It’s THAT time of year in Michigan. The Poplar trees, a/k/a Cottonwood trees, are at it again, dispensing wisps of white fluffy stuff all around the neighborhood. Just like clockwork, every Spring, after pollination has taken place, the white and fuzzy wisps will scatter to the wind beginning in early-to-mid-June. The seeds are light as a feather and may travel as far as five miles from the tree they originated from. I don’t see a single Cottonwood tree in my immediate neighborhood, yet all the recent high winds have caused fuzzies to drift lazily about the ‘hood. The filmy fuzzies also find themselves sucked into the A/C grille where they glom together and must be sprayed off periodically to avoid taxing the unit.
At Council Point Park, a quick glance down at the trail showed me an abundance of fluff. I saw cottony seeds outlining the asphalt path, similar to how sudden snow flurries quickly settle into the area where the path meets the grass. What cotton seeds don’t land on the path like this …
… are sure to land in the water, so it appears that cotton balls are dotting the Creek surface.
But it was not just cotton-filled trails; I saw a Cottontail.
This bunny was so small that it had not yet developed its most-recognizable attribute, that white powder puff tail that identifies Michigan’s Cottontail Rabbits.
Slowly I retrieved the camera from its pouch and that slight movement caused the bunny to bolt. Bummer! But he aimed for a patch of fresh mulch beneath a memorial tree. “Perfect!” I thought, but then Parker ambled over near my feet.
Unlike the bunny, Parker is far from shy!
“Yes I see you dear” I told him, but the ever-impatient Parker, who is used to being indulged his every peanut whim, was not fine with waiting. We had a mini stare-down and I swear if he could stomp his little paws like a whiny toddler, he would have done so, all the while protesting “nuts now please!” I whispered to him to please be still and that didn’t work as he climbed aboard my right shoe, then rested his front paw on the cuff of my sock. He’s bold as brass, as you know. Next, I saw him glance up at the bag of peanuts suspended in a mesh bag off my fanny pack, and, fearing he’d make an acrobatic move to reach them and accidentally claw my bare leg, I stopped, fished out a few peanuts, then laid them on the ground.
In that few seconds I took my eyes off the bunny, that mini Cottontail had hightailed it to an area where some tender shoots were growing. Obscured by a large leaf that he nibbled on, all I saw was a pair of twitching furry ears with shell pink translucent inner portions that were bathed in the soft morning light.
I got these few shots of this cutie pie, though he kept scooting back into the shady area. (Thanks Parker.) So, I fed a few more peanuts to Parker who hung around, afraid he might miss something. Hmm … was I just imagining that Parker seemed miffed to not be the center of attention?
I did NOT have my ducks in a row on the morning I saw Mama Mallard and her cute contingent of “mini-me” ducklings marching in a perfect queue behind her. They were the epitome of all that is good in this world, balls of fluff, each hurrying along on tiny legs to keep pace with Mama and their siblings.
Followers of my blog know I’ve long lamented not seeing ducklings at any of the park venues that I frequent. Every Spring I go in quest of duckling sightings and pictures, whether to Coan Lake at Heritage Park, down to the Detroit River, or even to Lake Erie Metropark or Elizabeth Park. All are big duck hangouts, but no ducklings were discovered.
Then this scenario literally fell into my lap.
I was running late last Thursday morning. I really couldn’t blame it on the fireworks that erupt nightly in the ‘hood until 11:00 p.m. from Memorial Day to Labor Day, but it might have been the wind that continued howling into the wee hours of the night, long after the storm ended. I had agonized over that pending severe weather all day Wednesday. Grateful we were spared that bullet of possible tornadic action, hail and 70 mph/113 kph winds, after an angst-ridden day, I happily drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened several times through the night by the wind whooshing around in the trees, making an eerie noise.
The alarm rang, more obnoxious than usual after just a few hours’ sleep and I didn’t put enough speed into my routine and decided to just drive to the Park. There I saw fellow walker Janet and we visited a few minutes, then decided to walk together. I was doling out peanuts to the squirrels when Janet said “look over there!” My head swirled around to see a female Mallard marching in the fenced-in soccer field with a passel of ducklings behind her. We watched as Mama and her charges stayed close to the fence. I grumbled that “any other day I’d have my camera with me, but I haven’t seen much here lately, so I left it at home!”
Well, we had time to walk Loop #1, then Loop #2, then back to the first loop, where Mama and her minions continued their relentless march along the fence line. Before Janet and I parted, I told her since I had the car, I was going home for the camera and hopefully they’d still be there when I returned.
Hey everyone – this is no time to be camera-shy!
Yes, I went back, a little breathlessly, as it was getting later and I didn’t want to be late for work. In my haste, oops … I forgot to bring the peanuts back with me – hopefully no squirrels were there to beg and/or complain. I headed straight to the fence and there they were, still marching in place. Query: were they exercising?
To be honest, I found it odd to see ducks roaming on land to begin with. At larger water venues, sure they flock around the water, sleeping in huddles with a sentry duck keeping watch over them, but they are always close enough to fly or waddle over to the water should they feel endangered by a predator, human or otherwise. At Council Point Park, sometimes the Mallards wander onto the Creek banks or bask in the sun on the cement ledge, but those instances are few and far between.
I admired them and took a few shots, then a woman walker saw me standing there and came over to see what had piqued my interest. “Aw, how cute, look how little” were the delighted words that tumbled out of her mouth right away. I said they’d been walking the fence line almost two hours by now, then explained I had time to drive home/back and they were still at it. A worried look crossed her face and she turned to me and said “maybe Mom doesn’t remember where she went in – should we help? Do something? Is this all fenced in here?” We tried to figure out where there was an unfenced area, but couldn’t tell. The woman said “don’t they need to be in the water by now?” I said “I dunno” – I was feeling helpless for their welfare, plus a tad guilty that my principal concern had been returning to take that long-coveted “ducklings in a row” photo.
Together we quietly approached the family, both of us taking baby steps – perhaps we scared her, because in a heartbeat she ducked her head, dipped under the fence and the ducklings streamed behind her never missing a beat. 🙂
That picture of the regrouped family is featured up top, but then when I got home and looked at the photos on the screen, I realized in this photo, there were ten, not nine, little ducklings as originally thought. Yes, they all blend together, don’t they?
The other walker said “well now I can sleep better tonight.” I laughed and said “me too!”
I got this next photo as they crossed the walking path – Mama appeared anxious to get to the Creek. Perhaps these two gawking humans made her nervous. Check out the last duckling and the big strides it was taking to keep up with its siblings.
Through the tall grass and down to the Creek bank they went …
… then one-by-one I watched them plop into the water, never more than a few inches away from Mama’s body and her watchful eye. It was a beautiful sight to see as they clamored around her, then headed down the far side of the Creek.
I ran down to the cement ledge figuring I had lots of time before their arrival. Boy, was I wrong! They paddled so quickly that they had arrived there less than five minutes later. I took the last photos and soon they had disappeared out of sight.
What a treat that was to see and, as I walked to the car, I knew I could put a check mark next to Mallard Ducklings on the Photo Birdie Bucket List for 2020.
P.S. – I went to Heritage Park yesterday, always a haven for ducks. Unbelievably, as stated above, I’ve been there in late Spring scoping out ducklings many times, but if I didn’t see two different sets in Coan Lake. One set was around the same size as these and the other ducklings were much bigger, but they still stayed close to Mama Mallard nevertheless. I’ll feature those little cutie pies in an upcoming post.
Things are just ducky again now that my morning meanders are back at Council Point Park. During the one-month hiatus in May when I took to the City streets for my daily walks, I discovered there was one advantage regarding the many folks working from home, or just plain laid off for now, and that was that I didn’t have to watch for drivers zipping down the street, or backing up out of the driveway without looking first because they hit the snooze bar too many times and were running late. That’s a real problem, especially during the school year, as drivers often aren’t paying attention to pedestrians.
Although I was not studying homeowners’ trash every Monday on garbage day, I WAS observant. Those folks who were not working from home, just laid off, certainly were industrious … they were not going to log lots of hours in front of the TV, nor were they going to eat or snack all day and end up gaining that dreaded “quarantine 15” – nope, they were doing home improvements. I never saw so many brown Amazon boxes for home improvement products, or paint-splattered trays and used paint cans, ripped-and-splintered paneling and baseboards, or rolled-up old carpeting and padding, just to name a few items. Most significant were the piles of discarded items from the basement or garage – old TVs and VCRs. Perhaps people finally had time to go through and try one more time to make that weed whacker work properly, or tweak the hedge trimmers so they sheared perfectly and were not out of alignment because they ran them into the wall or the chain-link fence (yes, I did that once, into the fence when I stayed outside too long and sweat got into my eyes – oops!) It seemed like lots of folks were cleaning out old toy boxes too, as each week there were stuffed animals poking out of trash bins, discarded dolls or wagons that had seen better days.
On one such garbage day trek, I spotted this rubber ducky in the mud near a homeowner’s driveway.
In 2019, there was construction on Pagel Avenue the last six months of the year; the street and sidewalk replacement project was such a large ordeal that I was forced to find a new route to Council Point Park. The City has since replaced the grass which they tore up during this massive undertaking, but before doing so, I discovered this yellow rubber duck. It looked a little forlorn, and I had to take a photo of it since I have a few oddball images in my picture folders and why not add this one? Alas, I have a blog post spot for this rubber ducky photo.
Unlike Sesame Street’s Ernie, who is pictured in this video, I never had a rubber ducky in my bathtub when I was a little nipper. That’s because Mom was no-nonsense when it was bath time. No fun and games for me, no gimmicky water toys or Mr. Bubble” bubble bath … I just got into the tub, scrubbed up and was out again in a flash, then in my PJs for bed. Oh well, I guess it was not a bad childhood, just because of those minor fun bath time details.
Birdie bath time.
I’ve mentioned before that if you want to be amused sometime, just watch a bird, any type, enjoying a bath, whether they indulge themselves at the Detroit River, the birdbath in your backyard, or hopping through the sprinkler.
Ducks are no different – they’ll splish-splash in the water, all year around. So, here are a few ducks performing their morning ablution at the Ecorse Creek in Council Point Park. This feathery guy and gal are not as fancy as that old-fashioned word for washing themselves – they are just about the dippin’ and divin’, spreadin’ their wings and shakin’ their tail feathers.
“Which one of us is the best lookin’? I think it is rather obvious, but what say you?”
They might be playing games when submerging beneath the Ecorse Creek, disappearing into a whirlpool for a few minutes.
“Hmm – where did she go – she was just here?!”
“It’s all fun and games until your Mallard mate goes missing while trying to get deep cleaned.”
Watch them begin the drying off (or maybe showing off) process for their plumage.
“I can tread water and dry my wings at the same time – pretty cool, huh?”
“Sigh … I can do that too – watch me!”
All spiffed up and good as new. Yep, there is a whole art to it and when they are done, they are squeaky clean, so they can preen and distribute the oil throughout their feathers, keeping them waterproof – you never saw a duck with an umbrella did you?
“Well, there she goes again, my mate is part mermaid!”
“Look at me! I’m squeaky clean right down to the tip of my beak!”
“OK, we washed our beaks, feet and feathers (we don’t have hands) and we’re social distancing like we’re supposed to, so where do you want to go for breakfast?”
During the one-month period of time when Council Point Park was closed by the Mayor of our City, I tried to vary my walking routes. I wanted the steps, but didn’t want to get bored with the routine. Some days I wended my way down to the Park and walked along the fringe, but most days I relied on the tried-and-true route that I walked for two years before discovering Council Point Park in April 2013. I went down Emmons Boulevard, a street full of stately homes and huge trees which form a shady canopy over the street once they leaf out. We had a cold start to May, where temps dipped down to the low 30s a few nights and snow flurries two mornings, so the leaves weren’t out right away.
To the tracks and back …
When I first began walking, Labor Day weekend 2011, I increased my steps daily. It was a very hot and humid weekend and I walked one City block in the ‘hood and was pooped. But gradually I increased my steps daily, by adding one more block to my new walking regimen. Soon I was up to a mile, then two miles and I remember I thought I was pretty cool the day I first walked to another city – I walked from Lincoln Park …
… to Wyandotte.
The two cities are separated by a road and footbridge that go over the Ecorse Creek. It is the same Creek that runs through Council Point Park.
Back when this was my daily route, I would often stop at the footbridge because there were ducks or geese paddling around in the water here. In fact, I used to take bread to feed them, until I discovered bread was not good for waterfowl.
Each time I crossed the footbridge in May, I gazed at each side, looking for a sign of life to take photos for my blog.
There were swallows dipping and diving through the trees, over the water and under the footbridge. They never stopped long enough to catch their breath, or so I could take a photo of them. I saw one duck and that was it. A lowly soccer ball floated down the Creek, making it seem a bit desolate.
Once I crossed the bridge into Wyandotte, I aimed to get to the railroad tracks every morning. “To the tracks and back” was my goal.
The train blitzes through around 8:15 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. several days a week. I only cross the tracks on weekends because one time I walked to the marina and stayed there for awhile, then on my way home, a very long train, with 100 plus boxcars, held me up. I’d still have made it back on time for work, but for the fact that the train stopped for some reason. To backtrack and find an alternate way home, would have taken too long, so I just waited it out. So trips to the River’s Edge Marina were relegated to weekends after that episode.
The marina is just a stone’s throw away from the Detroit River, but if I chose to walk all the way to this venue, I was in still another city, Ecorse. This year, due to COVID-19, kayaks and canoes were allowed before motorboats – the marina was not a hoppin’ place the few times I meandered there. I used to enjoy getting there early on a Saturday morning when a few shells were in place and one by one the rowers would step into the shells. The Ecorse Rowing Club is down the street by Dingell Park and many Saturday mornings I’d watch the rowers at the Club getting their exercise as their shells skimmed along the River.
Where else did I go? I also traveled through the nearby neighborhoods to get extra steps in. After mentioning to fellow blogger Laurie about a homeowner who had a metal container of dog treats for owners to reach in and give some to their pooches while on their walks, I tried to recall the cross-streets for that home to visit and take a picture. After wandering around trying to recall the location, I finally found it – yes indeed the dog treat container was still there.
I discovered something else about this home that sits on a double lot. Since the last time I walked past this corner, it looked totally different. Rather than the usual lawn, the homeowners have opted to have a carpet of ivy. And tucked into that ivy, were a bounty of ceramic critters who found their home alongside so many tulips, that I could have tiptoed through them. I’m going to spotlight that home separately.
I’m glad to be back at Council Point Park. Finally, the regular walkers are straggling back – unlike me, they are not on social media and only learned the Park re-opened by doing a drive-by. Slowly the squirrels are returning from begging in the nearby ‘hoods to begging at my feet. Whew – for a few days I feared my crown of “The Peanut Lady” had been tarnished. The peanut-eating birds remain at large but hopefully once the berry bushes are full, they will return en masse to munch on mulberries.
[No, it’s not what you think, but the expression “a riot of color” is apropos to these colorful blooms amidst the bleak days we are muddling through now, between the COVID-19 pandemic and the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder.]
Not so very long ago, if someone asked me what my hobbies were, without missing a beat, I’d answer “gardening and reading” … that was before the walking and blogging bugs bit me.
The saga began in 2005 when I decided to try my hand at growing perennials, although I still planted annuals in pots and baskets around the front, side and back yards as well. I perused countless gardening sites on the internet, subscribed to Birds and Blooms magazine and my e-mail inbox groaned with many gardening mailings. Soon I became obsessed with the garden, getting up at the crack of dawn daily to hand water, weed and deadhead the blooms before catching the bus to work. Weekends were spent toiling in the front and back yards, but mostly in the back where the majority of flowers grew. I simply could not rest until there were no weeds, nor a single piece of mulch out of place, no matter how often the Robins flipped mulch pieces every which way while digging for worms. I catered to the birds with four birdbaths in various sizes and two feeders plus Birdola birdseed cakes. It was a lot of work and for much younger legs. 🙂
And then a new neighbor moved in behind with a dog that was left out 24/7/365 and soon we had rats. The pest control service we hired said I needed to remove the feeders and birdbaths since the rats would seek food, but more importantly, a water source as the poison slowly dried their insides.
It was horrible – the birds were lined up along the chain-link fence, questioning looks on their faces – no more food or water? Why? I moved about the yard with trepidation, as there was not a single inch of the perimeter of the yard that was bare. The bushes and plants, once a place for bunnies and squirrels to go, now gave the rats plenty of places to hide. In the heat of the Summer one year, I went out to water and found two dead and bloated rat bodies – I was just beside myself.
Two years later, in 2008, the pest control service gave me the okay to resume feeding and watering the birds, after the neighbor, his dog and his garage filled with chickens, moved away six months prior. I learned of the chickens from the neighbor that bought the house. Once again I began logging lots of hours in the yard, until my mother remarked “you spend too much time out there – relax already!”
After my mother passed away in January 2010, I decided to try my hand at climbing roses and make a small memorial garden. I got three “Stairway to Heaven” climbers and an umbrella trellis and spent countless hours, not to mention dollars, battling black spot and I finally ripped out the climbing roses before they spread the disease to my shrub roses which had never been problematic or disease prone.
I also had a slugfest with slugs in 2010 and used a product called “Sluggo” which turned into a congealed white and sticky goo once you watered the plants or it rained. The slugs persisted in chomping on my Hosta and Lily leaves. I placed copper wire, so they would electrocute themselves as their slimy bodies traveled over the copper, but that was a wasted effort. My next plan of attack was putting mushroom-shaped soapstone containers filled with beer around the yard. The beer was supposed to entice the slugs to gravitate to the yeasty liquid where they would enter the two holes on each side, then feast, get drunk and hopefully drown. Oh what fun, on a hot and humid August morning to rinse out containers of stale beer filled with floating slug bodies.
Despite these disease and buggy issues, I enhanced my backyard paradise by turning it into a haven for butterflies. I researched and bought books on what flowers to plant, and added three Butterfly Bushes and some more pink Coneflowers to attract butterflies. I set out puddling dishes where they could sip water from cool sand, sunning rocks to stretch out and bask in the sun and even wooden houses with thin slits where they could slide in to avoid predators, or seek refuge on a windy day. I devoured every article I could to make my backyard a safe haven for birds, bees and butterflies and even got the yard certified by the National Wildlife Association as a Certified Wildlife Habitat.
I’d probably still be fine-tuning my green thumb out in the backyard paradise, if not for the one-two punch of the back-to-back Polar Vortex events in 2014 and 2015. Southeast Michigan was part of the “2014 North American Cold Wave” which lasted from early January through March. We endured wind chills that dipped to -45F (-43C) and while our furnaces huffed and puffed and we hunkered down in the house, little did I know that my garden likewise took it on the chin. Despite the fact I was mindful of the proper planting/temperature zones for every single plant, Michigan had never seen the likes of the brutally cold, record-setting temps we had that year.
When Spring began to unfold, I walked around the backyard, taking stock of the roses and perennials that lined the perimeter of the yard. I was horrified and heartbroken to see many of them dead as a doornail. The vibrant red “Home Run Shrub Roses” and delicate shell-pink “Bonica Shrub Roses”, once so hardy, ever-blooming and low maintenance, were now brown and lifeless. One small pink shrub rose bush had survived, a dollar special at the end of the growing year circa 1985, with a moniker of “Dream Cloud” which was protected by lilac bushes. Unlike past Springs where I welcomed budding and blossoming plants and would whip the yard into shape, instead I spent my weekends yanking out dead bushes and pruning the roses to the ground willing them to live. I decided if they lived, so be it and I refused to buy new plants and bushes to restore the yard to its former glory and have maintained that mindset.
The following Winter we had a second Polar Vortex event which wiped out all but one of my prized clematises. I decided I’d had it. Disheartened, I left the garden alone, grudgingly going there just to weed, then got out of Dodge. I decided I needed more “me time” for walking and blogging, so I vowed my gardening days were done – I had no time for all the nonsense and expense. The rats returned – I saw their star-shaped footprints and tail tunnel tracks in the snow. I did not hire the pest service but removed all traces of bird amenities for good.
The advent of Homer the Hummingbird and trying to entice hummers to the yard, plus admitting to being a wee bit envious of all the nice landscaping and flowers as I walked through the neighborhoods in May while Council Point Park was closed, was the kick in the pants I needed to take pride in the garden again. I spent all last weekend outside, and in the end, I felt like a Mack truck rolled over me, but it passed muster, though the backyard will never be restored to its former glory as I let it languish too long.
Though I have a love/hate relationship with flowers now, it does not mean I cannot enjoy the beauty of colorful flowers – here are a few I saw along the way while walking in the ‘hood. It gives new meaning to the song “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood” doesn’t it?
Enjoy this eye candy! I’ll leave you with this quote:
Photography is the art of observation. It has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them. ~Elliott Erwitt
I breathed a sigh of relief and was grateful when it was announced on local social media that Council Point Park would re-open on June 2nd. The re-opening might have been in conjunction with the Governor’s June 1st declaration that after 70 days of lockdown, the Stay-Home/Stay-Safe Order was set aside. However, since Day #1 of the Order, (March 24th at 12:01 a.m.), Michiganders were always encouraged to get outside and enjoy the fresh air and bike, hike or walk – it was the Mayor who ordered all 22 City parks closed effective May 1st due to a high incidence of deaths/cases in our City.
So yes, we are officially out of lockdown, except for gyms, hair/nail salons, tattoo parlors and casinos. How does it feel? Well, you know I am smilin’!
It was just not the same walking in the ‘hood, though I’ve collected a bounty of photos to share in a few days. The ‘hood was good for smiles and “good mornings” to fellow Lincoln Parkers out walking their dogs, or grabbing the newspaper from the driveway, setting up the sprinkler, or sipping coffee on the porch while in their robes and fuzzy slippers.
Yes, I visited with Parker and his pals who raced over one by one and were rewarded with peanuts. I didn’t see too many Cardinals and Bluejays while traveling the old familiar path and hopefully I’ve not lost my rapport with them. Isn’t the expression “absence makes the heart grow fonder?” So, show me the love birdies.
I saw a pretty Goldfinch foraging for food since the thistles are not yet ready and many Sparrows had lined up on the garbage cans looking for handouts just like before. Harry the Heron was MIA, but the geese and their goslings were plentiful (along with poop a’plenty since the families have had the place to themselves, so, if they felt like travelin’ along the perimeter path, there were no humans to get in their way). I did a lot of side-steppin’ while grumbling about it. I was not the only one grumbling, as I walked past one group of grazing geese and I am sure I detected a look of disdain on the face of one gander, as if to say “well, oh goody … look who’s back, the pain-in-the-neck woman with the camera!”
The fun part of the morning was seeing this mess o’ goslings when I got close to the cement landing, two families, but wait … there had to be more than two families here – just look at them from afar! One set of adult geese (most likely the parents of the offspring) was watchful of each brood.
I tried counting those feathery babies, but gave up trying, as they were all flopped down on the ground and nestled against one another. So, do YOU want to hazard a guess how many goslings there were altogether? I was never good at guessing the amount of jellybeans in a candy jar, or dried beans in a mason jar, at the county fair – perhaps you were?
I decided counting goslings might be better when I had the photos on the screen, so I could just hone in on each family and eyeball them that way. Interestingly, all the goslings appeared to be the same age, unlike the range of ages you saw in my recent post about the geese families at BASF Waterfront Park. Checking the goslings out on the screen was a definite improvement over watching the two ganders out of the corner of my eye to ensure they did not take issue with my presence, not to mention the generally disgruntled attitudes of most ganders to begin with.
This is Brood #1.
This brood was the bigger contingent of fuzzy goslings.
This is Brood #2.
This group was not as large, but the norm is about five or six goslings. (Might these have been offspring of some of those peanut-eating geese who scammed the squirrels’ peanuts back at the tail end of 2019 and produced progeny of this magnitude?)
Just as I was comparing brood size, note in this photo below how Mama Goose opened her beak and gave a honk.
That honk signaled EVERYONE should march down to the edge of the cement landing and gently float into the water. Nope, I do not understand, nor speak, “geese-ese” but that is just what happened next as Brood #1 plopped into the Creek, quickly followed by Brood #2.
Brood #1 sped away and one gosling was trailing behind and missed getting in the photo – there were nine goslings.
Brood #2 exited stage left and there were eight goslings in all.
And just like that, they were gone.
Did you guess correctly as to how many goslings? You almost needed all your fingers, or an abacus, because there were seventeen goslings in all.
I thought I’d dust off my Friday Frivolity feature to share a few thoughts about birdies and bandanas that have been rumbling around in my brain while I’ve been rambling around the ‘hood.
It is also a chance to bemoan the fact that it is four weeks today since Council Point Park closed. I’ve been taking some pictures of what I’ve seen and where I’ve been in the ‘hood, though that collection of photos would never equal, nor surpass, my last walk taken at Council Point Park on May 1st. On that day, I was blessed with a bounty of furry and feathered critters that crossed my path, saw blossoms on ornamental trees in bloom, all framed by a flawless blue sky. Sigh. Hopefully our City’s 22 parks will open soon. I walk by my favorite nature nook all the time, as well as check the City’s Facebook neighborhood chat forum, to see if the situation is status quo or not, but sadly the barriers blocking the entrance remain and we walkers are shut out.
My morning jaunts at the Park were beneficial to my brain, as well as getting steps in toward my final goal. As I walked along the perimeter path, a bag of peanuts clasped in one hand, and the compact digital camera in the other, I felt as free as a bird. All time spent on the walking loops in a natural setting was the best way to begin my day for the past seven years.
Follow me where I go …
I do miss tendering peanuts to the squirrels, but the birds were also my little peanut buddies in my morning meanders. I liked that the Blue Jays, Cardinals and even the rather-ornery Red-Winged Blackbirds, would often follow me around, flying from tree to tree, waiting for an opportune moment to swoop down and snatch a peanut from under a squirrel’s nose. Sometimes I’d catch those birds eyeing me from the tree tops, then, once they knew they had caught my eye, they would hop down closer to me, knowing I’d toss down peanuts just for them. I shake my head when I hear people calling them bird brains, an expression that is the biggest misnomer ever! In fact, I had built up a rapport with these feathered friends – it is not just the squirrels who are interested in treats – a peanut for a pose benefits both of us. 🙂
One of the last times I walked at Council Point Park, I had the eerie feeling of being followed. It is not unusual to have a squirrel or two following at my heels, especially if they were distracted and missed my first pass-through along the loop where they congregate. In the past, walkers behind me, or approaching from the other side, have snickered, then pointed to the ground while saying “look behind you!” I saw what made them laugh, as I resembled the Pied Piper of Hamelin, that legendary fellow who lured the rats away from Hamelin, Germany while playing his magic pipe. Well, I had no magic pipe, just peanuts and perhaps the smell of fresh nuts was wafting from the open bag. (Then again, it might have been my personality – who knows?)
So … back to that feeling of being followed. Well, I slowly craned my neck around to find a beautiful male Cardinal hopping along the path behind me. I couldn’t help but smile, then immediately thought “hmm – how long has he been there?” Then I amended that thought to “good thing I didn’t back up!”
Usually the birds just swoop down and snatch a peanut from the squirrel’s pile … so maybe he was the shy type? I rewarded him with extra peanuts for his effort and after I watched him grab the largest one in his beak and head off for parts unknown, I said “now don’t forget to come back and finish these okay? At least take some home for the little woman, or a few for the kids – by the way, are those babies weaned from grubs and onto peanuts yet, or are you still awaiting the big event?”
Yes, I talk to all the birds in the trees to coax them down, or give them an “Atta boy” or “Atta girl” for being bold and brazen, especially if they ventured over on their own. I follow a few birding sites online and yes, birds do recognize their human friends, not only identifying them by their face, but also differentiating between human voices. (I concede that a Ziploc bag in my hand or peeking out of a coat pocket may make a difference too.)
Too bad I was walking without the camera that day, but, as I whirled around to move along, another walker caught up with me and said “I saw what happened there – that was pretty cool – are you a Cardinal whisperer?”
Hmm – I lived on that compliment the rest of my walk. He seemed incredulous that a bird would hop along behind me.
Late to the peanut party.
What made that morning just a little sweeter was when I got home from walking and there was a male Cardinal sitting on the porch. I glanced toward the wire basket of peanuts I left for the squirrels and birds and it was empty – yes, this beautiful red bird was late to the peanut party, so could I help out? He waited until I opened the bag I had in my pocket, then put a few on the porch for him, then he took off with one.
Whistle in the wind – bandanas and birdies.
Well sadly, all the fun and games with the critters at Council Point Park came to a crashing halt on May 1st. I am relegated now to walking only in the ‘hood and will do a picture-laden post to show what I’ve seen during the month of May. But remember – I wended my way to the Park by walking through the ‘hood most days – other days I drove to give the car a run, but usually I walked one mile each way. So communing with nature in the ‘hood is not something new to me.
One thing that always amuses me are the birds on my morning walks. A cheery Robin will be singing, or a Cardinal will be tweeting, and, as I usually do, I whistle back at them. In some cases, a bird will fly after me, alighting on a branch, singing sweetly while I whistle back. This is not unusual at all, but now there is a hitch. Wearing a bandana has not been conducive to maintaining our little game. After all – how does one whistle while wearing a bandana? Well, it is a muffled whistle at best and a pretty poor showing on my part. Hard as I may try, I can no longer match the Cardinal’s tweets note for note like I usually do. At first the resident Cardinal got a bit exasperated with me for not participating in our usual repartee, so he kept getting louder, perhaps thinking I was distracted and didn’t hear him? (How could that be … this bright-red bird was persistent and loud!) I found myself muttering a muffled apology, though my mouth was concealed by the bandana, so the apology was rather lame. As a concession, I ended up tossing some peanuts down onto the sidewalk as a peace offering, since the head tilt told me my little feathered friend had decided I’d lost my whistling ability.
Bandanas – a dozen of them, all the same to keep the mystique going. Who is the woman behind the dark glasses and the mask? Also, it’s easier for critters to recognize me – some method in my madness.
Don’t feel bad birdies – wearing a mask is like shaving off your eyebrows. Your face is devoid of expression. Often when I’m walking and encounter an unmasked walker, they might smile and say good morning. I reciprocate, but belatedly realize my smile is covered – so, do my eyes crinkle up in those so-called “laugh lines?” There are many things to ponder these days.
Singing is not the only amusement offered by my fine-feathered friends.
Birdhouses and birdies.
During a large part of our State’s Stay-Safe/Stay-Home Order, most non-essential services were nixed. As the Order became less restrictive, more businesses have been able to open up, like builders being allowed to return to work sites and building homes as of May 7th.
The birds were way ahead of these brick-and-mortar builders and since May is the primo time for birds building nests, I was checking the elbow in my coach light daily, since this is a favorite spot for Robins to raise their chicks. Well, not if I can help it and I’ve warred with these nest-building birds nearly every Spring for years. Whew – I caught a break this year thankfully. Those industrious Robins can build a nest in 24 hours that is rock solid, airtight, quickly slapped together with long grass, wet mud and lots of love for their bundles of joy that are on the way, but still encased in the pretty blue egg. The downside for me, however, is their mud splats drip down on the mailbox and porch and once the mud hardens, it cements the nest, which will function as a nursery, so it fits snugly in the elbow of the lamp – believe me, it isn’t going anywhere soon. Me, the big meanie, wages war to stop them in their tracks by stuffing the elbow with bags or balloons. Perhaps they tired of me ripping it down, or decided to simply not tangle with me and said “let’s give Linda a break – 2020 is rough enough.”
Since I’ve been walking in the ‘hood and returning to old haunts, I’ve been scoping out gutters and low-hanging trees for potential shots of Mama Robins sitting on the nest, or hatchlings with their mouths upturned awaiting grubs and worm bits. But I’ve not yet been successful. I may be ready to take photos like in the past, but where the heck is everyone?
Even while the Park was still open, I found no Robin’s nests – the last two years I was lucky to track two or three families and enjoyed using the camera for that 14 days to capture images from hatchlings to fledglings. No such luck this year.
Home Tweet Home.
I have even seen some vacant homes, er … nests, which I’ve been monitoring for any birdie action, but no such luck. I mused to myself thinking how a realtor would describe these little gems.
“Movin’ On Up” to a gated community.
Peaceful with protection from Biblical rains AND very near a church.
This is cheepPeeps! A fixer-upper for sure, but a great starter home!
If ready-made is your shtick, this rustic, two-level home in the ‘burbs has your name on it.
Birds have always brought me joy, whether beloved pets, or songbirds in the wild. I am ecstatic to find a hummingbird flitting around the garden (especially since there are no flowers – dare I admit that Homer honed in on a tall weed with pink flowers?) So, I took a leap of faith and bought two small feeders to put up and will see if Homer will stick around and bring along some hummingbird pals for sugary Slurpees.
Linda Schaub
WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY 