 100% effective, as the insect can still by chance, luck, or a missed area, land on and bite its target, but they’re pretty good.

Mosquito close-up

Because they are blood-suckers, and inject saliva into their targets, mosquitoes are problematic vectors of many diseases. These primarily occur in the tropics, but some, such as West Nile which was introduced to North America in 1999, have made it into temperate areas. Mosquitoes are estimated to transmit diseases to 700 million people around the world annually, many of which are fatal. The mosquito-borne parasite malaria causes the death of 5.3 million people, mostly young children, every year.

The reaction to mosquito bites varies by individual. The very first bite any person gets will not swell or itch, but antibodies are created from that bite that result in subsequent reactions. The itchy bumps are essentially an allergic reaction by your body to the mosquito’s saliva, which contains more than 15 different proteins, including one to prevent clotting, one to disable platelets, one to dilate blood vessels, and others that aid in sugar digestion and nectar feeding. With continued bites some people can become desensitized to the saliva, while others can become hyper-sensitized, with mosquito bites causing severe allergic reactions with rashes, blisters and bruising.

The specific saliva composition varies from species to species, so immunity to one species does not necessarily guarantee immunity to another. My mom recounts that us girls could go outside and play for hours when we were younger and hardly be bothered by the mosquitoes or show any reactions, but when we went on a camping trip a few hours away we all found the mosquitoes horrendous - presumably a different species that we had no immunity to. These days I find I react to the mosquitoes around my parents’, but they don’t bother me too much and providing I don’t scratch them the bumps don’t itch and subside within an hour or two.

Mosquito larva

A mosquito has four life stages. Females will lay eggs on the surface of water. For this they need still bodies of water - eggs laid on a river’s surface would just get swept away. Any body of still water will do, regardless of size, and standing water in birdbaths, old pots or tires, eavestroughs, etc, can be a breeding ground for baby mosquitoes. Public awareness programs advocate dumping standing water and clearing your eavestroughs to eliminate potential breeding locations, and providing that you don’t live near a pond or a lot of puddles, it will probably work. This is more practical in town, however, where mosquitoes aren’t as much of a problem to begin with. Out in the country the accepted approach to dealing with mosquitoes is just that - just deal with them. There are many products that advertise repellents or control, but they’re hard to avoid altogether.

Mosquito larvae

The above life stage, the larvae, are known in many places as “wrigglers” or “wigglers” for their habit of moving through the water by rapidly whipping their tail end back and forth. When they’re not moving, they tend to sink into the water with their tail tip at the surface and their head pointed downward. Most species of mosquito have a tube, called a spiracle, on the tip of their tail which they poke out of the water and use for breathing. One method of large-scale mosquito control involves laying a substance over the surface of the water that blocks the larvae from breathing.

Mosquito larvae eat micro-organisms and organic matter in the water, and are themselves food for many other creatures, including fish, amphibians, reptiles and other invertebrates. The latter includes the larvae of other mosquito species, specifically those in the genus Toxorhynchites which are sometimes known as “mosquito hawks” (this genus also happens to be one of the few where the females do not take blood). They have been used in some areas as a natural form of mosquito control, but are found in tropical and subtropical forests, so aren’t an option for most of North America.

Mosquito pupae

A couple weeks ago my mom and I started noticing these round, dark invertebrates in the water in my parents’ water garden. We had no idea what they were, but they seemed to have just suddenly appeared. We brought one in and looked at it under the microscope, where it appeared to have a giant thorax with a couple of short antennae, and a long abdomen that folded underneath it. It wasn’t shown in my mom’s aquatic invertebrate guide, and we were stumped, so my mom sent the photo off to an invert expert at the University of Guelph.

It turned out to be the pupal form of the mosquito. Known by many as “tumblers” for their somersaulting movement through the water. The pupal form of many invertebrates is often stationary, but mosquitoes are very active. The two little antennae on its head are its breathing spiracles. The pupal form has no mouth, so its movement through the water is primarily a predator avoidance response, or to move to better conditions (such as out of the sun).

Empty mosquito pupa

When I went back with my camera I found this empty pupal case stuck to the water hyacinth, just above the water line. Nearby were two newly-emerged adult mosquitoes, resting quietly on the water hyacinth bulb, waiting to dry out. Another reason that mosquitoes need still water is this emergence process - in areas with large expanses of open water it’s not possible to affix to vegetation or rocks, and the mosquito emerges at the water surface, where it rests until its wings and body are dried out and hardened and it can then fly off.

Adult mosquitoes are not strong fliers, and a slight breeze (or a fan) is enough to keep the bugs from bothering you. They fly at about 1-2 km/h (0.62-1.24 mph), for up to 4 hours at a time, and on a still night can fly as much as 10km (6.2 mi). I presume this is not usually actually in a straight line, but rather is the distance covered if the mosquito’s looping movements were unwound into a straight line (like measuring a long-distance runner’s laps of an oval track), but it wasn’t actually stated. Mosquitoes are mostly crepuscular or nocturnal, but they can be very active in the deep shade of the woods, as well. Or just about anywhere, for that matter. But they tend to avoid direct sunlight. In the day they’re usually found resting on vegetation, and walking through long grass in the shade of a forest edge can often throw up clouds of the insects.

The whine associated with mosquitoes is produced by the high-frequency whirring of their wings. This high-pitched noise isn’t heard by many adults, but is heard by nearly all younger people. As I was browsing the net for info, I discovered that this concept has been applied to a product called a “mosquito alarm” - not actually anything to do with mosquitoes at all except in its similar sound frequency. Rather, it’s a high-pitched noise that most adults can’t hear, but most young folks can, and is placed in areas where teens tend to gather and socialize, which can be very offputting for adults, especially if they have to wade through the groups to a store entrance or such. Many towns and stores in western Canada have started installing these and claim to have a great success rate in that they no longer have loiterers in the areas where the “alarms” have been installed. Teens can take it the other way with a “mosquito ringtone” for their cell phones, a high-pitched tone that just the younger folk can hear, allowing them to receive messages in class, or other forums where they aren’t supposed to have or use their phone.

I have several other things I could mention, but I think I’ll stop there today. I’m sure knowing all this won’t make you any happier to be out in the swarms, but at least you’ll have something to tell your friends as you’re swatting!

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On Father’s Day

Open road

Today is Father’s Day. Neither of my sisters were able to make it to visit my parents today, so we’re getting together next weekend instead. I called my dad this evening, however, to wish him a happy father’s day and catch up.

I somewhat regret that I didn’t spend more time with my dad growing up, while I lived at home. A truck driver early in his career, Dad was often on the road for a couple days at a time, while my mom remained home to raise us. He worked hard to make sure our family didn’t want for anything. We didn’t live extravagantly, and we did need to make some sacrifices here and there, but we were comfortable, and more importantly, we were happy. I think my sisters and I have come to know the value of a dollar for this upbringing, and also recognize that money isn’t everything. Dad is no longer on the road, instead some time ago having been accommodated in the company offices once the long days in the truck started taking their toll physically.

Canoe

Not us, though we did paddle a red canoe.

Of course, being daughters, it’s natural that we would have shared more with our mother than our father - most dads hope for a son that they can share their own interests with, and find it difficult to relate to a daughter. My dad did pretty well by us in this respect. Dad owns a canoe that must be nearly as old as I am. Some of my fondest memories of being with my dad involve taking that canoe out on the water. Dad taught us how to canoe when we were still youngish - myself maybe ten, my youngest sister only six. Since I was the oldest, and therefore biggest and strongest, I was the paddler, and my sisters would usually sit in the floor of the canoe. Even at ten or twelve, though, I wouldn’t've been much of a contribution, and I’m sure that Dad did most of the work on those outings. He took us up to the small manmade lake in the nearby town to teach us, and we’d also go out to other lakes and rivers within a reasonable drive. Today I still love to paddle along the shore of quiet water, taking in the surrounding nature from a totally different perspective. I never took lessons; all of my instruction came from my dad. When I eventually have a home where I can store it I’ll get myself a canoe or kayak so I can continue to go out and enjoy the water.

Hiking trail

Second only to that memory is going out with my dad on bike rides. Although we’d sometimes bike around the roads in our area of the countryside, more often we’d pack them up and take them to a bike trail someplace. We’ve done the Toronto lakeshore, the Grand River rail trail, another rail trail east of Georgetown, and the Niagara River bike trail. It was a great way to see the area, and I loved to watch the scenery flow by, the breeze in my hair and the sun on my face. My bike once I graduated up to “adult” size was a maroon 18-speed hand-me-down from our next-door neighbours, and I loved that thing. A thin-tired racing bike with rams-horn handlebars, I could speed along on good paved ground and feel like the wind. It wasn’t as great for rough trails, but we were rarely on them anyway. My dad maintained the bikes, and put a lot of care and effort into keeping them in good shape for us.

Treehouse
Looking a little worse for wear these days.

Dad built many things for us. Living in the country, we took the bus to school, and would have to wait for it at the end of the moderately long driveway. Dad built us a cute little shelter, complete with door and windows, and a bench to sit on, to wait in for the bus on days where it was cold, windy, or rainy. When the shelter was destroyed a few years later (we presume by either an errant car or intentionally by vandals), Dad collected up the scraps and used the good pieces to build a tree house in one of the maples in the front yard. The treehouse was a great little retreat, with a trapdoor, a roof in one corner, and a balcony on the other side. It’s still there, although probably no longer safe for anyone but the raccoons and squirrels. When I took a notion a few years ago to own a small flock of birds, he helped me build a large walk-in-sized flight cage for them, coaching me through the measurements and structural . In the winter he’d build a fabulous toboggan run down the one moderate hill on the property. Because of the way the trees on the hill were laid out, it was necessary to bank the run in a couple of spots, and Dad would build up the sides and corners to create a contained track that was difficult to fly out of. To make it speedier and more exciting, he’d take his water sprayer and coat the smooth track with a thin layer of ice. It was huge fun, and a favourite winter pasttime. I sometimes think in the winter of going again, but I doubt I’d enjoy it as much as the run in my memory.

Campsite at Rene Brunelle PP

Dad always seemed to have the answer. If something broke, Dad could fix it. If you needed a gadget, Dad would have it. If you wanted something to accomplish a particular goal or task, Dad could rig something up for you. In fact, he still does. I have all kinds of respect for my dad and his knowledge. In particular, he has and continues to coach me through so many computer problems. Dad got into computers early, back when they operated off floppy disks and had no internal hard drives, and he’s always known an astounding amount about them. The only reason I know as much about computers as I do is because of what he’s taught me. The same applies to household problems or car problems. Or cars in general - all three of us girls now own standard transmission cars, and the reason we can drive them is because of Dad’s patient tutelage.

I owe as much to my dad as to my mom for where and who I am right now. He’s influenced my life in a different way than Mom, but just as strongly. For everything, Dad, thank you. Happy Father’s Day.

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A birding interlude

Pine Warbler

I’ve been very busy this week, it feels like I’ve barely been home. I returned to my parents’ on Monday, and remained there till Wednesday morning, whereupon I headed out for a dentist appointment. Fortunately this was just to have some routine x-rays done and a couple other similarly benign procedures, so it wasn’t a terrible trip. Then yesterday Blackburnian and I headed off to his mom’s place for the afternoon and stayed overnight to do some mothing. We returned home late this morning, and I’ve spent most of the morning photographing and subsequently editing the photos of the moths we got. I’ll have some catching up to do this weekend on various projects, tasks and chores that were put on hold while I’ve been away this week.

I’ve been trying to contribute to I and the Bird on a regular basis, but realized when the deadline came up for this edition that I hadn’t actually posted anything about birds since before the previous edition (which are semi-monthly). This is a little strange considering how birds are my primary interest, but I suspect part of it has just been a lack of good photos or notable observations. I haven’t had a lot of chance to just go out and stalk some birds - either the weather’s been not-so-hot or I’ve been busy trying to complete a survey and couldn’t dawdle with the camera.

However, while at my parents’ this week I decided to take my camera and go out to track down a couple of warblers I’ve heard singing for a while, despite the rather overcast skies that makes getting good photos near impossible. I headed up to the woodsy area behind the barn where the birds have been singing for a couple weeks. I gave a few good pishes and the birds came right in. The first one to give me a good look was the above Pine Warbler, which flew right to the open branches above my head and, after a minute or two of checking me out, began to sing. He’s an annual resident there, the first warbler to arrive in spring, his musical trill a constant from the huge White Pines in the forest behind the house.

Mourning Warbler

The other warbler was this Mourning Warbler, who was much more reluctant to come forward and be seen. This is the first time I can recall a Mourning being at my parents’. They do breed throughout southern Ontario, but I’ve never encountered them there before. Most of my breeding Mourning experiences date back to when I worked for the Toronto Zoo some eight years ago. Mournings are among my favourite warblers, so I was very pleased to discover that the bird I’d heard last week was still hanging about the same spot this week. I’d expected he was likely just a migrant, present for a few days while he fueled up, but he seems to have actually set up shop back there. I wonder if he has a girl.

Common Yellowthroat

After the dentist appointment I was feeling ravenous, and decided to stop by Tim Horton’s on my way home to grab some lunch. The Tim’s store isn’t a very exciting place to eat, though, so I thought I’d find a spot out on one of the backroads in the countryside somewhere where I could pull over and listen to the birds. The spot I chose was a little dead-end road not far off the highway (I could still hear the roar of the highway traffic, though it was muffled by a lot of trees), where they’d run the end of the road through a small, thick swamp. I parked the car and opened the door, and the first bird I heard was this bright male Common Yellowthroat singing virtually right beside the car. I grabbed my camera and snuck over to where he was singing and pished him in. Like the Pine Warbler, as soon as he’d determined that there was nothing to worry about (which didn’t take him long) he returned to singing from within the thicket, his head thrown back and his chest all puffed out, hormones raging, I’m sure.

Baltimore Oriole

Another colourful bird to come in when I pished was this striking Baltimore Oriole. I don’t often get orioles to show much interest in me, so that was interesting. I also don’t tend to associate orioles with swamps, although they are often in riparian areas. They’re fairly common around here, but are more often heard than seen. It’s funny that such a brilliantly-coloured bird can be so difficult to spot. While at my parents’ I don’t see the male all that often, except when he comes to the oriole nectar feeder my mom has out.

American Goldfinch

And finally, a yellow bird. There were a couple of Yellow Warblers in the swamp with the oriole and yellowthroat, but I wasn’t able to get one to come down close enough for a decent shot. I did, however, get this other yellow bird, a sunny American Goldfinch. There seemed to be a small flock of goldfinches in the area, and they’d always respond when I pished at various points along the road. Goldfinches are late breeders, waiting for the thistles and other plants to go to seed and using the fluff to line their nests and the seeds to feed their young. They often won’t start building nests till late June or early July, when many other birds have already raised and fledged broods of young. So this group of birds I encountered were all still just hanging about, not having established territories yet (although two or three pairs may also nest in the same general area, in a loose colony).

It was nice to do a bit of visual birding where I wasn’t making tallies for each species (as I am for the surveys I’m doing). I find when I’m at my parents’ I’m often caught up in other things and tend to bird by ear, identifying what’s around based on what I’m hearing, but not actually going out to look for the singers.

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