Here in Central Florida we have a number of woodpecker species. The above is a red-bellied. Nice.
But today wasn’t a nice day for local woodpeckers. We had a big, sickly oak tree taken down. And a tree in that condition is becoming a rarity in our area.
You might say that woodpeckers love sickly trees. Trees that harbor many hidden insects. If the tree hadn’t been leaning toward our house, and within striking distance . . . I likely would have let it be. At least for a few more years.
Even by what we might consider “tidying-up nature,” we leave a footprint on Earth.
With almost sub-sonic, booming thuds, the last of the hundreds-of-pounds section of tree have just come down. Eerie.
Should I wave goodbye to the woodpeckers?
Birdwatchers know that the more common a bird is, the less of a thrill they get when seeing it. Generally. In psychological terminology, you habituate to the repeated stimuli. That initially-unique-to-you bird becomes ho-hum familiar.
Grackles like the above visit our feeders only in Spring. When they do come, they aren’t especially welcome. They are seed-hogs that travel in flocks, and they frighten away other birds. My reaction to them would be entirely different if grackles were non-bully, solo feeders.
Being extremely rare wouldn’t hurt their cause, either. Wow! We had a grackle at our feeder! That blue-black plumage, the yellow eyes!
Even the name of the bird . . . common grackle.
Yawn. Wake me up when an uncommon grackle comes a-calling.
Not really. I still think that type of bird is one striking creature. At least when I’m not wanting to bang pie-plates to keep it away.
In many films set a century or so ago, affluent individuals attend a ball — a festive dance — wearing a mask. Whether that happened with great frequency or not, I have no idea.
I do know that the above Muscovy duck seems to be wearing a mask of sorts. Perhaps made from the wattle of a rooster? Or at least constructed by similar genetic material. I would guess.
The above is not a recent photo. First, the branches of the ball cypress tree are bare. Second, that’s a mature female cardinal looking very healthy.
A more recent photo is likely to have skittish, disheveled juvenile cardinals visiting the feeder outside my window. And the cypress resplendent with feather-like foliage.
Every year this time in central Florida I invariably observe two developments that speak of the heat and humidity. 1. odd, hairless sores/growths on the squirrels (new pups only?); 2. the older lily plants in our pond become freckled with what is likely to be some sort of parasite.
Hot and humid. A good way to turn up the volume on biological activity. For good and bad.
It’s lunch time for me. Mmmm. Lunch.
What will I be feeding into my biological machinery? Well, other biological matter. Mostly cell-derived calories (cells — the stuff of biology). There may be a few seeds involved. Quite a bit of plant cells . . . some animal-generated proteins, fats, and carbohydrates as well.
I’d ask the above mourning dove and hairy woodpecker to join me (the dove must have lost a lover, the woodpecker forgot to shave), but they’d likely turn their bills up at the looks of my menu.
My inner word-curmudgeon busted out this morning upon encountering this headline -
Feathered Friends: Ostriches Provide Clues to Dinosaur Movement
Oh come on. Feathered friends? In the title of a science piece? Discovery Channel for kids, maybe . . . .
Besides, ostriches ain’t golden retrievers. Not by a long shot.
Can’t we humans care about other species without needing personal relationships with them?
Below is a roadrunner I photographed in NM last year -
Not my friend. But I care to know about it and perhaps protect its survival. Were it threatened.
Same with this canyon wren:
Isn’t it cute!
Cute? What am I, a lonely Mr. Mom looking for a surrogate infant?
Humans are so weird. And not just the birdwatching kind.
