To attract Cedar Waxwings to your yard, let the pokeweed run wild...

The dark purple-blue berries of Common Pokeweed (Phytolacca americana) are irresistible to Cedar Waxwings. So much so that I don't even have to look out the window to know when they start to ripen. As soon as I hear the high-pitched, magical chittering of a flock of Cedar Waxwings in our backyard, I know the pokeberries are in season...

Common Pokeberries are ready for plucking and eating (by birds only; pokeweed berries are poisonous and can make humans sick). As soon as the berries are ripe, Cedar Waxwings descend and start feasting.  

These photos are from August 5 when most of the berries were not yet ripe. It was the beginning of their fruiting season, but it didn't stop the Cedar Waxwings from moving in. They knew exactly where every ripe berry was and wasted no time taking advantage of the nutritious summer treat. Now, the established plants are mostly picked over, but younger plants growing beside their elders are dripping with the dark, plump berries. In the wild, pokeweed plants look common, but in the suburbs, they look intensely exotic. Their cranberry red stems and racemes create an exciting backdrop to the dark blue fruit, and as autumn progresses, the colors only intensify. Our first stand of pokeweed started as a volunteer in 2008. At first I didn't know what it was, so I just let it grow, and did it ever grow. It grew tall and wide and arching, and soon it was dripping with chartreuse berries, but when they started to ripen, the fun really began. The first birds to eat the dark berries were robins, then came catbirds, and finally Cedar Waxwings. Over the years the catbirds still come, and the robins do too, but the Cedar Waxwings are the biggest consumer. I have a lot of pokeweed plants scattered around my yard, so I hear their chittery, magical sounds all summer.

A Cedar Waxwing looks for ripe berries. (There are two birds in this photo...can you see the second bird at the bottom near the right.) These two birds are part of a flock of 6 birds that regularly forage in our backyard. Earlier in the season, they feasted on mulberries from our 6 mulberry trees. 

A Cedar Waxwing swallows a pokeweed berry whole. You can see the bird's gular pouch distending to hold the berry (click here to learn more about gular pouches). 

If Thoreau liked pokeweed...
...it has to be good, right? I was reading "The Book of Field and Roadside; Open-country Weeds, Trees, and Wildflowers of Eastern North American," by John Eastman, and came across a reference to Thoreau where he wrote, "its stems are more beautiful than most flowers," which is true. You can't walk past the plant without taking a second look. I wanted to see what else Thoreau said about pokeweed, so I looked up the passage and found it in "The Writings of Henry Davide Thoreau, Volume 10," page 393. Click here for the online link to the free ebook. He goes on to describe them in detail as only Thoreau can, ending with "It is a royal plant. I could spend the evening of the year musing amid the poke stems."  

Pokeweed has a wide spreading habit. This is just one plant (and it's only half of it!). Pokeweed grows 4-10 feet tall, and its berries can remain viable for 40 years. 

Pretty to look at, but leave the berries for the birds (all parts of a pokeweed plant are toxic to humans). 

Pokeweed is a poisonous plant...
If you have children, pokeweed might not be a good plant for your yard. The roots are the most poisonous, followed by the leaves and stems, and then the berries. Children can be sickened by eating as few as 10 berries. Babies are especially vulnerable to the toxins and can die after eating only a few berries. The roots are deadly, and you should wear gloves if pulling the plant while it's alive (the juices can harm the skin). To learn more about pokeweed, click here for The Ohio State University's "Ohio Perennial and Biennial Weed Guide."

Mulberries attract Cedar Waxwings too...
In late May and Early June the mulberries in our yard start to ripen, and they are the first berries to welcome back the waxwings, but their season is short, and by July, they are gone, which makes pokeweed so perfect. It lures the Cedar Waxwings back in, and we get to listen to them all the way through the end of summer and early autumn.

A Cedar Waxwing sits in one of our mulberry trees. He's not looking for fruit in the tree. It's been gone for a long time. He's looking at the pokeweed bushes near the tree...

A Snowy Snowbird...

A female Dark-eyed Junco (Junco hyemalis) lives up to her nickname of snowbird...

A female Dark-eyed Junco (Junco hyemalis) in the snow.

With rosy-pink bills, gray cloaks, and bright white feathers on their bellies, Dark-eyed Juncos are distinctive and pretty birds. They have sweet-sounding calls too. When a small flock surrounds you in the snow, their high-pitched tinkling sounds carry well through the whiteness...and if you're fanciful, might make you think of snow fairies ringing out tiny bells...really!

Our little snowbird gives me the once over as she listens to the camera shutter click. 
Birds are so aware of everything going on around them that it's almost impossible to escape detection.  

When I was photographing this Dark-eyed Junco, "you're a snowy little snowbird" went through my mind, and I wondered where the nickname snowbird came from. It's easy enough to figure out why the nickname arose...the birds arrive in our area when snow starts to fly, so snowbird fits, but I was interested in when the name came about. That evening, I accessed the online version of Birds of America by John James Audubon (click here for the book). I wondered if Audubon had an entry for Dark-eyed Juncos, and found one, but he didn't call them juncos, he referred to them as "Common Snow-birds!" I always assumed snowbird was a modern moniker, so it was fun to learn the name was old, and it was the name Audubon used to describe juncos:

"Although the Snow-Birds live in little families, consisting of twenty, thirty, or more individuals, they seem always inclined to keep up a certain degree of etiquette among themselves, and will not suffer one of their kind, or indeed any other bird, to come into immediate contact with them. To prevent intrusions of this kind, when a stranger comes too near, their little bills are instantly opened, their wings are extended, their eyes are seen to sparkle, and they emit a repelling sound peculiar to themselves on such occasions." (click here for the text)

I wondered how much earlier the name snowbird had been used and found a quick answer in Wikipedia. No surprise, Linnaeus described the bird in his 1758 Systema naturae as Fringilla hyemalis. What interested me, however, was his source had been Mark Catesby, whom I knew was a natural historian and bird artist from colonial American times. My knowledge of Catesby related only to several of his beautiful bird paintings, so I bought a few books on him to learn more (I learned a lot, but all of that will have to wait for another post). Catesby's "Snow Bird" appears in volume one of his book The Natural History of Carolina, Florida, and the Bahama Islands (v1 first published in 1732, but this scan is from the 1771 edition):

Catesby's description of the snowbird is in volume one of "The Natural History of Carolina, Florida, and the Bahama Islands." 
I love seeing the old text. The version of the book I bought is a simple copy of the original, and the quality isn't perfect, but it's fun reading his original words in the archaic font.

From Catesby's biographies, I learned John Lawson preceded him, and Catesby valued his work, so I wondered if Lawson mentioned the bird in his writings. In Lawson's book published in 1709, A New Voyage to Carolina; Containing the Exact Description and Natural History of That Country (click here for an online version), he called Dark-eyed Juncos "Snow-Birds" too:

The Snow-Birds are most numerous in the North Parts of America, where there are great Snows. They visit us sometimes in Carolina, when the Weather is harder than ordinary. (Click here for online text, page 146.)

...so the name is old. Where did Lawson hear the name? Did he coin it or had earlier settlers used it? Did the Native Americans refer to the bird as snowbird in their tongue? I don't know. When all is said and done, it's an old name (as are most of the bird names), and I imagine those of us who only see juncos in the winter will continue to call them snowbirds for a long time!

You can see a bit of the white on the tail feathers (retrices) that flash white when a junco flies up from the ground. This flash of white on the tail is an easy way to identify these birds from a distance. It's what I always watch for in the autumn when I'm waiting for these birds to return to our yard from their summer breeding grounds up north. The white flash gives them away every time! 

Snow fairies ringing out tiny bells...
As for my description of a junco's call likened to snow fairies with bells...I learned it's not original. Thoreau and Bent thought so too. Thoreau writes about juncos many times in his musings. He either refers to them as "slate-colored snow birds," or he uses Linnaeus' scientific name of F. hyemalis or just hyemalis. He liked to use the word "jingle" to describe their call (jingle like a fairy bell?). Here are a few references:

"March 23, 1852: I heard this forenoon a pleasant jingling note from the slate colored snow bird on the oaks in the sun on Minot's hill-side."  (Click here for a free ebook link to the quote.)

"March 28, 1853: The woods ring with the cheerful jingle of the F. hyemalis."   (Click here for a free ebook link to the quote.)

"April 1, 1854: ...I hear the jingle of the hyemalis from within the house, sounding like a trill." (Click here for a free ebook link to the quote.)  

I also like Thoreau's description of a snowbird:

"The straight edge of slate on their breasts contrasts remarkably with the white from beneath; the short, light-colored bill is also very conspicuous amid the dark slate: and when they fly from you, the two white feathers in their tails are very distinct at a good distance. They are very lively, pursuing each other from bush to bush." (Click here for a free ebook link to the quote.)

...and Arthur Bent, who I enjoy reading because he and his contributors provide colorful descriptions and histories of birds, reported a woman interpreted a snowbird's bell-like tinkling as that of a woodland sprite. From Bent's Life Histories of North American Birds (1968) on the Birds by Bent site (click here for the electronic version of the book, and here for the Dark-eyed Junco page):

"In notes she sent Mr. Bent, Mrs. Lawrence comments on "the lovely tinkling chorus by the juncos in early spring, as if a myriad of woodland sprites were shaking little bells in an intensive competition," and she syllabizes three variations of the junco song as follows: tilililililili, tililili-tililili, and tuituituitililili."

Females (like the one above) have lovely light grey feathers on top with light brown feathers mixed in on the head, shoulders and flanks. Males have pure charcoal or slate gray coats that look debonair. Their darker color accentuates the transition between the gray and white feathers on their bellies, which is very striking.  

A Dark-eyed Junco puffs up against the cold while she breaks open a sunflower seed. 

...about Mark Catesby
Catesby's contributions to science are immense, and he was famous in his day--even Lewis and Clark knew of his work and used his book on their travels, but not many people know about him today. He was one of the first to paint America's birds, plants, reptiles and mammals (John White in 1585 was the first, click here to read about him), and Catesby was innovative because he was the first to paint them in their habitats--very exciting and interesting for his time. Europeans wanted to know what the flora and fauna in American looked like, and Catesby provided a glimpse. He was the go-to source until Alexander Wilson's American Ornithology (published between 1808 - 1814) and John James Audubon's Birds of America (published between 1827-1838) came along. Why does everyone know Audubon, but almost no one remembers Catesby? Possibly because Catesby published his work before binomial nomenclature (the two-part Latin or scientific naming system used by Linnaeus) was in use. Over time, scientists who didn't use binomial nomenclature in their work fell out of favor. On top of that, Catesby's books were very rare (only 180 copies of his book were printed) and he was a general naturalist studying and painting all of nature. Scientists were moving toward specialization, so over time, specialists considered his work old school, and it was forgotten. Audubon's work was extensive, expressive, and specialized, so he became the go-to source for ornithology (but it took about 100 years for that to happen!).                            

...one more tidbit on Catesby before I go. Catesby is one of the first to write about bird migration. At the time, people still thought birds hibernated in caves or in the muck of ponds during the winter, but in 1725 Catesby wrote that after listening to bobolinks (he called them Rice Birds because they loved to eat rice) flying over his boat for three nights running, when it occurred to him they were probably flying seasonally to follow the rice crop (in v1 of The Natural History of Carolina, Florida, and the Bahama Islands--click here for the original text).


...about the Mark Catesby books I bought
I bought all of the books on Amazon, and found them all helpful. Here is a quick review of each:

The Natural History of Carolina, Florida, and the Bahama Islands: containing the figures of birds, beasts, fishes, serpents, insects, and plants: with their descriptions in English and French: v1 and v2 (1771)  (Eighteenth Century Collections Online Print Editions ECCO). This book is a photocopy of Catesby's original book. It is wonderful for the text, but it is not the highest quality reproduction. In areas you can't read the text, but I still love it because I enjoy seeing the original font. Don't look to this book for representations of his artwork, however. The paintings are basically black silhouettes copied on a photocopier).

Catesby's Birds of Colonial America; edited by Alan Feduccia (The University of North Carolina Press), 1985. I love this book because the reproductions of Catesby's birds are wonderful. The book starts with 20 full-color plates and the rest of the paintings are fine black and white reproductions. Feduccia eliminated the French descriptions, and lightly edited the text for modern usage. He also includes editor's notes on each bird with the bird's modern name (common and scientific), descriptions, historical context, and reference's to Lawson's birds too. This book focuses on the birds from Catesby's original books.

Empire's Nature, Mark Catesby's New World Vision; by Amy R.W. Meyers and Margaret Beck Pritchard (The University of North Carolina Press), 1998. A lot of information is in this book, and it's presented in a collection of essays by several contributors. I'm learning a lot and am enjoying the book...only half-way through!

The Curious Mister Catesby, a film by Cynthia Neal and David Elliott, 2007
When I ordered this title, I thought it was a book, so I was surprised to see it was a video. I'm glad it was a video because I really enjoyed watching it, and I learned a lot (I've watched it several times).

...and if you don't want to buy volume 1 and 2 of Catesby's Natural History, free online versions are available with high-quality scans:

Click here for an online version of the 1771 edition of the book.
Click here for an online scan of the painting of Catesby's snowbird in volume one.

...whew! What a rambly post this was, but worth it. There is so much to say on these subjects...more to come on Catesby!

A Song Sparrow in the late afternoon light...

Sunday I finally started to feel better after recovering from a cold that had kept me indoors for far too long, so I bundled up and headed over to Voice of American (VOA) Park. It was very cold, but it was also blue-sky sunny, and I wanted to see if the American Kestrel that's usually there was hanging around (he wasn't). After checking the frozen lake for winter visitors (there were none save a lone Canada Goose slipping and sliding on the ice), I went off-trail and climbed over the brushy hills that lead to the meadow. It was nearly 5:00 p.m., and the late afternoon sun was doing its winter magic by coloring the dead and bleached brush with warm tones of gold and rust. Suddenly, what seemed like a deserted patch of earth came to life as five small brown birds skittered around, weaving here and there through leaves and bent grass until eventually bursting up in a panic to the safety of stubby snags and the remains of giant pokeweed bushes where they paused to keep a wary eye on me...

A beautiful little Song Sparrow peeked at me from behind a branch, watching warily with just just one eye. If you think he looks cute here, you should have seen him through the camera lens. It would have melted your heart.

...he then moved behind a branch, peeking out with the other eye, obscured from view in shadow...

I'm surprised he didn't lift his little foot and point two little toes at his eyes and then one back at me in that "I'm watching you..." gesture.

The warm browns of a Song Sparrow in late afternoon sunshine...

Eventually the Song Sparrow decided I was no threat...

...turned his back on me, and rejoined his little winter foraging flock on the ground.

When I read this journal entry from Thoreau (April 2, 1853), I had to smile...sounds just like our little sparrows:

"The song-sparrows, the three-spotted, away by the meadow-sides, are very shy and cunning: instead of flying, will frequently trot along the ground under the bushes, or dodge through a wall like a swallow; and I have observed that they generally bring some object, as a rail or branch, between themselves and the face of the walker,—often with outstretched necks will peep at him for five or ten minutes." (Source: page 302, "Early Spring in Massachusetts: from the journals of Henry David Thoreau," edited by Blake, 1881/1893. Click here for the online version of this book.)

Listening for our Great Horned Owls this winter...

On cold winter nights in December and January, I often listen for our local Great Horned Owl couple as they hoot back and forth from the treetops, calling out to each other in amorous devotion. All is quiet outside when they come through our neighborhood, and their sleepy and soothing calls flow easily in on the cold air. As I kneel beside the open window, looking out into the night, I always hope to see one fly by the window or see a silhouette of one perched against the moon, but I never do. These night creatures are for hearing only it seems, but in the cold and quiet of a winter's deep night, hearing is enough, and it might even be best because I see them through the sparkly eyes of moonlit imagination. Tonight the temperature will dip into the 30s again, and when I wake a hard frost will cover the plants and rocks and any other objects that got in its way, reminding me that I'll soon hear our two owls outside my window as they travel through the cold night...

Great Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus)

This owl's name is Sylvester, and he is another of RAPTOR, Inc.'s education birds. He's been around for a while, having been rescued in 1997. He was found with wing and leg fractures at the Lawrenceburg exit of I-275...hit by a car. Adult Great Horned Owls really have no natural enemies. Even a Bald Eagle will think twice before nesting in a Great Horned Owl's territory, so it was no surprise to see this bird was injured by humans. With its huge talons, it is one of our most powerful birds of prey. Sylvester is 22 inches long with a wingspan of 4 feet...needless to say, he was impressive sitting on the perch in front of us.

Great Horned Owls live in North America year round, but in our yard we usually only hear them hooting back and forth in late November, December, and January. This is when their courtship, which can start as early as September, really picks up. By January they have set up their territory and have selected their nest site. The female can lay eggs as early as mid or late January. Once the eggs are laid, the vocalizations calm down, and their calls become sporadic. We think the couple that visits our yard is a young pair. The first time we heard them hooting back and forth was January 12, 2009. In 2010 they became regulars. I hope they return to the same territory, and we get to hear them again this winter.

I had never heard the Great Horned Owl's nickname of "Cat Owl," but it was pretty easy to figure out where the name came from. The tufts of feathers that form the "horns" on their heads look like cat ears. Of course the ear tufts are not ears at all. The owl's ears are on its face, hidden beneath feathers and located below and behind the eyes.

Huge eyes...

A Great Horned Owl's eyes are about the size and weight of a human's eyes, but proportionately they take up a larger part of their face. If we compare our eyes proportionately to a Great Horned Owl's, they would be the size of tennis balls! (Source: "Intriguing Owls, Exceptional Images and Insigt" by Stan Tekiela, pg. 22.) Another difference, an owl's eyes are tubular shaped, not round like ours. The added length in the eye from front to back increases the focal length, which means the image appearing on the retina is larger than on a round eye. This is like walking around with a built-in telephoto lens (Tekiela, 23).

40% of all owls have ear tufts. The tufts work to help conceal the bird by fragmenting the outline of its body...or by simulating the top of a broken tree branch. Researcher Denver Holt (founder of the Owl Research Institute) studied owls with ear tufts when they were in the presence of a dangerous predator such as a cat. The owls immediately raised their ear tufts and even constricted their body feathers to appear thinner and taller, mimicking a branch (Tekiela, 62---if you're looking for an interesting book on owls, Tekiela's book, "Intriguing Owls, Exceptional Images and Insight" is a fantastic book. It's packed with interesting facts like this, plus phenomenal photos. It's one of my favorite owl books.)

"Tiger Owl"--another nickname I had never heard of! It's easy to see where it comes from, though. The colors and stripes of the feathers on the owl's belly resemble a Bengal Tiger...or maybe it's called a Tiger Owl because it's so ferocious when it's hunting!

My son read "Walden," by Henry David Thoreau this summer, so when he was finished with it I picked it up to re-read it. When I came across the following passage (Chapter XV: Winter Animals), I knew the quote would eventually end up on the blog. With November and winter fast approaching, it fits our Great Horned Owl couple perfectly...

"For sounds in winter nights, and often in winter days, I heard the forlorn but melodious note of a hooting owl indefinitely far; such a sound as the frozen earth would yield if struck with a suitable plectrum, the very lingua vernacula of Walden Wood, and quite familiar to me at last, though I never saw the bird while it was making it. I seldom opened my door in a winter evening without hearing it; Hoo hoo hoo, hoorer, hoo, sounded sonorously, and the first three syllables accented somewhat like how der do; or sometimes hoo, hoo only."

Many versions of Walden are available online. If you don't have a copy of the book at hand but want to read this chapter, click here for a link to Wikisource.

Note: RAPTOR, Inc. is a non-profit organization committed to the preservation of birds of prey. RAPTOR stand for the Regional Association for the Protection and Treatment of Raptors. Members of RAPTOR, Inc. rehabilitate and care for injured birds of prey until they can be released back into the wild. Click here for RAPTOR, Inc.'s HackBack newsletter and to learn how to donate to the organization, volunteer, or sponsor a banded raptor.

The American Goldfinches in our yard are brightening…

Almost all of our American Goldfinches have shed their winter feathers and are now a bright, sunflower yellow. I can barely remember what their sedate winter plumage looked like, but at the same time, I’m not used to their new spring color, and it’s still a bit of a shock when I look out into our dismal, rain-soaked backyard and see these glowing yellow sweeties! On Thursday and Friday the sun is supposed to return, so maybe their new color has finally convinced spring to start acting like spring!

"The Canada thistle down is now begun to fly, and I see the goldfinch upon it. Carduelis. Often when I watch one go off, he flies at first one way, rising and falling, as if skimming close over unseen billows, but directly makes a great circuit as if he had changed his mind, and disappears in the opposite direction, or is seen to be joined there by his mate."       

From Henry David Thoreau’s Journal, August 14, 1858 

"The bluebird carries the sky on his back."

There is nothing like the blue of an Eastern Bluebird filling your camera lens! So vibrant and happy! When I arrived at the rookery today, the rain had just stopped and the sun was starting to peak out. The ground was making a squishy, settling sound that was quite nice, and as I listened and looked up into the sycamore trees to see what the herons were doing, I saw movement in a tree about 20 feet from me...and then that wonderful flash of blue that is always such a surprise! I quickly focused in a found this little male perched nicely for me. I had to step into a few sprigs of multi-flora rose for a better angle. If I moved even slightly to the left or right the autofocus would zoom in on a small branch and Little Blue would go out of focus, so I had stay put, which was pretty easy to do considering I was anchored in place by the thorns! Small price to pay for the Bluebird of Happiness...

So beautiful. This Eastern Bluebird sat and posed for me for a long time.

Every now and then, he would drop down to the

ground to grab an insect then fly back up to his perch.

When a bluebird turns his back on you, it's quite all

right! Henry David Thoreau's quote, "The bluebird

carries the sky on his back," fits this photo so well...

I finally noticed his mate sitting about 10 feet behind him on the lower branches of a Sycamore tree. She was not nearly as vibrant, but lovely just the same.

His mate was preening and still appears to

be a bit wet from the earlier rain shower.

Bye Mrs. Blue. I hope to see you at the rookery again!