IN THE COMPANY OF CROWS BY BRENDA HILES

IN THE COMPANY OF CROWS BY BRENDA HILES

The crows strut across the corner lot as I turn the car down Dogwood Drive in Greensboro. They give me a curious look, an instant of recognition, before they take to the air. By time I turn into the driveway of my home, four of them are lined up on the wires of the telephone pole, heads turned to watch as I fumble with the keys. They call with a raucous sound as they wait for me to reappear with the cat food that has become their daily treat. I scatter it across the pavement. They swoop down, wings furiously beating the air. They gather up kibble in their beaks, fly away to caché it, and then come back for more.

I think of them as “my” crows, though our relationship is accidental. My friend, Frank, has been putting out food for ages, hoping to lure back a once-upon-a-pet cat back to the house that had gone AWOL one afternoon several years ago. That cat never returned—to the crows’ delight. They love their easy source of food. Now I feed them along with my other cats when Frank’s out of town.

A crow reminds a cat sitter to put food out for his feathered friends.

The crows on Dogwood Drive have introduced several generations of fledglings to the joys of pet food. Last year, a juvenile, evident from its red mouth, called to me from a hiding place among the leaves of the PawPaw tree, a soft chuckling sound, as if we were sharing a joke. The youngster fearlessly flew down and ate his fill as the more cautious adults watched from the wire, occasionally cawing as if offering advice.

Once, when I was late for work, I tried to slip out of the house without feeding them. As I locked the door, I looked up to see a crow hanging from the eaves only inches from my face, giving me a quizzical look. Immediately guilt-ridden, I unlocked the door and returned with the food.

Crows are easy to study. They’re large and noisy and usually tolerant of people. Resident crows stay in their home-territory year-round. They’re everywhere: strutting across manicured lawns, watching us from light poles, picking French fries out of trash bins at fast-food restaurants. Driving down the highway, we see them plummeting from the sky, wings tucked close to their body as they do barrel rolls, then spread their wings and glide to earth. They announce their presence, as well as that of other wildlife. They are the color-commentators of the animal world, drawing our attention to the dramas of animal life: a cat stalking a songbird, a hawk flying through the narrow opening between houses, a young raccoon that has wandered away from its mother.

A crow plucks a crayfish out of Buffalo Creek in Greensboro, N.C. Crows are very successful because of their ability to adapt to their environment. They eat a wide variety of food, ranging from fruit, mice, and small birds.

Studies by John Marzluff, a professor of Wildlife Sciences at Washington University, show that crows recognize faces. They study us. They remember people who are kind and those who aren’t. And they convey that information to their young who have no experience with those sorts of humans.

I know this, yet I’m still surprised when I realize that the crows at a park near my home appear to recognize me. I’ve been going to the Arboretum two or three times a week for the past three years, camera in hand, drawn by the Eastern Bluebirds and Goldfinches as well as the Great Blue Herons that fish in the creek that runs through town. Three months ago I noticed that the crows patrolling the entrance of the park no longer flew away as I approached. Instead, they flew toward me, landing a few feet in front of me on the trail, wings spread as if to sing “Ta-da!” I watched as they fished for crayfish or turned over small rocks in search of insects. Last week, they even allowed me to watch as they uncovered a cache of corn hidden in the mulch around the Crape Myrtle trees.

The crows seem to be as curious about me as I am about them. Or maybe they’ve figured out that the hawks tend to avoid humans and so aren’t as likely to steal their food when I’m around.

In our urban neighborhoods, the raucous caws of crows rise above the hum of traffic and the barking dogs, a reminder that the wild is never far away.

Photos by Brenda Hiles

WAXWINGS IN WINTER BY NORA, VICTORIA, B.C.

Cedar Waxwings live here on Vancouver Island, B.C. in Canada. I love their rakish, black masks, which make them look like little bandits, and the amazing, brilliant-red, waxy droplets, or secretions, on the wings. The young birds don't have them, and the males are most likely to have them. Perhaps it is to attract a female.

Some waxwings have orange, not yellow, tail tips from feeding for a length of time on certain red berries, such as honeysuckle, or from the carotenoid pigments in the diet. The waxwing is one of the few birds here that can survive on fruit alone for a while. Sometimes waxwings will get drunk on too many overripe berries.

It takes the female waxwing five or six days to build her nest. She picks the nest site and is sometimes a little bit sneaky by stealing stuff from other birds’ nests to make her own nest a little quicker. Who can blame her?

Waxwings normally live for five years. The oldest one on record lived to around eight years, two months old in captivity.

When courting, males and females like to square dance. They hop toward each other, moving back and forth, and they touch their bills together. The male passes small gifts to the chosen female, such as fruit, flowers, berries, or dragonflies. The female will hop away, hop back to return the gift, then decide she just must have it and snatch it back and eat it. And if she just does not like that male, she won't dance with him.

The adults store fruit, as much as thirty cherries, in a crop pouch in their throat and then regurgitate the cherries or other fruit into the awaiting nestlings. The male will sometimes develop a little brood patch and help the female with incubation. Usually he will sit above on guard.

Waxwings are very social and have a funny habit of sitting on a long branch. If the bird at the top can reach a berry, it will pass the berry down the line to the other birds. Sometimes they do this with apple blossoms. These talkative birds love to share, to be in groups, and to give gifts. What a great bird to hang out with.

Visit Nora’s website at:  http://islandrambles.blogspot.ca/

 

 

ALASKAN ADVENTURE: THE SALMON RUN

BY RACHELLE BURK

My husband and I spent a day walking in the rain around historical Skagway, a staging town for the Klondike gold rush stampede of 1897. It’s a cute little town with wonderful museums. Streams run through various parts of the town. Every stream this time of year is truly a macabre sight; spawning salmon navigating through a graveyard of fish carcasses. Salmon spent their early life in rivers, then swim out to sea for their adult lives. Then they travel hundreds, or even thousands of miles upstream, battling rapids and waterfalls, to the exact place of their birth. There, they spawn and die.

 We saw the salmon run first in the Yukon, Canada, where the fish swam over nine hundred miles to spawn. If I was a salmon, I’d want to be born in Valdez. On the Alaskan coast, the fish have it easier, traveling as little as a mile or two from the ocean back to their natal streams. Valdez is a quaint village on the pristine Prince William Sound at the tip of the Kenai Peninsula. Here we bore witness to the fish making their death swim over jagged rocks in shallow waters littered with their dead and dying compatriots. The dead fish provide nutrients for the soil and waterways, and is a literal feast for local wildlife. Scavenger sea birds abound, picking the meat from fresh carcasses that wash ashore during low tide. Our favorite moment was watching a black bear fishing at a stream not fifty yards from the road. Oblivious of the few cars stopping on the side of the road, it turned to face us a few times, granting us some lovely mug shots.

 

                                                              

 

 

The Nature Place Journal January 2014

Beautiful Extremes

By Jim Braswell, Show-Me Nature Photography

    Just outside the small town of Wall, South Dakota, lies a wonderful little place that is one of those “four season” places to visit. It can get awfully hot in the summer there, and miserably cold in the winter. But no matter what the season, and no matter what the weather conjures up, the Badlands is always a wonderful place to visit.
   The Badlands became a national monument in 1939. Then, in 1976, the government annexed the undeveloped “South Unit” into its boundaries, growing the area to 244,300 acres. On November 10, 1978, this rough terrain once feared by early pioneers traveling westward, was officially established as one of our National Parks.
   The Badlands is a geological masterpiece, naturally sculpted over eons into fantastic, high-rise pinnacles, with lots of contrasting deep gullies carved by the forces of water. Some visitors may consider the Badlands as barren and “dead,” but I assure you that nothing is further from the truth. All one has to do is exit his vehicle and walk a short distance in any direction to see the abundant plant and wildlife flourishing there.
   In late spring, fields of beautiful wildflowers, shown above, seem to compete with the breath-taking rock structures for attention. Visiting the Badlands in late spring offers gratifying fulfillment. It is an awesome experience to watch newborn Bighorn Sheep lambs frolicking along the rock peaks and ledges, as they seemingly play the childhood game of “tag,” with no apparent fear of the steep walls of the rock mountains that comprise their playground. Bighorn Sheep lambs frolicking along the rock peaks and ledges.I have to admit that my only trip to the Badlands in summer was short-lived. Though I passed through it on a single hot August day, it was enough to satisfy my need for a “Badlands fix”. Temperatures that day were exceedingly hot, well over 100F, so my short visit turned out to be a blessing in disguise. If you can handle the heat, the Badlands is a beautiful place in the summer.
   Fall brings great opportunities for visitors. In November, the Bighorn Sheep rams, are busy courting ewes in the annual rut (the rut is a term used for the mating season for mammals). During the rest of the year, the rams stay together in small groups, away from the main park roads, and so are usually not seen. But when the rut begins, they seem to be everywhere along the park roads, sometimes causing “sheep jams” that slow down traffic. The sheep are nicely groomed this time of year, as their winter coats are fully grown.

  Bison are also quite abundant on the prairies of the Badlands. Fall is an excellent time to find them, either involved with the rut, or grazing on the snow-covered prairies. Bison You may be surprised, but my favorite season in the Badlands is winter! Winter can be extremely cold in the Badlands. There always seems to be a brisk wind whistling around every corner and turn, making it feel even colder. But even with the harsh winter in place, wildlife can still be seen, including some lesser-known and unexpected species.
   On one winter trip, as I rounded the north park road I saw a very strange bird nest wedged one of the few trees lining the road. Being a biologist by education and a nature photographer by occupation, I just had to go back and try to figure out what kind of bird made that odd nest. As I approached the nest, I was utterly surprised that this gaggle of prickly material was actually a porcupine nestled in the fork of some branches, shown below, riding out the winter chill. I quickly clicked off a few photos before leaving this living “nest” to his tranquility.
   Winter is also a great time to view the awesome landscapes. These vistas are nice any time of the year, but they really come alive with a covering of fresh snow.
   I hope you’ll consider visiting the Badlands, where any season can be—and almost always is—a rewarding experience. The Badlands aren’t that bad at all.

Jim Braswell, Professional Nature Photographer website: www.showmenaturephotography.com Twitter: http://twitter.com/ShowMeNature

Coming soon. The January 2014 issue of The Nature Place Journal Publishing editor: Shirley Flanagan Staff editors: Laura Stone and Art Twain