A Hawk, A Sapsucker, and A Squirrel Went Into a Yard.....

A hawk, a sapsucker, and a squirrel went into a yard and ... found it appealing enough to stay for a while. 

There is no punchline to this rather pathetic attempt at imitating the old joke.  I'm actually referring to our yard and I get profound pleasure out of sharing it with other animals.  That's no joke, indeed.  It's great fun to see the variety of creatures that peacefully cohabit with us, if not always with each other.

It's even MORE fun when they pose for a picture for me!

So, just for kicks and giggles, here are some of the critters I've been seeing around lately....

About 10 days before Christmas, I was doing laundry and noticed a movement outside the laundry room door.  Imagine my delight at seeing a young yellow-bellied sapsucker female (Sphyrapicus varius) working earnestly on the side of the pignut hickory tree (Carya glabra) that's located nearby.  I got a huge series of shots, but they are all essentially the same, so here's one that shows her classy yellow belly feathers beginning to grow in, as well as her sadly inadequate ability to line up the holes that she was boring into the side of the tree.

A question for anyone who's a serious birder: is this a common phenomenon in young sapsuckers, or is this particular individual just having unusual difficulties with her grasp of horizontality?  Here is an expanded version of how she "lined up" the holes she was drilling.

Speaking of pignut hickory trees, the Eastern Gray Squirrels (Sciurus carolinensis) love the hickory nuts that the trees produce abundantly each fall and they frequent our yard and gardens throughout the winter.  They don't necessarily like to pose, generally being much too busy to wait around that long, but sometimes one will humor me. 

Once I downloaded the photos this guy "sat" for and looked at him a little more closely, he (I'm just guessing at the sex) looked like the squirrel equivalent of a tomcat.  Seriously - do squirrels fight each other?  How else would this guy's ears have gotten so tattered? 

Most often I see the squirrels using our trees as a sort of squirrel highway along the lakeside, but they obviously stop and refill their bellies, too, based on the number of gnawed open, empty nuts I find.

On the same day that Mr. Squirrel posed for me, February 5th, I was able to get a photo or two of what I believe is a question mark butterfly (Polygonia interrogationis).  It didn't let me get very close, so I was glad that the photos turned out as well as they did.

The lavender wing borders are particularly stunning when you can see them as clearly as you can in these photos. 

Question marks, commas, and goatweed butterflies, which all look fairly similar to me, are some of the first butterflies I see each spring, presumably because they overwinter as adults.

Four days later, on February 9th, we had a pair of stately visitors on our lake:  Brown Pelicans (Pelecanus occidentalis).  We don't seem them often on our little body of water, but I sure love it when they grace us with their presence!

I remember when brown pelicans were endangered, thanks to DDT, which made their egg shells so thin that they cracked from the weight of the mother bird incubating.  Because of the Endangered Species Act, the populations of brown pelicans and ospreys and bald eagles and many other animals have come back to healthy levels and it is relatively easy to have a sighting of many of these species now if you look in the right habitat.  It deeply saddens me that the current administration, with the aid of Congress, is doing away with so many important environmental protections that have helped in so many ways during the last 40 years.

But back to more positive thoughts and sightings....

Evidently a timely pattern had developed for me during February, because another 4 days later, on the 13th, I was out photographing again.  This time I captured the first damselfly of spring, a young female Fragile Forktail (Ischnura posita).

One of the ways to sex many dragonfly and damselfly species (for humans, at least) is by their color.  The pale blue of the damselfly above indicates both her age and her sex.  A few days later, I saw and photographed a male fragile forktail in the same general area, identified by his bright green color in the same pattern as the young female.

Fragile forktails are common damselflies of the eastern United States.  Unfortunately, I have not found any information explaining their common name;  it's an interesting enough name to have a fun history or explanation behind it.  Fragile forktails are fairly easy to identify by the colorful interrupted line that forms an "exclamation mark" on the each dorsal side of the thorax.

On the same day that I saw the male fragile forktail, I saw this little treefrog resting on the back porch screen.  I had just come outside when I saw it and snapped this photo;  my camera lens fogged up in the early morning humidity and by the time it unfogged, this little guy had taken shelter in some well hidden lair.

With only one, slightly blurry, photo to go by, I'm not sure as to his full identity, but he sure looks hungry from the winter's lack of insects to me.

Finally, last Saturday I was sitting on the ground and waiting beside a couple ground-dwelling native bee nests.

Call me crazy, but I was hoping to catch a glimpse of a bee coming or going, or better yet to snap a photo of one, so that I could identify the bee species responsible for these cute little "volcanoes" in the yard.  While I didn't see a bee, I sat still for long enough that a Red-shouldered Hawk (Buteo lineatus)flew in and perched in the hickory tree right above me.  He/she let me take several photos, but when I turned the camera sideways to fill the frame better, I'd moved too much for the hawk's comfort and it flew off.

Red-shouldered hawks, along with Cooper's hawks, seem to be the most common hawks in our neighborhood.  I hear them almost every day and see them most days, not infrequently perched in one of our trees. 

While I did get the photo of the hawk, unfortunately I was NOT able to get a look, let alone a photo, of the bee responsible for any of the ground nests in the yard.  One of these days I will be patient enough AND be in the right place at the right time to do that - I just have to keep trying!

Meanwhile, I'm pretty happy with the wildlife menagerie that I've been privileged to see and photograph this winter.  Best of all, the experiences are free and right outside my door!

Winter Walkout 2017

Labeling my walk this morning as a "winter walkout" seems like lying, but the calendar rules, so that's what I'll call it.

Leaving my front door, the first thing I noticed was this American flag.  The flag is not, technically, in my yard, even though it's visible from my front door, so I don't think I'm breaking the winter walkout rules by including this vignette.

Since I see it every time I leave my house, this algae-stained and sadly weathered flag has become symbolic to me.  The folks who display it are staunch conservatives; I'm sure they consider themselves to be displaying their patriotism.  I, however, see many other layers of meaning in its treatment as well.

Passing by their garden this morning, along the sidewalk in front of their house, I noticed a red camellia bloom with multiple centers:  colorful, perfectly imperfect, brightly shining for a few days...and then gone forever.  How's that for reading meaning into the natural world?!

Looking up, Spanish moss draping from the trees silvered the sand live oak canopies, which were silhouetted against the crisp blue sky.  It was truly a gorgeous morning!

Across the street, a painted concrete ball added a touch of whimsy to an otherwise classic, if rather off-kilter, driveway pillar.

Why a soccer ball?  I have visions of sports-mad teenagers living in the house, but I have never actually seen any activity beyond a single parked pickup truck in the driveway.

As I passed under the sand live oaks whose finery of Spanish moss had caught my eye, I looked up into the interior of one of the trees, relishing the texture of the heavy, sinuous branches with their finely textured leaves against the sky.

Live oaks, sand live oaks, burr oaks, cottonwoods, prairie elms - I love statuesque, gnarly trees with character!

Despite the February date, azaleas are in full bloom around here - about 3 weeks earlier than normal.  It always amuses and entertains me to imagine how azaleas mirror the personalities of their owners.  This big, beautiful plant feels like a woman with her hair down, relaxing in the sunlight.

Across the street, however, an azalea hedge separating two houses has a much more "buttoned up" appearance, sacrificing blooms and density for formality and "neatness".

As I pondered the character-predicting capabilities of azalea shrubs, I heard a large bird calling loudly up above me in the tree canopy.  Frustrated by my rude intrusion as I stood stock still on the sidewalk just below her perch, a red-shouldered hawk squawked at me from a tall pine for several minutes before finally flying off, unwilling to tolerate my presence any longer.  As she flew, I mentally thanked her for allowing me to capture her picture, despite her irritation.

Continuing down the sidewalk, I couldn't pass up a picture of this evocative rope swing, taking advantage of a meandering sand live oak branch in someone's front yard.  I just wish there had been several small kids playing on it while I passed by!

Not too far away, another large oak was in obvious decline, being strangled by a rapacious English ivy vine scrambling up its trunk to compete for the light above, while its roots competed for water and nutrients below.

Even as I was aiming the camera, trying to get a good angle on the ivy vine and oak tree, I registered calls from the red-shouldered hawk again.  Looking up, over a house roof and into a back yard, I saw a huge nest with its raucous owner standing guard nearby.

I had known there was a pair of red-shouldered hawks nesting in the area, as I'd seen some of their mating displays from our backyard, but now I know where their nest is!  Even a short walk can uncover some pretty amazing discoveries.

"Hawk Street" ends in a cul-de-sac that borders the local golf course.  I couldn't resist a quick photo of these blooming azalea bushes along the golf course fence, framed by oak trunks and overhung with Spanish moss.

Continuing around the cul-de-sac had me heading back towards home.  As I walked past a quite neglected (but obviously once loved) front yard, I noticed this little concrete cherub.  Nestled down in a mix of variegated English ivy and fern fronds, he was a warm love note amidst the ragged remnants of the overgrown landscape.

As a contrast to the earlier "interior landscape" of the sand live oak tree, I snapped a quick picture looking up into a fairly young southern magnolia.  They are both native trees, but there is such a different quality of light, color and texture in their forms!

Hearing a variety of different bird calls, loudly rattled off in sequence, I wasn't too surprised when this mockingbird flew over to a hedge, then up onto the electric wires.  It was so nice of him to pose for me!

Across the street from the mockingbird, more "buttoned down" neighbors are obviously careful to keep their azaleas from looking too wild and crazy.  These shrubs are probably younger than the earlier hedge, in a sunnier location, and pruned more frequently, so there were more blooms and a thicker appearance overall.  Still, I prefer my azaleas to be free.

Rounding another corner, I was looking at a highly squared off azalea when I noticed the trunk of the southern magnolia shading it.  What causes this braided appearance?  Pruning up of the branches earlier in its life?

Speaking of pruning, why was it necessary to pollard this poor tree, looking like hell in the hell strip?  I didn't recognize the species from just the truncated remains of the branches and the bark alone, so I'll have to keep an eye on it and see what the leaves look like when the poor thing finally manages to push out a few.

As an aside, though, the bark on the trunk had obviously been a favorite place for yellow-bellied sapsuckers to feed over the years, bearing a textural pattern of holes that could almost be used to create a modern art piece.

Now I was completing my small neighborhood loop, looking at the streetscape, ornamented by sand live oak trees, with the light behind me.   Aren't these trees wonderful?  It was the presence of these trees that attracted our daughter to this neighborhood, 5 or 6 years ago.  (Then 2 years ago, she and her husband and our grandbabies attracted us to the same neighborhood!)

In the foreground of the photo above, you can see the soccer plinth and a stump in front of it.  That stump is the remnant of a large popcorn tree, an invasive species (in the Euphorbia family!) that was, thankfully, cut down a year ago.  The stump is beginning to sport an accent of frilly fungus as it starts to decompose, but it was the deep blue of the spiderwort blooms that caught my eye.  I'm a real sucker for blues of this hue.

As I approached the end of my walk, I couldn't resist capturing this quintessentially southern scene, again from the garden across the street from us.  Oak trees provide structure, high shade, and a catch-hold for graceful Spanish moss.  Underneath those picturesque giants, tall, dark green camellias and lower, rounded azaleas bloom brightly, skirted by fallen camellia petals and ferns.  Can't you just hear the whispered southern accents and the clinking of ice in tall drink glasses?

Thank you for coming on my winter walkout with me.  It's been fun to share my regular haunts with you - and I've loved seeing where everyone else is doing their winter walkouts, too.

As I finish, though, I have to wonder what it would be like for different people to walk the same route and share what caught their attention.  Wouldn't that be a fun way to compare and contrast how each of us sees the world differently?!  Another project for another time, I guess.  I hope you're enjoying the world around you, whatever season your weather is bringing these days, wherever you're planted.