Old Yard, New Eyes

Female Pileated Woodpecker in flight

I stood outside today, probably the coldest day of the winter so far, while my family enjoyed being indoors in the warmth. I was in my own back yard, camera in hand, because I had heard a familiar cackling that told me my yard's newest residents, a pair of pileated woodpeckers, were in view, working on a dead tree just past my property line, but well in view from my deck. I was just going to watch the pair briefly and head back in-- it was cold, and I was a bit under-dressed for the weather. As I watched, the cardinals, tufted titmice, Carolina chickadees, juncos, and red and white breasted nuthatches flew around me, filling me in on the latest avian gossip; the white-throated sparrows scratched around in the grass nearby, tossing leaves about. Suddenly, it came-- that warning cry that makes 30 or more birds instantly dive for cover in the brush and disappear. I looked over at the pileated woodpecker. The male was nowhere to be seen, and the female had sidled away from the hole, over to the near side of the trunk, where it was now sitting still as a statue. Woodpeckers will do that, I have found. They will align themselves with whatever branch or feeder they are currently perched on, and just freeze totally in place until danger has passed. I saw nothing as I scanned the branches, looking for a bump that didn't belong, and then the red-tailed hawk swooped overhead, frustrated. It's prey was gone.

American Goldfinch on a Nyjer feeder

I started birding a little over a year ago, quite by accident. I noticed these bright little yellow birds clinging to my purple coneflowers by the front door, and on impulse, I grabbed my camera and took a few photos through the glass of the front door, hidden from view of the birds. Gratifyingly, some of these photos turned out okay. I wondered, if I sat outside very still, would the goldfinches return, allowing me to get a photo? With my zoom, would the shutter on my Nikon point and shoot be fast enough to get a good shot? A new hobby was born. Some 16 months later, I'm still taking photos in my own suburban yard, often to my family's utter bafflement. This begs the question: just how much of interest can one see in one suburban yard, and how long can this remain interesting?

Apparently, this modest patch of ground -- less than half an acre-- can remain interesting for at least 16 months, and counting. At the start of this accidental hobby, I would have told you my yard was pretty boring. That we had robins of course-- doesn't everyone in the mid-Atlantic? These little goldfinches, natch. The occasional crow or bluejay, and overhead we'd have Canada geese and an occasional heron or vulture type thing. But that was about it. The reason my yard was boring, it turns out, was not a lack of biodiversity. It was me. I simply wasn't observant. As I began paying attention, and hanging around outside with my camera, and then a field guide, and a sketchbook, and a friend from high school who is an avid birder on speed-text, I began adding to the list of birds observed in my yard. And adding. On the advice of my friend, I downloaded the app eBird and used it to help me keep track of my sightings in a more systematic way (and to contribute to scientific observation of birds worldwide, tracking overall trends in populations and migration data).

Downy Woodpecker

In just one a year (Jan 1--Dec 31 2018), counting ONLY the birds I was organized enough to report to ebird, I spotted 68 species in my back yard in 2018. I can now tell you that I have at least 5 types of woodpecker residing part-time in my yard (downy, hairy, red-bellied, northern flicker, and pileated) and I can tell if they are nearby by the sounds they make, and tell most of them apart (I won't swear I can tell a downy and a hairy woodpecker apart by sound). I can tell you that if I put out new feed, the chickadees and titmice will arrive first and tell everyone the buffet has arrived, and are the least disturbed by my presence, and about how far I have to perch myself to see the greatest variety of birds. My kids can tell you that I think it's pretty exciting to look outside and see something I've never noticed before (the first time I saw a rose-breasted grosbeak, a bird I didn't even know existed, was SO COOL). But . . . still . . . most days are, in fact, populated by a pretty consistent cast of characters in any one season. Juncos and white-throated sparrows arrive when it's cold. Warblers arrive as the weather warms up. Hummingbirds take up residence in summer. There isn't much more to it than that, is there? And how many nuthatch photos does one even need?

Brown creeper

That question crossed my mind as I stood outdoors today with my face turning numb and I watched the female pileated woodpecker fly away, emitting her odd, merry laugh. Heading back inside seemed a good idea. And then a flutter by my right shoulder caught my eye. Turning my head slowly, I looked, and saw a brown creeper making its steady way up the tree trunk next to me. I have only seen that in my yard three times in 16 months, and certainly never so close I could touch it! As I stood there watching, there was a rustling behind the treeline a bit louder than the squirrels tend to make. I watched, and after a moment, a herd of 7 deer made its way past. I decided to stay outside a bit longer. After all, my face was already numb. Over my head, a curious white-breasted nuthatch peeked at me from on top of a branch, and scolded a bit before heading over to the feeders to grab a few seeds. A red-bellied woodpecker searched the tree I was standing under for bugs. And then whoosh-- everybody disappeared again. This time, there was a great scolding down low to the ground. A few moments later, a red fox trotted away through the trees and the birds settled down. I saw some very small birds that looked pretty familiar overhead, but they were making an unfamiliar call, and there were more of them than I typically see together. It was only after I looked through my bins that I confirmed the unusual call was being made by a group of five chickadees chasing away a house sparrow. It must be a territorial defense noise rather than their, "HEY FOOD LADY IS HERE GUYS" call that I'm used to hearing.

White-breasted nuthatch

As a flock of Canada geese flew overhead toward my neighbor's pond to settle in for the afternoon, I decided to head back inside, mentally tallying my day. 28 species today. In just about an hour, I observed 28 species of birds, a small herd of deer, a fox, several territorial squabbles amongst the birds, a new potential home being built, and a bird I occasionally, but rarely see in my yard, at very close range. I ponder some of the more fun things I have seen-- a pair of mallards strolling through one day; a female thrasher feeding its baby; lots of babies fledging; cardinals changing color from the brown baby tones to the more colorful red and red-brown jewel tones of the adults; a great blue heron flying overhead each afternoon in summer; some little migrants, appearing only for a few days before moving on, a rare sight; the unusual way one chickadee likes to hold one foot curled upside-down when standing on the deck railing; the incredible sound of a dozen turkey vultures taking flight at once with those impossibly awkward bodies; the bright yellow and iridescent red flashes seen from the northern flickers, and the iridescent red and green of the hummingbirds chasing much larger birds away from their feeders.

And I look forward to another year of staring at birds in my own, not-so-boring back yard.