Lords of the Flies

Unexpected Fluttering

Robin in the Snow

The Day Before

Yesterday Was a Beautiful Day to Fly

Even in Snow, He Still Sings to Me

Governing the Feast

A Female Oregon Junco

Red-Winged Blackbird Participates

Junco Gets in on the Feasting

Red Robin Plucking Flies

Something is fluttering outside my bedroom window. Groggy, I wake slowly. Without glasses I'm legally blind, whatever that means because I can see light and colors vividly. I just can't discern shapes or distances.

Spring is the fly season. When you live in the country and have more livestock for neighbors than people, it's a given. With our early spring, daffodils, ducks and flies abound. I yawn, stretch and grab my glasses.

No flies fluttering at the window, but snowflakes as big as rose petals swirl like a celebrity romance. It's nearly a white-out, the snow is falling so fast and thick. Yet, I catch a glimpse of orange and can barely see a robin through the snow.

Hard to believe that the day before I sat outside under the apple tree with Bootsy the barn cat, watching ducks dive on Elmira Pond and sipping an Easter brunch mimosa. A small aircraft flew low across the valley and I thought what an incredible day to fly. I had a ham slow-smoking in the BBQ and spread a blanket over the still damp peat and new green grass. I could see plump apple buds already.

Snow. A hard reality to accept so soon after a sunny day.

As the flakes continued the grass greedily sucked up the moisture. It seems that the flies were surprised, too. Normally, flies seek shelter at the first hint of rain. Flies can survive getting wet, but they can't fly. This makes them vulnerable to prey.

For whatever reason, the flies dropped like...well, like flies. They littered the snow like little black smudges as if the chimney was spewing ash. And this did not go unnoticed by the stealthy red robins. They flocked in the snow, the Lords of the Flies.

Other birds caught on to the feast. I'll have to write more about my young red-winged blackbird who has been serenading me like a courtly lover. He sits outside my office window and trills so sweetly I expect to see a cap and plume on his head. Nonetheless, the snow did not deter him. He sang to me then joined the feast.

If I were this fanatical about birds in the UK, I'd be called a twitcher. That suits my moment because now so many Lords of the Flies are flocking to my snow soaked lawn that I'm visibly twitching. Oh, look! There on a dry stalk in my garden -- an Oregon junco!

You can tell a slate-colored junco by its white-rimmed tail. It might be a she -- females are dark but can have more brown on the back. She seems brown about the shoulders. Both genders have pink beaks and twitter in flight. They are all so close to my window perch that I can hear the twittering.

Or maybe I'm twittering while twitching!

With my camera mounted on my face, I follow the junco from garden to fence to grass. Suddenly, I realize there is a large and previously overlooked presence in the grass. With perfect camouflage, it's a red-shafted northern flicker!

Normally swift and elusive, I capture the day's prize with still shots that I've posted at My Friend Flicker.

Next the robins regroup and devour more flies. I try to spot other birds I might miss in my daily routine of watching the pond. The flicker has dashed but now watches from a garden post. I decide to grab some coffee and smoked ham. The Lords of the Flies continue to swarm all day.

And I didn't have to swot a single fly. Snow in spring can be a boon.

My Friend Flicker

Red-shafted northern flickers are elusive. They are a woodpecker I often see at a distance -- a large bird, twice the size of an American Robin, but a swift bird that rolls up and down in flight. Like a bustling farmer, the flicker is constantly moving to harvest insects from trees and the air.

Yesterday's unexpected blizzard dropped flies like a bird feast. My friend flicker cozied up with a traveling Oregon junco to share the crop of flies in the grass. Here is a rare still look at a flicker:

Linking up with Abracabadra for Wordless Wednesday. Photos by Charli Mills. 

Oregon Junco

 

Flickers are Big & Well Camouflaged

Sharing the Feast of Flies

A Flicker is Twice the Size of a Robin

Look at Those Spots!

Always an Alert Bird

Uh-oh...I've Been Spotted

Preparing to Depart

What Dashing Leap!

Critter Spotting

Spotting Equipment

I Love You, Too, Snapper

Ringed-neck Ducks

Osprey Flying South

Coffee? No? Okay, Go Ahead and Take Pics

Northern Flicker

Bootsy Slinking

Go Catch a Gopher, Bootsy

Deer in the Daisies

Taking my seat at the Elmira Pond Morning Show, I'm ready for critters with or without wings. Mostly it's the winged sort that acrobat for my attention as if I paid big bucks to sit here. They seem to be happy to perform for a buffet of seeds, insects, frogs and fish.

One critter watches me. Snapper, the sorrel mare, is falling for me. I know, because I'm falling for her, too. My cousin J texts me, "We should have brought you out to the ranch with us." As much as I'd love to spend time with her, ride their huge eastern Montana spread and direct them on fence building, I'm reluctant to leave my horse-love.

Other critters do not elicit warm and fuzzies from me. Like the gopher who gave me a panic-attack, dropping into my morning like an A-bomb. True we startled him so severely that he tried to claw his way up the side of the garage; a creepy sight. Bobo chased him into the garage through the cat portal. When I opened the big door it nearly ran me over, fleeing the GSP in hot pursuit.

Now that the excitement is over, except for the nose-whistling as the dogs beg to return outside to chase other critters, I'm watching the winged ones. The ringed-neck ducks patter about the pond and although I can't spot her, Lady Merganser shows up eventually. The big mystery for now--will babies turn up?

An osprey flies south, not pausing. Though distant, I actually snap a shot this morning. When he's winging south he doesn't stop to hunt. I imagine that his bird belly is full of trout from MacArthur Lake, and he's heading home to rest in a stick nest. Maybe he'll fish later in the afternoon.

And I'm not the only one critter spotting. A man parks his car along Hwy. 95, crosses traffic of logging trucks and motor-homes, and points his big lens at Elmira Pond. Or maybe the horses. Several times a week, cars stop and hands emerge out of open windows to point i-phones at the horses, and then kick up a cloud of dirt as they drive away. Ah, Snapper and friend--they are so lovely and photogenic.

I'd offer the man coffee if he'd glance my way, but he seems serious about his photography. It feels strange to be ignored in person on my own home-turf. Maybe he thinks I'll tell him to go away. I don't mind sharing the scenery. There's more critters hanging out on this place than one woman can shoot. So, I shoot him, shooting Elmira Pond.

Not long after he leaves without so much as a wave, a flash of russet zips across the driveway. Robin? Barn swallow? Ah, it lands on the power pole where the silent man took pictures and I see it's a northern flicker, a type of woodpecker. He poses for me today; a rare treat.

My mug is empty and the sun is slanting higher and hotter in the sky. It might actually get up to 80 today. Once inside, my critter watching continues. As I wash the breakfast dishes, Bootsy the barn cat slinks across the front yard. She's black as obsidian in the verdant grass.

The GSPs bark at the west porch door, perhaps catching sight of the gopher again. Do I grab the .22 or the camera? I choose the camera and good thing. The white-tail doe has returned and stands alert in grass and daisies almost as tall as her back. She's small for a white-tail. Maybe a yearling. For now I point the camera her way and call it quits on critter spotting until evening comes.

Pink Negligee

June 23 4:41 a.m. Pond Report:

Horse in Pink

Pond in Her Pink Negligee

Pink Mist in the Pines

Well, Hello Kingfisher

Power-line Dove

Birds or Punks?

Pasture Flockers

Red-shafted Northern Flicker

Imagine a Hummingbird Here

Pink as a Negligee

There Goes the Sun

Evening Falls Across Still Waters

No Super Moon for This Place

Truly I have cause to be up at 4:41 a.m. At one time in my life, that hour signaled rise-and-shine to load up in my Dad's logging truck to drive over Ebbett's Pass and arrive at his logging camp in Pacific Valley. I cleaned an entire valley of limbs and logging debris. That's what I got for telling Mom I didn't want to work in the store that summer.

Thus I still think of 4 a.m. as the logging hour.

So it makes me giggle to find Elmira contained in pink mist. Pink is not a color I associate with logging. But pink it is, colored by the early dawn. The pond looks as if I caught her early out of bed wearing nothing but a pink negligee, one of those gossamer see-thru nighties for intimate occasions.

Does anyone (but the pond) even wear pink negligees any more? At one time I had a stellar collection of wispy nighties that must have been so fantastical to my three children that they absconded with my sheer wardrobe, turning the collection into dress-up princess clothes.

It marked my fall from sexy-woman. However, I fell squarely into motherhood which fit me better, anyways.

Not much more to say than a pink tangent. The setting of the super moon was my reason to rise, but the mist and thin clouds hide it from view. Dawn is pretty to see, one of those unexpected surprises. The horses bed down in the mist, the birds chatter and the pond parades in pink.

June 23 Afternoon Pond Report:

A new orchestra arrives. Today, the sounds shift, even for one such as me. I can't carry a tune and my listening skills can be weak (psst...don't tell my husband that I might admit to having impaired-listening). I'm often so excited to feel the music or capture the story that I miss the individual details like notes or names. So for me to say that I notice a shift in sound, the shift must be significant.

It's like going to hear the symphony. You know how the musicians warm up before a performance, and all you hear are disconnected blasts of notes? You can tell the clarinets from the flutes from the trombones, but you can't catch a song. That's what it sounds like around the pond today. Like a greater number of different birds are tuning their instruments.

So today I turn the binoculars on the the trees and fence-lines surrounding Elmira. At first, all the birds look alike, just as everyone in the orchestra dresses in black. But I start to capture nuances, subtleties. I'm surprised to find the belted kingfisher sitting in a shrub on the south side of the pond. He seems decaffeinated today, less fluttery.

Movement catches my eye and I follow it to the power-line. Turns out to be a dove. Another flies past and the dove on the power-line flies off with it. On the far fence-line sits a group of birds like teenagers hanging out at the soda shop. Grayish, blackish, I'm not sure what they are. Another flock of birds is rising and settling like locust in the grass. Actually, if there were locusts, these birds would be feasting. As it is, they are either munching seeds or insects. They continue to rise and settle in the far pasture.

Robins poke at the ground and some unnamed nut-knocker whistles abruptly from the pine tree by the porch without ever revealing his presence. Tree swallows continue to dance but I distinctly hear a chickadee, one bird call I do know. Chickadees are also fly-catchers and may flock with the swallows. Or, not. Then, I see another bird perched on a fence-line and as it darts away, its salmon-red underwings tells me its a red-shafted northern flicker.

Then a hummingbird flits up to the mass of wild Nae Roses for a nectar kiss. I try to follow his retreat but he is so tiny and fast. I learn that the tiniest bird north of Mexico is the Calliope hummingbird and it actually nests in the extreme cold of high mountains, including northern Idaho. I'll have to look for distinguishing marks next time. If I can look that fast.

So many birds in a single day. Like the roses, did they suddenly bud? The music is different, the late afternoon smells of roses and meadow grass and the birds seem to sing of it. Another Lady Rose unfurls.

June 23 Super Moon Report:

The sun glows behind thin gray clouds and prepares to dip behind the tallest peak west. As evening falls I anxiously await the super moon. Last night, through binoculars, it looked like a navel orange. Tonight I want to capture its fullest rise in the east. Several times I step outside, hoping to see the clouds clear as they did last night. Alas, the moon never shows. The only glow for miles around is that of my own windows.

Guess it's time to go to bed and put on my own pink negligee...who am I kidding? I wear t-shirts and flannel and pink is not a common color to a logger's daughter. But orange is a close cousin.