the (future) king's speech

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A third anniversary of note.

"For the grim reality is that our planet has reached a point of crisis and we have only seven years before we lose the levers of control.

As the President of Gabon said at a meeting I hosted last month: 'The door to our future is closing...'

This, I fear, is not an overstatement. For climate change is a risk-multiplier. It has the potential to take all the other critical issues we face as a global community and transform their severity into a cataclysm.

Reducing poverty, increasing food production, combating terrorism and sustaining economic development are all vital priorities, but it is increasingly clear how rapid climate change will make them even more difficult to address...

One final thought ... As our planet's life-support system begins to fail and our very survival as a species is brought into question, remember that our children and grandchildren will ask not what our generation said, but what it did. Let us give an answer, then, of which we can be proud."

Excerpt from a speech delivered by the English king in waiting, Charles, Prince of Wales, the heir apparent of Queen Elizabeth II, at the 2009 United Nations Climate Change Conference at Copenhagen three years ago this week.

Considering the fascination (and loyalty) we Americans still have for the English monarchy, isn't Charles still our king in awaiting? 

Long live the king!

- For the entire speech go to: Prince Charles. 

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a golden morning

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Golden-crowned kinglet (Regulus satrapa)

One of the great joys of working at Ijams is my office window. (Windows are good for the soul no matter where they are, but ones at a nature center are especially soulful."By my Window have I for Scenery," wrote Emily Dickinson.) You never know what might appear in the trees and shrubs planted just outside.

This morning a golden-crowned kinglet fidgeted through the lowest branches of a sweetbay magnolia. (Fidget: to move about restlessly, nervously or impatiently.)

These lively little pixies are only in the valley in the winter. They nest farther north and farther upslope, in the spruce/fir forests at the highest elevations of the Great Smokies not that far from my hometown of Gatlinburg. Thus proving that migration is not always north-to-south, sometimes its high-to-low. AS to whether my bird spent its summer in Quebec or on top of old Smoky, it's hard to say.

Because kinglets are generally higher up the tree, the golden blazes on their noggins are not always easy to see, but this morning's passing was at eye-level.

Wow. What a way to start my day!

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peeping too early

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The trouble with being a male spring peeper is that your amorousness is controlled by the outside ambient temperature. If the temperature feels right, you're in the mood. (The same is true for human males except for the temperature part.) So male peepers can feel frisky any time of the year, it has nothing to do with the calendar, it's the thermometer: not too hot, not too cold, ahhhhh just right.   

We're having a lovely mild early December—perhaps yet another sign of climate change—and some male peepers have awaken from their winter torpor and are crooning for a mate. My guess is that the females are not really interested. It IS December after all and freezing weather is surely on its way. I suspect the females are smart enough to wait. 

I have read that male peepers that stir too early, run the risk of burning precious energy reserves and may starve to death when they return to their slumber before true spring arrives.

There's a lesson here somewhere, but I'll let you sort it out. Perhaps a little Johnny Mathis will help.

strutting his stuff

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Northern pintail (Anas acuta)

And speaking of ducks: pintails are beautiful. If I get to come back as a waterfowl, let's hope it's a pintail and not a Muscovy.

What did James & Bobby Purify sing? Something like, "Come on let me see you shake your tail feathers." Watch the below video. Talk about a group of males showing off for the lady. And how noncommittal and disinterested she appears to be.  I assume she'll finally choose the male with the longest tail feathers thus producing a clutch with even longer pintails. A thousand years from now, a pintail's pintails may be a foot long. 

Funny how it all works. "Here we go loop-de-loop. Shake it up baby. Here we go loop-de-lie."

Click: Pintail courtship

- Above photo by J.M. Garg

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Duck. Duck. Goose!

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Ring-necked duck (Aythya collaris)

Winter is a great time to look for feathered friends floating on local fluids. OK, maybe we carried that alliteration a bit too far, but we're taking, duck, duck, goose. Tomorrow at 2 p.m., join me at Ijams Nature Center for a look at some of the ducks and other waterfowl that can be found in winter on our local waterways. Short program inside, followed by a long walk outside. We'll visit a pond, creek, river and lake; maybe we'll get lucky. This program is free for Ijams members and $5 for non-members. Recommended for ages 12 and up. Please call (865) 577-4717, ext. 110 to register.
 

Tip: The ring-necked duck above gets its common name and Latin name, "collaris," from the ring or collar (often called a "spur") between its neck and breast but this field marking is really only discernible in good light. Instead look for the white ring around the bill.

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thanks, Panther Nation!

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One of my annual traditions is a visit with the AP Environmental Science class taught by Coach Will Roberts at Powell High School, a.k.a. Panther Nation.

The students were asked to read various parts of either of my two books: Natural Histories and Ghost Birds and be prepared to ask me questions about nature, the out-of-doors and/or conservation issues. If our environmental woes are to be fixed it'll be the bright young minds this generation has produced since the bright young minds my generation produced mucked things up even more.

For me, the visit is always a fun experience. For them? Well, it's required reading not quite as hefty as Silas Mariner.

One question broached by a student was a query about the sound of a male American toad crooning for a mate which I wrote about in my first book. Here's a link: Toad. 

Here's what a brown creeper looks like: creeper

And the sound of periodical cicadas singing: 17-year cicadas

Click these links for a look back: 

School year 2011-2012

School year 2010-2011

School year 2009-2010

Plus, we talked about bats, in particular red bats that hang upside-down and sleep out in the open which makes them look like furry cocoons dangling from trees. (They actual hibernate under the leaves on the forest floor. Now how cool is that?) Here's a photo I took at Ijams last year.

Eastern red bat (Lasiurus borealis)

Thanks Coach Will and all! Go Panthers!!

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climate change?

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900 mile wide Hurricane Sandy as it passed by Florida

Four weeks ago tonight Superstorm Sandy came ashore along the coasts of New Jersey and New York and finally, finally, finally, finally to the square root of 24, the media and political leaders on both sides of the aisle are discussing climate change as though perhaps maybe it's real. (Heck, 30 percent of the population think that scientists are boogie men—and women—and that the Earth is only 6,000 years old when Jeez Louise, I have tennis shoes in the back of my closet older than that. Why, the shirt I wore to Thanksgiving is at least Ordovician in origin but the crinoids alive at the time could not be reached for comment. They're stonewalling it. Besides, doesn't it all end on December 21 because the Mayan calendar said it would? So why the rush to complete your holiday shopping? For me, Black Friday was a soak in a hot tub in the dark.)

Back on topic: Climate change. Former Vice President and fellow Tennessean Al Gore must be thinking, "Where have you guys been? I've been talking about this for 30 years."

But is it all too late? As writer James Atlas says, "Contemplating our ephemerality can be a profound experience."  

Here is his complete op/ed piece from the New York Times: Is this the end?  

It's best to hum the Doors "The End" while you are reading it.Here's a refresher: The End. 

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thanksgiving

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I awoke this morning with devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and the new.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

As did I. 

Happy Thanksgiving.

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Thanksgiving trifecta

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Brown creeper super-sized

Watching a brown creeper work its way up the trunk of an oak is always a treat for me; the bark huggers search every little crease and crevice for a crunchy insect or spider crudité. Creepers are only in my woods in the winter, choosing to raise their families elsewhere. 

They love the biggest trees they can find and don't waste much time on the spindly ones.
 

The other day, while I was sitting on my front porch, I spotted two creepers and a yellow-bellied sapsucker on the same oak.
 

My very own November trifecta, although I never would have bet on it.
 

Here's a "cool fact" from the Cornell Lab website: "Brown Creepers burn an estimated 4–10 calories (technically, kilocalories) per day, a tiny fraction of a human’s daily intake of about 2,000 kilocalories. By eating a single spider, a creeper gains enough energy to climb nearly 200 feet vertically."
 

Happy Thanksgiving! And we all have a lot to be thankful for and often it's the little things.

For more about creeperdom, click: Creeper.

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sweet gum weaponry

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With sweet gums, "the distinctive compound fruit is hard, dry and globose, 1 to 1.5 inches in diameter, composed of numerous (40-60) capsules. Each capsule, containing one to two small seeds, has a pair of terminal spikes (for a total of 80-120 spikes). When the fruit opens and the seeds are released, each capsule is associated with a small hole (40-60 of these) in the compound fruit. Fallen, opened fruits are often abundant beneath the trees; these have been popularly nicknamed "burr balls."

OK. That's the technical definition from wiki. To me, they have always looked like spiked maces or morning stars, the flails used by knights back when hand-to-hand combat was up-close and highly brutal. But why?

I have to assume that the spikes are to protect the tree's precious seeds from birds like the seed-eating finches that have never heard of middle-age weaponry or be intimidated by such. Over the millennia, these birds have evolved their own methods of dealing with the formidable defenses; they're well equipped with pointed bills and the necessary dexterity to remove seeds from difficult places.

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postal thrush

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"In the swamp,

in secluded recesses,

A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

Solitary, the thrush,
the hermit, withdrawn to himself, 
avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song."


- With a nod to the new Steven Spielberg movie 
about the sixteenth president, a line or two from 
When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d

an elegy written by Walt Whitman
shortly after the assassination of Lincoln in 1865.

A sure sign of the approaching winter in the south. 

Yesterday, when I returned home from work, 

a hermit thrush was waiting for me on my mailbox 

as though it had just arrived by postal carrier. 

He warbled no song and quickly flew away to the yard
beckoning me onward to my own secluded recess,
shy and hidden.

Seeing the dear migrant warmed my heart.

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natural play

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Imaginative young children enjoy natural play at Ijams. 

Go to: Fairy House Festival.

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hawk talk Saturday

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The hawk is the one on the right. 

Join me tomorrow at Ijams: Saturday, November 10, 10 a.m.

For close encounters of the feathered kind. Feathers and talons and beaks, oh my! Birds-of-prey are some of nature’s most fascinating and powerful predators. Come explore the adaptations that make them such efficient hunters. Eagles. Hawks. Owls. Vultures. Falcons. Join me and learn the tricks to identifying them quickly in the field. 

Free for Ijams members and $5 for non-members. Please call (865) 577-4717, ext. 110 to register.

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found woodcock released

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This is a first: A rehabilitated American woodcock (Scolopax minor) was released at Ijams Nature Center.

Click here for more details: Woodcock. 

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Hurricane Sandy: when nature bats last

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Unbelievable.

Yes, climate change is real, spawning monster storms now being called the new norm. 

Above is a photo of the salt marshes I took three years ago in early October just inland from the Jersey shore near Avalon, very close to where Hurricane Sandy came ashore last night.

Today the entire area, indeed the entire Jersey coastal region from Cape May to Sandy Hook, has been devastated. 

I wonder if the snowy egret got away.

 NBC Nightly News: Jersey shore

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enamored by a rumpus

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Forgive me if I speak blithely about a rump. 

(Is it OK to say rump on the Internet?)

Sometimes, it's the little things, the simple things that lift your spirits and bring cheer to your day. Like, for instance, a flash of buttery color. 

Case in point, I saw my first yellow-rumped warbler of the season this afternoon, flitting trough the trees off my second floor deck. Yellow-rumps are the only species of wood warbler that spend their winters in the Tennessee Valley after having nested much farther to the north. 

The woodland passerine was lively, bounding from branch-to-branch, enjoying the pleasant afternoon breeze as much as I enjoyed seeing its saffron-colored keister pirouette by my propitious perch.

Does that make me a voyeur? Then call me such with a nod and a wink and a pink-cheeked blush.

-Photo by Alan D. Wilson

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the true mystery

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"The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible."

- From The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde born on this date 16 October 1854

Indeed, I'm constantly amazed and perplexed by what I see and have scant time to contemplate what I cannot. 

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dazzling

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The American beautyberries at the nature center have been most munificent in their fruiting this fall. They are quite dazzling.

At the bases of the leaves, this fast growing shrub produces clusters of magenta berries with a metallic sheen. The berries turn black and last well into the winter, long after the leaves drop off. They are an important survival food for birds, deer and other animals, although they generally do not eat them until other food sources are depleted. 

Who knows, if times get bad, we may be eating them, although I’ve read they are not particularly agreeable to human stomachs.

The shrub is native to the Southeast: Maryland to Florida and west to Texas.

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In Praise of Dreams

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I'm quoting here:

"In my dreams

I paint like Vermeer van Delft.

I speak fluent Greek

and not just to the living.

I am gifted
and write mighty epics.

I fly the way we ought to,
i.e., on my own.

I'm a child of my age,

but I don't have to be.

A few years ago

I saw two suns.

And the night before last a penguin,

clear as day."

- Random lines from In Praise of Dreams by Polish poet Wisława Szymborska
who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1996.

 - Photo of Dreaming of Tiger Spring, located in Hangzhou, China

Yes, I too have dreams where I can 
do it all, be it all, see it all, experience it all.
Then I wake up. It's a shame really.

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once upon a heron

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I get the most interesting emails. 

This one comes from Charlie Morgan. She works part-time at the nature center. And, yes, the Audubon print to the left is a whooping crane not a great blue heron but for the sake of this story, let's pretend it's the latter. 

Charlie begins, "For some time I’d thought of the great blue heron as 'my bird.'  It came to be, during a stressful bundle of life events, that the large but graceful bird became a symbol of strength for me. 

 Seeing one fly over my car on the way to work meant it was going to be a good day, a 'blue heron' day.

So I enjoyed a small swell of peace as I started watching a heron play with an alligator in the Everglades a few years ago.  I’m a lousy judge of distance, but they couldn’t have been more than about 50 feet away, just on the other side of the swale, close enough that I could see the baby alligators and hear their mewls.

Of course, the heron could, too.  And perhaps they sounded delicious, because he started to dance and dodge around mom.  

Now, it might seem unlikely for what we think of as such a vicious creature, but alligators are actually great moms.  They keep an eye on their eggs and are very hands-on, mouths-on actually, watching out for their babies.  When danger lurks or when she needs to move them elsewhere, mom gator gathers all the little ones, gently, into her mouth.  This gets challenging as they get a little bigger and a little wigglier.  They tend to squirm out through the gaps between mom’s big teeth.  

So at this point, mom was warding off the heron by lunging and snapping to move him away from her little ones.

Problem for her, though. The heron could fly.  As she lunged and snapped, he could quickly flap over and away from her and approach now-scattering babies.  I was amazed to be able to watch all this and I really began to feel tension mount as the confrontation escalated.  

The heron trying to distract mom to lure her away.  Mom lunging, snapping, chasing, then rushing back to herd her strays back to the group.  The heron seemed to be able to lure her farther away each time, making it hard for her to beat it back to the brood, until finally she didn’t make it back in time.

The heron had lunch dangling from his long bill in the form of a baby alligator.  Baby alligators are unseemingly adorable, and they mewl, and they cry.  I didn’t know they cried (or mewled for that matter) until that day.  

It was heartrending to watch as mom and baby cried to each other while the heron almost seemed to hesitate for what probably seemed longer than it was before doing the quick toss and swallow. And then it was over.

I had to really, really remind myself that this is all natural, all part of the awesome cycle of life.  And I felt unbelievably graced for seeing this horribly beautiful natural event played out so close before me, rather than on the TV screen.

It all unfolded like a dance and I wondered if the heron actually planned it all that way.  Wondered if mom gator grieved for the loss of the baby.  Wondered if any cognition or emotion was involved.  I know mine certainly was."

Thanks, Charlie!

 This is a baby alligator-eating great blue heron.

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