What's the collective noun for...

...a group of jays?

We don't have the same blue jays out here in the west. But we do have our own gorgeous (and friendly) blue bird, Steller's Jay. The one in the photo seemed to be the 'guardian' of our recent campsite along the Similkameen River. 

But back to my question: the collective noun for these birds. One site suggests such a group is called a band, a party, or a scold. 

I'm not crazy about any of those. And considering today's the first game of the World Series, I'm thinking a group of Jays oughta be called a TEAM. 

Go, Jays!

Low-rent accommodation

Once again, the birds have taken up house in one of the lanterns that hang outside. Luckily, there wasn't a candle in there, or there wouldn't have been room for the three little eggs currently inside. 

Other years, they've gone to a different lantern, one that allowed them to see outside, even though they were quite protected, nearly invisible while inside. 

It will be quite a trick to get the nestlings to perch up on the rim of their 'house' when it's time for them to learn to fly. It's something they always seem to manage though. We'll keep watching. 

And if only it were that easy for people to find themselves with such a thing as low-rent accommodation. 

How 'bout those brrrds!

It's been colder than normal here for over a week now. Apparently, it's one of the longest spells of zero-ish weather the Lower Mainland of BC has experienced.  

Those whose lives keep them outdoors must be having a miserable time. 

The only ones I've been able to help are the hummingbirds, accustomed to their fix of sugary nectar at our feeder. But in temps like the ones we've been having, that sweetened water would have frozen for sure. And really, a lot of good a block of sweetened ice would do any of them. 

So when it gets cold around here, a low-light lamp serves as a mini-heater for the feeder. It seems to be just enough to keep the nectar from freezing without letting the liquid get too hot for those little beaks. 

These past few nights, before going to bed, I've been peering out the window, and sure enough, there have been a couple of hummers perched on the feeder, heads bowed and resting, but overall, staying a bit warm. 

Must admit, it breaks my heart, thinking how much they look like unhoused folks who've found themselves a grated heater, a feature on many sidewalks in Vancouver. 

I have a feeling I'm not the only one who doesn't put out any kind of heating unit for those unfortunate souls with nowhere to live, or maybe even to spend a warm night. 

Springin' into summer

It's hard to tell, but summer arrived this morning--officially, as today marks Solstice. The temp is still coolish, but not quite as "June-uaryish" as it's been the last while. So maybe it will even feel like summer soon.

The birds who'd built their nest inside the little lantern have even headed off for summery skies. We'd worried that the babies might not be able to fly high enough to get out of the enclosure, but presto--they did it!

We could see that the parents were getting tired of all the feeding (and yes, when it came to feeding time, there were two parent-birds, the father was no deadbeat dad at all), as towards the end they'd just sit at the top of the lantern and drop the bits of food down into the nestlings. 

Best news of all is that they did a lovely job of spring-cleaning the nest. 

Must admit I'm kind of hoping they'll come back next year. 

Tiny homes--not just for the birds

When we came home from our holiday travels, we discovered that we had a new 'tenant' in our gazebo. An ambitious little bird had built a nest in a hanging lantern. It's a lantern made for a candle, and since no candle was in there, the bird must have decided on claiming squatter's rights. 

Close examination (during one of those spells when the mother bird is out) revealed four eggs.

It's a very blurry shot as the angle for shooting was awkward to say the least. Still, small proof of my claim at least exists. 

I'm a little concerned about how the tiny hatchlings (when/if they come) will fly up to the top of their 'house' to go out into the big world. One more lesson to watch for...

This tiny house served as a reminder of how many people across the world are in need of housing. There's a wonderful sounding project going on in Kitchener-Waterloo which offers me a bit of hope that maybe we're not such an awful species as it sometimes seems. 

Looking forward to more such set-ups across the country and near at hand. 

Hummin' along

Somehow I doubt our little bird is humming 'White Christmas' though if that were the case, he'd be pretty close to being on time. We had a dusting of the snow today and even grumpy me had to admit that it looks quite pretty. 

I'm not sure how something as small as a hummingbird gets by when it's below freezing outdoors. It's clear that fluffing out their feathers must do something -- their own little 'puffy coats' I guess. 

This one (and pals) get a bit of a boost, as the feeder itself is now resting (as it did during last winter's coldest spell) over top of the lava light base. A small tin pie pan keeps the sugared water from getting too hot, but the perch must still be a little bit warm, as the bird will come and sit there for quite a long while.

But now that night has fallen, I guess the little birds are back up in the cedars, going into the temporary 'hibernation' they apparently do when the weather's this harsh. 

Sweet dreams, little hummers.  

Anybody home?

At the rate high-rises keep mushrooming in the nearby area, I shouldn't have been surprised to see the same thing happening to the birds. High-rise heaven or not, crowded conditions seem to prevail. 

But thinking about birds today, my thoughts turn to Twitter, a platform I suspect I may soon need to abandon. 

I'm feeling disgusted over all that seems to be happening since Elon Musk took over as owner (in itself almost inconceivable that anyone could have that much money to throw around). I'll admit that for quite a while I thought of him as someone who might make a positive difference to those of us who still live on earth (who don't have the funds to take off to one of his proposed off-Earth resorts). But oh, I was sooo wrong. 

He's now in the process of seeing to it that half of the employees at Twitter get their marching papers, via the impersonal process of email no less. Do you suppose they'll all be given severance packages? Somehow I doubt that. 

It's ugly for someone as wealthy as he is to appear to have so little respect or care for his fellow human beings. Despite the colleagues of mine who've served as a kind of lifeline to me during these times of isolation, the Twitterverse no longer seems like a space I can morally continue to inhabit. 

There used to be a saying, that something was 'for the birds' meaning that a thing was worthless. Despite its apparent 'market value' I'm thinking now that Twitter has just become something that the phrase 'for the birds' is altogether too good for. 

Too much beauty?

Is such a thing even possible?

I've been looking at photos from my recent visit to Ontario, and it's nearly been nearly impossible to choose an image to use here. Sooo much gorgeous scenery, magnified by being there during the most colourful season. 

The idea of beauty and what it constitutes -- how does one define it? I think of the old chestnut, "I don't know much about art, but I know what I like." Even without knowing formal rules or schools of art, each of us knows what stirs our heart. 

And heart-wise, mine was broken a bit this morning by a few words I heard in an interview. The person said that art is no longer an offering in US high schools, as school boards have deemed such classes as too expensive. 

Speaking for myself (and many other of my peers in oddity, I am sure), I would not have been able to endure high school if it hadn't been for the acceptance of my art teacher and the mental (and probably spiritual) break that class provided. The companionship of other oddballs meant a lot too. 

So today's blog offers two small samples of things I find beautiful -- the brilliant colours of the changing leaves, and the gathering of birds as they prepare for the long trip to southern climes. To me, breathtaking. I can only hope that you also enjoy the beauty of these kinds of 'natural' art. 

One brave little soul

While my last post was partly about Glorious Birds, today's note concerns an altogether different but nonetheless glorious-in-its-own-way bird.

We're in the midst of a very cold spell, one that's very unusual for where we live. Last time I checked, the thermometer read minus ten. That's Celsius; in Fahrenheit it's 14. 

So when our brave little hummingbird came to the feeder, we worried the liquid would likely freeze. Sure enough, when we brought it in, ice crystals were already starting to form. But then the Dear Man came up with one of his brilliant ideas -- the lamp base from the lava light appeared to be just the right size to hold the feeder. So it, combined with a tiny pie tin (with a few holes punched into it), has turned into a warm spot for the hummer to spend an extended dinner visit. 

And wouldn't you know -- the way serendipity seems so often to play a role in my life -- right now I am finishing a novel that features a group some refer to as Hummers. They're nothing at all like the oversized motor car by that name, but I guess to find out more, you might just have to read the book yourself. 

Becoming a birdwatcher?

While I wouldn't consider myself a birdwatcher, especially not one with any knowledge of species identification, lately I've been seeing a lot of birds.

The baby robin perched in the photo above must have peeped or I'm not sure I would have seen him, as I was lying outside reading a book when he caught my eye. It didn't take long for one of his parents to show up, bearing a mouthful of wriggly-looking worms. Yum.

But there've been other birds catching my eye of late -- some of them barging right up the front walk, looking as though they were sizing up the place, set to move in. In fact, yesterday's pair of visitors may well have been birds I could have said yum to, though I didn't. It would have been rude to treat 'company' so badly, I am sure.

These two ducks came wandering onto our deck, I suspect looking for a place to nest (probably in the very spot where we'll soon be pitching our tent for summer sleeps).

They poked around, looking here and there, pretty much giving us the up-and-down before they seemed to decide our house didn't fit their needs.

And now, barely an hour ago, looking out the back door I spied another bird, this little visitor a 'regular' making her daily path to her 'secret nest' hidden in the periwinkle. She (I have my reasons...) stops, perching on one of the hanging baskets of lettuce, then hops down to a lower one (maybe testing the basil?) and then sneaks down to the ground, where she dives into the thick greenery. The egg I found earlier this spring was probably from this little bird.

Not a pastime I'd ever claimed before, but maybe one of my new hats will have to be birdwatcher, even if I don't always know their names.

What is real??

Although Easter might seem like an appropriate time to quote what's likely the most famous line from The Velveteen Rabbit, that's not the answer to today's question.

The item in question is definitely real, though when I first saw it, I thought it was a stone, not what it actually is -- a tiny egg. My brass swans look as though they're feeling proud, and my pie bird crow might well be cawing a celebratory squawk.

When I found the egg, it was lying on some grass near the back door. I'm still not sure what kind of egg it is -- what bird might have laid it -- but I couldn't spot anyone's nest nearby. All I could think of as a possible source for the egg is the garden basket still up from last summer -- the one that seems to be trying its best to start making strawberries again. And it's true, I have seen little birds alighting there, as if they're looking for a spot to build a nest.


But the egg isn't the only 'found gift' that came to me this weekend. I also encountered some real live bunnies who looked like they were getting ready to make a batch of baby bunnies.

Not only is today what many observe as Easter Monday, it's Earth Day as well -- and also the day Elizabeth May, leader of Canada's Green Party, is getting married. I wasn't invited, though a friend of mine was -- and she'll be wearing a tiny feathered hat that I lent her.

So, although I won't be there, I'm hoping my little hat will come home with a few stories it's found for me.

Not exactly 'feathering one's nest'

No doubt you've heard that phrase, 'feathering one's nest' and pretty much always with negative connotations.

The phrase that applies in today's instance should probably be 'flowering one's nest' as that's almost exactly what a pair of robins has done in our front yard.

They made several attempts to build their nest in our gazebo, but since we spend so much time out there in the summer -- reading, eating meals, visiting with friends -- we did all we could (in gentle, kind ways, of course) to discourage them from nesting there. Some of the tricks included putting large candles (not burning, I promise), baskets, even a stuffed animal along the ceiling beams, so there wouldn't be room enough for them to construct a nursery.

But, because they obviously liked the 'neighbourhood' they decided to stay. And where did they build but in a hanging basket of flowers.

I'll admit, it's made it awkward to keep the plants watered. Luckily, a few days ago, nobody was home for a long enough time that I took the planter down to give it a bit of drink. There, enclosed within the perfect circle of the nest were two turquoise eggs. Shortly after that, the robin came back. It was almost as if she'd left for a while so I could look after the plants.

At this point, the little family-on-the-way is our priority because really, where the flowers are mostly annuals, it's not the end of the world if a few don't make it.

I've been doing my best to be quiet when I'm nearby, though the birds seem to be mostly accustomed to our comings and goings. It's as if they recognize that we mean them no harm, and I have certainly come to recognize the bright bead of the robin's eye, watching as I go by.

And oh dear, this morning I felt some pangs of guilt while eating my breakfast outside on the deck. Toast with a hard-boiled egg -- from a chicken, not a robin, but still. I was hoping the little mama's shining eye wasn't focused on me.

Winter wonderin'?

No, it isn't snow edging up to the blackberries -- it's just the result of crazy weather -- hail from a thunder-and-lightning storm we had this morning.

When I first moved to the west coast we didn't seem to have thunderstorms. In fact, they were one thing I missed, and I always loved it when I went back east and got to experience one. While they haven't become exactly common here, they do occur now and then, though usually on a hot day in summer, not on a cool October morning.

Oddly (the way my world so often seems to go), I heard a piece this morning that mentioned the passenger pigeon, a bird whose numbers were so great, its flocks numbered possibly as many as five billion (yes, with a b, billion). Yet by 1914, they were extinct.

Something I hadn't realized was the effect these birds had on forests. The weight of their landing in trees would knock off leaves and even branches, in effect, opening the canopy so light could make its way to the forest floor. This meant the forest environment a century ago was much different than today's. I can't help thinking that maybe the passenger pigeons' disappearance could have something to do with the disastrous fire situations our woodlands -- and even neighbourhoods -- are experiencing.

And really, if flocks of them were so massive they could take hours -- sometimes even days -- to pass across the sky, maybe those clouds of birds were large enough to have an effect on the weather.

The white stuff has melted, but still I wonder, if we hadn't killed off all those passenger pigeons, might our weather be less crazy than it is today?

No groundhogs in sight

Just this robin and a few of his friends, digging around for worms today. They looked like a more reliable sign of spring than any rodenty shadowplay.

But hearing that 'the Donald' didn't win in Iowa also feels like a sign of better things ahead.

Oddly, there are two bi-elections taking place today right here in B.C. and there's hardly been a peep about either of those.

Maybe I'll be happy with just the happy-sounding peeps of the birds.

The House that Birdie Built

We have a bird living with us this summer. Earlier, she tried building a nest on a ledge in the gazebo, but that one didn't work out. This time she's taken up lodging in behind a potted begonia.

Where the last posting here featured the front door of our house, it seems only fair to give the same treatment to the back door. And really, this nest (hidden) is not even a metre from where we go in and out to the back yard.

I can only surmise that Birdie must have been watching decorator shows on tv, as really, this spot seems more about looks than practicality. Not only does she have pink begonia blossoms, every now and then she has waterfall sound effects, as there's a shower just inside the bathroom (nearest) window.

The little mother seems to have grown used to us, though we do try to be quiet when we pass by her
home. And watering the plant has become an exercise in precision so as not to flood her home while keeping the plant alive.

Not exactly something that should show up on Dress My Nest, but Birdie has certainly made herself a a very pretty home.

Once upon a time the sky...

...was filled with flocks of passenger pigeons. The empty sky in the photo marks a sad anniversary -- 100 years since the last passenger pigeon, Martha, died.

It's startling to think that a species could go from being the most numerous bird population on the planet to extinction, and all in the space of not much over a century. As late as the 1800s, the sky was said to darken, sometimes for more than a day, as masses of these birds flew overhead. 

And somehow I don't find it completely reassuring that scientists are considering ways of renewing the species, using DNA from the feet of specimens in the Royal Ontario Museum. Such birds wouldn't be the same, as they would be crossed species with another breed of pigeon. Besides, really, what's the point.

The best lesson we can take from the passenger pigeon is a cautionary one, reminding us of the fragility of life -- even when it seems to be in abundance.

Green, green

This morning, I swear, green was in the air. The scent of soil and growth was so strong, I thought I could 'taste' green.

The robins were whizzing around the cedars, no doubt trying to find the best spot for this year's nest.

To top it off, by a stroke of good fortune, I caught the sound of Elizabeth May's voice on the radio. Now, how much greener could a day (and not yet St. Patrick's Day) be?

What the Robin Saw

Spring is when I usually get around to washing the windows. The accumulated grime of winter (compounded by the ongoing construction next door) gets to a point where I get out the vinegar and newspapers and clear them off. This year, I have (beyond the sawdust) a new sort of 'dirt'.

Yesterday I noticed what looked like a gazillion little scratches in the glass. Looking more closely, I realized the marks weren't scratches, but splashes of bird poop!

Last year, a pair of robins built a nest and raised a family in an outbuilding I call 'the boat house'. This year, though the old nesting spot exists, the robin seems to be looking elsewhere -- into the room where we watch tv.

I don't think it's that he wants to watch the nature channel. I suspect it's that he's interested in the hibiscus tree behind the window. The little tree is still inside for the winter (it goes outside in May, for Queen's birthday), but its blossoms are putting on quite a summery show.

This morning, despite the fact that the blind's been pulled so he doesn't have to gaze in at the tree's alluring form, he's still hanging around, as if hoping that little tropical-looking world might open its doors to welcome him.

I just hope his apparently desperate building urges don't mean we're in for a lollapalooza of a springtime storm. But then, maybe some heavy rains would help loosen at least that window's current grime.

This is the house the robins built

Not a lot more than a bunch of grass and mud, but it looks as though it was toasty warm and dry. Good enough at least for a hard-working pair of robins to raise a family.

Even though they've vacated the nest (and we've taken it down so we could reclaim the gazebo), two of the babies are hanging around the yard.

They're still learning how to navigate, so occasionally we'll hear a thump as one of them bumps into the window.

When they do that, I like to think they're just saying hello before they fly off to wherever they'll build their own nests.

Superb Owl, the annual quest

Yesterday, while many were hunkering down in front of the tv for some overhyped football game, I was walking the trails at nearby Boundary Bay. My quest, the visiting snowy owls, a species that fits my definition of superb.

Although I didn’t succeed in spotting the visiting owl (it turns out, I went to the wrong arm of the bay) I had a great walk and saw many other birds – ducks, gulls, herons and the always-magnificent-looking eagles. And, as is so often the case at the shoreline, the clouds were the ones putting on the best show of the day.

As for superb owl, there’s always next year. And who knows, maybe later this week I’ll make the time to head out that way again.