Birdtober Day Eleven: Dickcissel

 

 

Today's bird is the Dickcissel. My poem traces its yearly schedule. You can see my sources at the end of the post.

 Photo Source: eBird.com

 

The Year of the Dickcissels


In the spring and summer,
Dickcissels spread out
over thousands of miles
making their flatulent
Dickcissel sounds
and eating bugs.

But in the winter,
almost all the Dickcissels
go to one region of Venezuela.
Now instead of bugs
they chow down on grain,
ruining the crops
and sending the farmers out into their fields
with bottle rockets and pesticides,
banging pots and pans to chase the birds away.

All the future eggs of
all those Dickcissels
are in one basket.
In flocks a million strong
they risk it all.

And then,
they head back north to breed,
meeting up with the few
less adventurous Dickcissels
who spent the winter
at bird feeders
with the House Sparrows.

Who knows?
Maybe one year
they won’t come back at all.

 

©Ruth Bowen Hersey 

Sources: Dickcissel, Audubon Field Guide; Dickcissel, Missouri Department of Conservation; Dickcissel, American Bird Conservancy; Dickcissel, Wikipedia;  Dickcissels in Venezuela, Sutton Center

Birdtober Day Ten: Grebe

 

I've seen one kind of grebe, the Pied-billed Grebe. Honestly, though, I am completely clueless about water birds. These were a long way away. We looked through the spotting scope and marveled at how much better it was than plain binoculars, but even so, it looked like any duck to me. 

I have been reading Kenn Kaufman's classic and wonderful book Kingbird Highway: The Biggest Year in the Life of an Extreme Birder, about his trip around the US in 1973 in search of the record for the longest bird list for a year. Today I decided to write some found haiku from Kaufman's work. (I'm not sure found haiku is even a thing.) 

 

Here are the two pages from the book which were my sources. After the poem I'll post a Pied-billed Grebe (the one I've seen) and a Western Grebe (the one Kaufman is writing about).

Grebes in Summer

 

Grebes, background music,
floating nests out in plain sight,
surface of water

Limited by time
life list of mortality
everything will end

Found by Ruth Bowen Hersey 

in Kingbird Highway, by Kenn Kaufman

Pied-Billed Grebe from eBird.com

Western Grebe from eBird.com

Birdtober Day Nine: Artist's Choice

 

I've posted before about the Great Blue Heron, the bird I chose for today's Artist's Choice. You can see here and here the story of the Great Blue Heron Nokomis, who had a big part in my becoming a birder to begin with. Although I researched them and wrote about them, I didn't see my first Great Blue Heron until July this year, in Kansas. After that I saw several more before coming back to Haiti. 

Today's photos are from my son, who had to get at least a little into birds, just out of self-defense. Now he is keeping me informed on what he sees on his New England college campus. 

Great Blue Heron


My son sends me photos
from his college campus
of a Great Blue Heron.
He says it sits in the pond
and is there every day
when he passes.
He says he hears its croak.

My son is so far away,
but Great Blue Herons
fly here sometimes
in the winter,
and I hope he will too.

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

Today is October Big Day, meaning birders around the world will be paying special attention to birds. This day was chosen to coincide with peak migration. Speaking of which, a friend sent me this amazing tool last night. You can use it to find out how many migratory birds are in flight at a given moment!

Poetry Friday: Birdtober Day Eight: Common Yellowthroat

 

Today's poem is about the Common Yellowthroat, but it's also about my family. I mused here, by way of Pablo Neruda, about that tendency to write about ourselves, no matter what we're ostensibly writing about. Today's photos are mine, too. The first one is the wetland in Kansas (mentioned in the poem) and the other three are from my research. Other sources I used: Common Yellowthroat and Common Yellowthroat.

I'll post links at the end to the other Birdtober entries so far.

Common Yellowthroat

In April,
we saw a Common Yellowthroat in Haiti
on a scrubby mountainside.
Turns out,
that’s where some of them
spend the winter.
Their Kreyol name:
Ti Tchit Figi Nwa,
little bird with a black face.

We saw so many birds that day,
and heard others.
(We were birding with an expert friend
who pointed out beautiful sights
we would never have seen on our own.)
Maybe the best:
a Narrow-billed Tody,
neon green with a bright red chin,
a lifer.
The Common Yellowthroat
was a lifer too.
I don’t remember him particularly,
but he’s on my list.

In July,
we saw three Common Yellowthroats in Kansas
in a protected wetland.
Turns out,
that’s where some of them
breed.
Their midwestern name:
yellow bandit.

We saw so many birds that day,
and heard others.
(We were birding with an expert friend
with a spotting scope
and there was a bird checklist available
with the sign at the entrance,
complete with map and photos
and an admonition not to hunt or fish.)
Maybe the best:
a Great Blue Heron,
slate blue with a long and graceful neck,
a lifer.
The Common Yellowthroats
were lovely too,
and we listened to their
witchety-witchety-witchety call
and chased them until we found them.

Later in July,
we saw two Common Yellowthroats in South Dakota
in a mountain forest.
Turns out,
that’s where some of them
spend the summer.
Their scientific name:
Geothlypis trichas,
a small thrush close to the ground.

We saw so many birds that day.
and heard others.
(We were birding with our children,
who walked on ahead,
laughing and talking
and enjoying each other’s company,
going really too fast for birding,
but together, and with us,
so we were happy.)
Maybe the best:
Cedar Waxwings,
delicate and dapper,
a lifer.
The Common Yellowthroats
showed up on the sound ID,
hanging out in the trees,
catching bugs.

I’d like to say
we followed the
Common Yellowthroats,
flying in an airplane
instead of winging north
(migrating nocturnally),
like they did,
but of course
our journeys weren’t related.
We just crossed paths a few times,
birds and birders,
as we lived the quiet drama
of our own lives,
and they got on with theirs.
We just listened to them
and spied on them through binoculars.
Turns out,
that’s one way some of us
mark our days:
by the birds.

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

Here's are the poems I've posted so far for Birdtober:

 

Last Poetry Friday, October 1st: Antillean Palm-Swift (rhyming poem)

Saturday, October 2nd: White-necked Crow (short free verse)

Sunday, October 3rd: Bee-eater (list poem)

Monday, October 4th: Brown Creeper (tanka)

Tuesday, October 5th: Hornbill (rhyming poem from the bird's POV)

Wednesday, October 6th: Common Grackle (short free verse)

Thursday, October 7th: Rallidae (except not really - this giant extinct flightless Haitian bird isn't a true member of the rail family, Rallidae, but I couldn't resist writing a limerick about it anyway)

 

Today's roundup is here.

Spiritual Journey Thursday: Here

"When someone asks us where we want to be in our lives, the last thing that occurs to us is to look down at our feet and say, 'Here, I guess, since this is where I am.'" Barbara Brown Taylor, in An Altar in the World

I should have written my post this morning, instead of waiting until I came home from work, tired and grumpy. It is easier for me to be spiritual in the morning, when the day's possibilities still lie ahead and the temperature is cool and the birds are singing outside my window. 

And yet here is where I am, here in this place, here in this body, here at this age, here in this moment. This is the reality of my life, the only time I can claim. Here.

 

So. Here is where I am. Here after my disappointing day and before the night when I may or may not sleep. Here, where things aren't the way I'd choose for them to be. Here, with my children far away. And here, with so much to be thankful for. Here, with the food I just ate sitting comfortably in my belly. Here, in my healthy body that's not in pain. Here, loved. Here, with God. Here. 

 

Ramona, this month's host, asked us to reflect on the word "here." You can see what she and everyone else said... here.

Birdtober Day Seven: Rallidae

 

Why does today's prompt use the scientific name for the rail family, Rallidae, when all the other prompts use common names? I have no idea. 

I haven't seen any birds from the Rallidae family, but I went looking for information on one of the exemplars in Haiti. There's the Clapper Rail (reported on eBird in my region 31 times ever) and the Spotted Rail (which has been seen in Haiti and reported on eBird exactly one time). But my Googling also brought me to this article (and this, this, and this). 

 

See, there was this giant flightless bird that once lived in Haiti, called a Haitian Cave Rail. It's extinct now, but DNA studies on its fossilized toe bone show that its ancestors came, not from the Caribbean, but from the South Pacific or Africa. And it's not really a member of the Rallidae family as once thought. No, this bird is more closely related to -- wait for it -- Flufftails. I mean, come on. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

So instead of a real member of the Rallidae family, I absolutely could not resist writing about Nesotrochis steganinos, the Haitian Cave Rail. (I guess you could say I went off the rails.) A limerick seemed appropriate. And no, it wasn't exactly a toenail, but close enough.

Genetic Surprise

The giant extinct Haitian Cave Rail

Turns out to be really a Flufftail.

Flightless yet terrific,

From the far South Pacific

Or Africa. So says its toenail.

 

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

 

 Fossilized bones from the Haitian Cave Rail

Photo Source: https://caribbean.loopnews.com/content/study-uncovers-african-south-pacific-link-extinct-haitian-bird

 

Birdtober Day Six: Common Grackle

 

We don't have Common Grackles where I live, but I saw many many of them the last time I was in the United States. I wrote my poem from that perspective, but in my research I also learned something fascinating, as I was trying to find out where the scientific name, Quiscalus quiscula, came from. Apparently Linnaeus invented the genus name Quiscalus, and it's not clear where he got it, but one theory is that it comes from the word Quisqueya. This is the original name of the island of Hispaniola, frequently used in Haiti and the Dominican Republic alike. Wikipedia, quoting The Helm Dictionary of Scientific Bird Names, translates it "mother of all lands." Here in Haiti I have heard the translation "cradle of life." 

So how about that? There is a Haitian connection to the Common Grackle.

 

My friend Joanie Engeman Tomlin gave me permission to use her gorgeous photo of two Common Grackles for this post. Thank you, Joanie!

 

 

Common Grackle

They’re rascals,
Sometimes pulling up plants,
Sometimes eating another bird,
With a voice like a creaky gate
And a penchant for letting ants
Tend to their personal hygiene.
A flock of them is called
A plague of grackles.

They’re everywhere as the sun comes up,
So many you stop adding them to your checklist,
Groaning, “Not another grackle!”

But look again:
What a beautiful bird!
Social, caring for each other’s fledglings
Common, yet priceless
Drab, yet burnished with iridescent color
Shining in the morning sun.

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

Here are the sources I used: Quiscalus, Common Grackle, Common Grackle, Common Grackle, Getting to know the Common Grackle

Slice of Life Tuesday: Birdtober Day Five: Hornbill

 

 

 

There are about 55 species of hornbills in the world ("about" because there is some controversy over how the species should be split). They can be found in Africa, Asia, and Melanesia.

 

I had a lot of fun writing my hornbill poem. I didn't specify one hornbill species, but wrote it more generally. At the end you can see my sources.

 

 

I asked my friend Joanie Engeman Tomlin for permission to use one of her amazing photos in tomorrow's post, and she graciously offered me more photos, too, so you can see some of hers here, and you'll see them again for upcoming birds!

Red-billed Dwarf Hornbill, from West Africa

Photo Source: eBird

 

Great Southern Hornbill, in South Africa

Photo by Joanie Engeman Tomlin

 

Hornbill


Why must you always, always broach my bill?
I know it is spectacular, but chill,
My eyelashes are also fit to kill,
The sounds I make will always bring a thrill,
The oldest one of me was 19 mill
-ion years ago, and look, I am here still!
And yet it always comes back to my bill,
Made of an ivory folks like to carve until
It makes a gorgeous netsuke - that’s brill
For samurai, but not for me; it will
Involve my death. I have more facts to spill
But once again, you’re speaking of my bill.
Some species bear the name of “rhino,” bitter pill
For one so beautiful. There’s no ill-will
From me to you, but my task is uphill
To get respect without becoming shrill.
Take notice of my other traits: my skill
At nesting in a hollow tree, my finding food abil
-ity, my way of caring for my babies - all these fill
My mind, and yet you only know my bill.
Why must you always, always broach my bill?
I tell you, I am more than just my bill.

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

 

 

Yellow-billed Hornbill in South Africa

Photo by Joanie Engeman Tomlin

 

 Rhinoceros Hornbill from Malaysia

Photo Source: eBird

Sources: Wikipedia article on Hornbills, San Diego Zoo article on Hornbills, Example of a netsuke made from Hornbill ivory 

 

 

You can see everyone else's slices here.

Birdtober Day Four: Brown Creeper

 

Although Brown Creepers are common all over the United States, I've never seen one. I researched them on eBird and Audubon.org. (Check out this article on bird camouflage; there are several amazing photos of birds blending into their surroundings, and if you scroll down you'll see a Brown Creeper - or, I should say, you'll have trouble seeing one.) 

 

I decided to write a tanka about the Brown Creeper. 

 

 Brown Creeper

Photo Source: eBird

Dinnertime for the Brown Creeper

Camouflaged creeper
Crawls up tree like moving bark
Insect connoisseur
Passes nuthatch crawling down,
Fellow guest at bug buffet.

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

Birdtober Day Three: Bee-eater

 

 

I am learning so much from this project! The bee-eater research was especially fun as I hunted them down in eBird; the colors are so bright and various. Here are my other sources: 10000birds.com,  Wikipedia's Bee-eater article. Plus my brother told me about the seven species he's seen. 

 

Stay tuned at the end for an amazing video from the Bronx Zoo, the very first day they fed bees to their captive bee-eater population. And another one where you can see the way the bee-eaters slap their food against a branch.

 

Bee-eaters

Crayon-box of bright colors
With a slash of black over their eyes,
Twenty seven species of bee-eaters
slap their prey on a branch before eating:
Slap
slap
slap!

In Africa a Northern and Southern Carmine,
Rosy, Cinnamon-chested, Little, Somali,
Blue-moustached, and more;
Rainbow in Australia;
Asian ones Blue-bearded, Blue-cheeked, Blue-tailed;
There’s a Red-bearded in Malaysia,
Purple-bearded in Indonesia,
All slapping away:
Slap
slap
slap!

You can see one in Queen Hatshepsut’s tomb.
Aristotle said to kill them to protect your bees.
Back when people wrote letters,
Bee-eater stamps winged their way around the world.
Hindus say if you gossip you’ll come back as a bee-eater.
They bathe in the dust and sun themselves,
And they grasp stinging bugs in their down-turned bills:
Slap,
slap,
slap!

 

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

 

The bee-eaters are in the second half of the video, but I found the whole thing fascinating. 

 

 

Here's a closer view of a bee-eater slapping its food.

Birdtober Day Two: Artist's Choice

 

Today for Artist's Choice I chose to write about White-necked Crows, the Caribbean's largest corvid. These birds are loud and huge (17-18 inches long) and I wrote about them before here. Even though I started this project as a bit of a "Look up in the sky and away from what's happening down here on the ground," I find that the Haitian situation has crept into today's poem. Last week I pointed some White-necked Crows out to a Haitian friend and she replied that back in July there were many of them around (I was out of the country). She added that people always say that they mean something bad is going to happen. I didn't know that before, but I can imagine why, with their raucousness. She said it sounded like they were fighting in the sky, and then they found out the president of the country had been assassinated. I used the Kreyol word for these birds in my poem title.

A Murder of Korbèy

White-necked Crows’ cacophony in early July
Sets people in Haiti talking darkly of omens
Until the news fills with unendurable details
And a president is gone

 

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

Screenshot from the Merlin app

 

Poetry Friday: Birdtober Day One: Swift

 

 

 

I'm not at all sure that I'll be able to do every day of this Birdtober challenge, but I'm going to try. (Check back during the week to see how I get on, or I'll post links to all of them on Fridays.) Certainly I had to do the first day, for which the prompt is a generic "Swift." There are about a hundred species of swifts throughout the world, but here in Haiti we have the Antillean Palm-Swift, so that's what I wrote about.

Yes, wrote. Birdtober is supposed to be about visual art, but I'm borrowing photos to illustrate, and writing instead.

I learned a lot about the swifts in general and the Antillean Palm-Swift in particular, only a tiny bit of which shows up in the poem. For example, the family name is Apodidae, meaning footless. My first draft used the word "footless," but I replaced it with "footloose," because they aren't really footless. They got that name because they hardly ever use their feet, since they are almost always flying. Antillean Palm-Swifts have purple feet, reportedly. I wouldn't know, because they never hold still, and I only see them flying way way way above me. But I believe it, because Philip Henry Gosse, the British naturalist who first named them in Jamaica in the 1840s, tells us without a trace of regret that he saw a bird clinging to a nest, "which I shot." Presumably he then held it in his hand to examine every part. You can read more of his detailed and fascinating description here. (I'll put links to more of my sources at the end of the post.)

I really wanted to put Gosse himself in the poem, because he was quite the character, but I didn't - this time. Maybe later! 

 

You'll see in the poem that they build nests, in common with other swift species, using their spit; this species nests in coconut palms.  You'll also see some more of their habits.

Photo Credit: Joshua Vandermeulen, eBird.com

Antillean Palm-Swift


Darting
up
above
the sands

Eats
mid-air
and rarely
lands

Catches
bugs
and sleeps
while flying

Flapping,
squeaking,
high-pitched
crying

Black
and white,
retreats,
advances

Island-
dweller
twitters,
dances

Coco-
nutty
nests
of spit

Footloose,
fancy,
flit
flit
flit

©Ruth Bowen Hersey

 

Sources: Antillean Palm-Swift, eBird, Swift Wikipedia, Antillean Palm-Swift Wikipedia, Antillean Palm-Swift DataZone BirdLIfe International, Philip Henry Gosse, Swifts - info and games 

Catherine at Reading to the Core has today's roundup.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Compliment, Eighth Grade Style

Last week I showed my eighth graders a photo of me as a child. It was part of a presentation where I shared the process I had gone through to write a poem. I told them about an experience I had had, and then showed them my brainstorming, my first draft, research I did to improve my details, and so on. The photo, taken with my brothers long ago and in a galaxy far, far away, illustrated how I looked when the events in the poem took place. 

"Miss!" said one student in amazement and delight, "You used to be pretty!"

I did not respond in the way I wished to, which would have been something like this: "Ah, yes, my child! But that was before....the hideousness!" (Evil cackle.) Instead, I just smiled and thanked her. 

You can read everyone else's slices here.

Poetry Friday: Migrants

Yesterday I saw my first warbler of the year, the first migratory bird this season (except a couple of Ospreys I saw two weeks ago). I'm pretty sure it was a Prairie Warbler, but it's a little hard to identify them when you're a beginner like me, and so many of them are various shades of black and brown and yellow. Here's what I wrote about it:

First migrant this year

Hides behind leafy branches - 

So much I can't see.

 

The main kind of migrants in the news these days are the human variety. Here in Haiti we have been reeling from the photos and words from Del Rio, Texas. It's easy to stereotype the people under the bridge, but everyone there has a unique story, a complex set of events that led to this moment. 

I've been thinking about Rupa & The April Fishes' song Poder. It talks about what can cross the border and what can't. Obviously birds can and do (we're starting to see them arriving here), but for people it's a lot more challenging. The song on the video is in Spanish, and below is the English translation from the CD liner notes. 

Power

 

the fish can

the wind can

even money

but not me

the song can

love can

even a little kiss

ay! because of this border

the earth cries, the earth cries

and I do too

in spite of this border

life is like water

it must run

the coyotes can

an ice cream can

even a whisper

but not me

the televisions can

injustice can

even my work

but not me

my thirst can

my gaze can

even my heart

but not me

Rupa Marya

When people who are being deported arrive back in Haiti, lots of them have microphones and video cameras thrust at them and the raw stories come pouring out. Many have crossed nine or ten countries to reach Texas, facing heartbreaking danger and abuse along the way. And now, they are back where they started. All that money, all that risk, all those months of travel thrown away. Home now in a country they no longer recognize, full of so many new problems beyond the ones they originally fled. 

What should be done? It's not clear. But each migrant has a story; we don't know until we listen. There's so much we can't see.

 

I appreciated this article that goes into the history of the current crisis in depth. There's plenty of blame to go around on both sides of the political aisle in the US, through policies in many countries including the US, Haiti, and Mexico, and in individual decisions. It's long, but well worth reading if you're seeking to understand how things got this way.   

By the way, next Friday is the 1st of October, and I am trying to do at least some of Birdtober this year. I'll be writing, not drawing, and I've only written one post so far, so we'll see how that goes. I thought if I wrote about it here today, I might increase the likelihood that I'll do more! 

 

Laura has this week's roundup.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Dessalines Day

This is a version of a Facebook post I put up yesterday.

Yesterday was a new holiday in Haiti, Dessalines Day. Yes, we've had Dessalines Day for a long time, but always in October, commemorating the day of his death. This year we are celebrating the day of his birth (and we will still have the holiday in October, as a day of mourning). The US Embassy put this painting of Dessalines on Facebook with their notice that they would be closed on Monday, September 20th. Then the comments started. Some said the Embassy should keep the sacred name of Dessalines out of their mouths (they aren't worthy to speak it). Many muttered about hypocrisy. Someone asked what independence they were talking about (Dessalines is a hero of the Haitian struggle for independence). Isn't the US ashamed to claim to be Haiti's friend, people wanted to know? One said that the US was deporting 275 Haitians to mark the day. Several said, "Bondye wè nou." God sees us.

Some of the people returning to Haiti right now have been out of the country more than ten years. They went to South American countries for jobs, like getting ready for the Olympics in Brazil or construction work in Chile. Now they have undertaken the incredibly difficult and dangerous journey through South America and Central America, reached the border with Texas, crossed it, and boom, they are suddenly back in Haiti. Many of them are children born in one of those countries along the way, kids who've never been to Haiti before at all. The people under that bridge in Texas aren't trying to make some political point; they are trying to find a place where they can work and feed their families. Have you seen the photos of border patrol officials on horseback with whips, rounding up Haitians who are bathing or washing clothes in the river? I assure you that in Haiti people have seen those photos. When I saw them, they were captioned, "Our misery."

 

 Here's my post from the original Dessalines Day in October, from 2011.

 

And here are other people's slices for today. 

Poetry Friday: History

There were lots of things to write about this week, but unfortunately no time or emotional bandwidth to write. I just know that Frederick Buechner says to pay attention to things that make you cry, and there were a bunch of those this week. 

For example, today a middle schooler wrote an essay about the assassination of the president of Haiti this summer. She described exactly how he died, because it was reported in minute detail in the news. She said it was the worst way of dying she had ever heard of, and she's not wrong. I wish she didn't know all those specifics. I wish I didn't know them. She ended with a list of things the people who didn't like the president could have done instead, if they weren't happy with him. One of them was that they could have sent him an email.

How do you even respond to this? I really don't know. I told her that her piece was hard to read because the true things she wrote are so painful. But, I said, she had done a good job. I fixed her spelling. 

Here's Billy Collins writing about a teacher who tried to tone things down for his students. It wasn't very effective. I find myself wanting to protect my kids from the world, but it's really not possible, is it?

The History Teacher

by Billy Collins

Trying to protect his students' innocence

he told them the Ice Age was really just

the Chilly Age, a period of a million years 

when everyone had to wear sweaters.

And the Stone Age became the Gravel Age,

named after the long driveways of the time.

The Spanish Inquisition was nothing more

than an outbreak of questions such as

"How far is it from here to Madrid?"

"What do you call the matador's hat?"

The War of the Roses took place in a garden,

and the Enola Gay dropped one tiny atom

on Japan.

The children would leave his classroom

for the playground to torment the weak

and the smart,

mussing up their hair and breaking their glasses,

while he gathered up his notes and walked home

past flower beds and white picket fences,

wondering if they would believe that soldiers

in the Boer War told long, rambling stories

designed to make the enemy nod off.

Denise has the roundup today. Happy First Roundup, Denise!

Slice of Life Tuesday: Feather Mug

 Starting the morning

with tea in my feather mug

searching for lightness

Poetry Friday: Sonnet 73

It seems like a day for a classic, a poem people have been reading for 400 years. 

 

TLDR: Yeah, everything and everyone you love will go away, but that's all the more reason to love well while you can. 

 

Love well today, poetry friends! And here's the roundup.

Sonnet 73

William Shakespeare

 

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

 

Slice of Life Tuesday: Another Birding Milestone!

On December 8th I posted about my 92nd day of my eBird checklist streak, meaning that I had posted at least one birding checklist on eBird.com per day for the preceding 92 days. I was pretty pleased with myself, and I'm even more so today, on the 365th day of my checklist streak. 

 

A whole year of daily birding! So many beautiful birds, so many heart-lifting moments! And I have to admit, there's also a lot of pleasure in watching the numbers mount: species, lifers, days in a row. I'm competing purely with myself; eBird shows me that I am now the 89,522nd eBirder in the world in terms of how many species I've seen. And 19,881st for number of checklists. So, not exactly a leading light. But if they could measure how much I enjoy it, I'd be a lot higher on the list.  

You can read everyone else's slices here.

Poetry Friday: Something

Something Told the Wild Geese

by Rachel Field

 

Something told the wild geese
It was time to go.
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered,—‘Snow.’
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned,—‘Frost.’
All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spice,
But each wild breast stiffened
At remembered ice.
Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly,—
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.

 

It's almost time for the migratory birds to start arriving here in Haiti!  That mysterious "something" is getting ready to send them south! 

 

If you'd like to contribute to earthquake relief in Haiti, I posted some suggestions here. 

The inimitable Heidi has today's roundup.