Redpolls and Starlings show up

European Starling photo by R. Hays Cummings

It was -25C this morning, but not a breath of wind, mercifully. The bird feeders were almost empty. In addition to the usual hungry suspects, the newly-arrived Pine Siskins have swelled their number to 45! They're eating me out of house and home. Now the Redpolls have arrived. There were four of them this morning, jostling with the Goldfinches, Tree Sparrows, Juncos and Pine Siskens for the Black Niger seed.

I finally got around to putting out some suet balls this week. I was hoping for woodpeckers, of course, but the first arrivals were five Starlings...a bit of a surprise. While a year-around resident of Southern Ontario, in winter Starlings usually forage in large flocks, in the hundreds or thousands, where there is a good food supply. I'm hoping the five Starlings in my backyard, right now, keep the suet balls their very own secret.

Starlings, in the winter, look quite different. In winter, they are covered in hundreds of white spots and I think they are quite interesting to see. The internet photo above, taken by R. Hays Cummings, of Ohio, shows how striking the Starling's winter plumage is.

Below is an interesting internet photo of painted feathers, emailed to me by old friend, Peter Marsh. I don't know the identity of either the painter or photographer, but there is a lovely symbiotic message in the artist's presentation of image and materials.

BtheB

Pine Siskins at the feeder

Pine Siskin photo by D. H. Baker

A flock of about 20 Pine Siskins showed up at our bird feeders this weekend and they were a welcome addition to the winter-feeding menagerie we have been enjoying so much. When I went out to fill up the feeders for them, they landed at my feet - very tame, indeed. So far this winter we have had Red-breasted and White-breasted Nuthatches, Downy and Hairy Woodpeckers, Goldfinches, House and Purple Finches, House and Tree Sparrows, Juncos, Chickadees, Blue Jays, Cardinals, Mourning Doves, and now Pine Siskins. I'll have to get out and stock up on seed tomorrow, as I'm getting low and with the really cold temperatures predicted for this week, the birds will all be ravenous. UPDATE: Make that 35 Pine Siskins - Jan. 12/09

BtheB

My holiday poem

BLACK Snow

You've heard of black ice.

It's not very nice.

It occurs only once in a while.

But what I dread more,

Dumped right at my door,

Is Black Snow in a whacking great pile.

With a rumble and roar,

About half-past four,

It arrives while I'm still in my bed.

I trudge from my hovel,

Armed with a shovel;

The Black Snow is as high as my head.

I huff and I puff

And shovel the stuff,

'Til I gasp: "Please God, have some pity!"

But I know that tomorrow,

Much to my sorrow,

Black Snow will arrive in King City.

Now you want to know,

Why call it Black Snow,

When everyone knows that snow's white?

"Send out the snowplows!"

Mayor Black, she avows,

"And fill in each driveway by dawn's light."

Barrythe Birder

2008

...with apologies to Her Worship, Marg Black

Who is L. J. Gardener?

Someone calling himself, or herself, L. J. Gardener, responded to my last blog (about the unfolding Ottawa Operetta), with the observation that I still appeared confused and with this recollection: "I know a man who named his four cats Pierre, Elliott, True and Deau". Yes, it was me who once gave four adorable kittens those silly names, but that tidbit of feline nonsense dates back 40 years! I have no idea who L. J. Garderer is. Is L. J. Gardener a trifler, a stalker, what? This is an intriguing little mystery and I hope the mysterious commentator leaves inadvertent future clues as to his or her identity. Is it someone who I have paddled a canoe with, got drunk with, owe money to, lusted in my heart for? If L. J. Gardener continues with his or her comments, under that innocuous nom de plume, I shall find you out.
Daring you, BtheB

Be careful what you wish for

When I proposed that Stephane Dion should ask the Governor-General to form a coalition government three months ago (see my blog of Aug. 26), I had no idea how such a simple idea could get so complicated, so quickly. But once again, I failed to consider the relentless, blind ambition of Stephan Harper. The inimitable Rick Mercer, in today's Globe & Mail calls the the two Steves: "...these damaged, needy men...". Would that it ended there, but the whole of Canada is now damaged and needy.
Stephane has gone from being Dion the Decent, to Dion the Ditherer, to Dion the Dolt. The main problem for the proposed coalition is that Monsieur Dion is no leader. He is nothing more than a caretaker now. Let Michael Ignatieff and Bob Rae carry the ball from this point. As for Gilles Duceppe, he must be greatly amused to be constantly wooed one moment and demonized the next, by all and sundry. Make no mistake though, he is the kingmaker here. It shows unmistakeably on his placid face whenever the coalition's Three Wise Men sit before the press. Whoever is prime minister in the new year, be he Tory or be he Grit, it will happen only when Duceppe says "sit". Is it too much to ask that Stephen Harper leave politics at the same time as his buddy George Bush does. Is he not the crisis for Canada?
Please comment if you wish.
BarrytheBirder

Freedom Rock at Nottawasaga Bluffs

That's my friend, Pieter Thoenes, in the top photo, standing atop the Nottawasaga Bluffs, just west of Creemore, Ontario, in Grey County. Pieter has a very Dutch name, is English through-and-through, and has lived in Canada for many, many years. He was and still is a world-traveler. Most recently, he and his wife, Annie, spent almost a month in the South Pacific. Pieter and I like to get together and go hiking and a week ago we explored the trails, crevices and caves of the Nottawasaga Bluffs Conservation Area. Part of the Bruce Trail runs along the bluffs. Freedom Rock is the name given to two facing walls of a crevice and the cave at the bottom. Someone, a mystery person, carved dozens of aphorisms in the rock faces of Freedom Rock many years ago. The sentiments expressed by the carver seem to me to be the work of an agrarian Libertarian.

Consider these examples: 'Individualists are diamonds'...'To be fully educated one must farm 5 yrs'...'The greatest freedom of all is to spend your own money'. In the second photo, above, Pieter stands inside the Freedom Rock cave (which is known to some as 'The Tomb') and near to an inscription that reads: 'Single people are economic slaves of the state'. Unfortunately, someone has recently coloured in the lettering in an attempt to make it more legible. In the third photo, I too am in the cave inspecting the carving technique of a short and sweet message that says a lot in just two words. As a former stone-carver, I have an idea of how much time and effort went into this work: lots! Much of the work is spread over sheer rock walls that are 30' high. Locals say it was done over a number of years, but no one seems to know the person. The caves and crevices of Nottawasaga Bluffs are just one very interesting aspect of what I think is one of the best hiking areas, in this part of Ontario. I can't recommend it enough.

Please comment if you wish.

BtheB

Jaxon's Walking-out Ceremony

The little fellow on the right, in the picture above, is my grand-nephew, Jaxon. He lives in the Cree village of Wemindji, on the eastern shore of James Bay, in northern Quebec. Jaxon is nearly 18 months old and a couple of months ago he participated in his village's walking-out ceremony. He was dressed as a goose-hunter for his part in the festivities and, judging by the photographs, looked quite dashing, I must say.
Jaxon's grandfather (my younger sister's husband) was a full-blooded Cree, which made Jaxon's father a half-blooded Cree. Jaxon's mum is white, therefore Jaxon is a quarter-blood Cree. The thinning of the blood notwithstanding, Jaxon, so far, is a full participant in his native canadian heritage. Part of the traditional Cree native culture celebrates the early coming of age of infants who are old enough to walk. A symbolic ceremony marks the expectation of what will be the productive behaviour of every growing individual, the embracing of the collective objective of work, and the resultant worth of every person in Cree Society.
The walking-out ceremony sees the children dressed in traditional native clothing and equipped with toy versions of the tools used by Cree hunters - guns and knives for the boys, and scraping instruments, bannock sticks and firewood for the girls. The elders of the community send the children from a ceremonial tent to parade themselves, and the decorated animal facsimiles they have 'hunted', before other members of the village. Sometimes the boys are assisted to fire a rifle into the air. The children return to the elders and present their catches, for which they receive approving hugs and kisses. The ceremony is normally held in the morning, with the ceremonial tent facing the east and the morning sun - a constant symbol of optimism and hope for the future. After the ceremony, refreshments, story-telling and lots of laughs are enjoyed by all.
Below is a picture of Jaxon and his friends sitting on a woodpile and posing for photographs. Many thanks to my sister, Denise, for sharing these adorable photos with the rest of our family.
Please comment if you wish. BtheB

Focussing on a barn

The photograph above is of the barn at Cold Creek Forest & Wildlife Area on the 11th Concession of King Township. It's a pretty static shot with no particular focus point, but it's texture and colours and content stir within me powerful memories of my grandfather's farm and the times I spent there as a child. As I stare at this photograph, which is currently the wallpaper on my computer screen, I decompress, relax, and slip into a few timeless moments. It's as though the stone, mortar and wood in the image are drawing me in to a virtual reality where the simplicity, innocence and safety of my childhood embraces me once again. In other words, I really feel good when I look at this picture. I thought I'd share it. I hope you get a good feeling too.

BtheB

Ogden Nash on birds...

The song of canaries
Never varies,
And when they're moulting

They're quite revolting.

The ostrich roams the broad Sahara.

It's mouth is wide, its neck is narra.

It has such long and lofty legs.

I'm glad it sits to lay its eggs.

A wonderful bird is the pelican!

His bill holds more than his belican.

He can take in his beak

Food enough for a week

But I'm darned if I know how the helican.

The grackle's voice is less than mellow,

his heart is black, his eye is yellow.

He bullies more attractive birds

With hoodlum deeds and vulgar words,

And should a human interfere,

Attacks the human in the rear.

One cannot help but deem the grackle

An ornithological debacle.

...and one by Nash wannabee, Jack Prelutsky:

Do not approach an emu.

The bird does not esteem you.

It wields a quick and wicked kick

That's guaranteed to cream you.

Family Photo at Kettleby Fair

Each fall, the historic King Township village of Kettleby celebrates its heritage with a main street fair. One the settler families of Kettleby was the Shanks, who were ancestors of my wife Linda. It seemed only proper therefore that Linda and I, and our kids and grandkids, have our picture taken while enjoying last month's Kettleby fair.

"Michaelle? Stephane here. I'd like to form a government".

Just because Stephen Harper is fed up leading a minority government, that doesn't mean he has to cram another election down our throats. Let's just switch from Stephen to Stephane and let the Liberals have a go at it. If Mr. Harper shuts down his government, why not let Monsieur Dion go to Madame Jean, our Governor-General and tell her that he wants to form a government. All he would need is the support of the The Bloc and NDP (they've got nothing to lose) and what could she say? I can't think of a good reason for her to say no. But I'm no expert on constitutional matters or federal governance. Where is Eugene Forsey when we need him? It would sound better coming from him than me.
God, how I'd love to see the Tory apple cart upset and that smirk wiped from Stephen Harper's face. But it's not going to happen because Mr. Dion is too anxious to go to the election polls...the opinion polls be damned. Besides, what's another $300 million? Or another $300 million after that, if no one wins a majority. $300,000,000 (looks even bigger with all those zeros) is a spit in the bucket, right? A mere pittance for a man to prove to a nation that he is its saviour. Which reminds me, where is my bucket? I've made myself nauseous.
BtheB

Young Hummers are about

I love this time of year, late August. A new crop of young Hummingbirds are out and about. You have to be be careful in the backyard because they are chasing each other and fighting for possession of their favourite nectar feeders (we have 6 of them this year). I am constantly ducking as they streak by. My friend Peter Marsh sent me some great photos of nesting Hummingbirds and fledgings a while ago and I share three of them here. The first one below is a newly hatched baby (the first of two). It is all of 3/4" in size. The next photo is the the second baby, 21 days old and almost ready to leave the nest for the first time. The third photo tries to give some perspective to the size of these tiny creatures and their nest by inserting a 2 1/2" toothpick and a penny into the nest..

Grandkids ~ I can alarm them or bore them

My new grand-daughter Brawley seems to be saying, in the photo above: "Who are you and where is my mummy?!?" Below, it seems to be a case of out of sight, out of mind, and "Who is tickling the bottom of my feet?"

Finally, below, it appears to be: "Well it is a pretty comfortable spot and I do need my beauty rest".

Newest grandkids - Spencer & Brawley

Introducing...Spencer James and Brawley Elizabeth, my newest grandchildren. They're about 2 1/2 months old, but Brawley is 2 weeks older than her cousin, Spencer. I insisted they smile for this photograph but they're not quite old enough yet, to smile on command.

Frank's fantastic figs

This is my friend Frank Delorenzo standing in his fig grove and displaying some of its fine ripe fruit. Frank was born and raised in southern Italy and when he talks about figs, you know right away that he knows what he's talking about. But Frank's jungle-like fig grove is not in the sunny, Mediterranean climes of Italy. It's right across the street from me in beautiful, downtown King City. Frank came to Canada many years ago and is retired from Canada Post.

Frank admits to being passionate about all things connected with nature. Others, in our village, may have one fig tree, but Frank had dozens of them. They thrive and are protected in a greenhouse which Frank made himself, in his backyard. His wife Anna insisted I take two ripe figs home - one for Linda and one for me. See the photo below of one of the beauties. It may be the best fig I have ever tasted. For sure, it was the freshest. Well done Frank, and thanks Anna. BtheB

Here's a pretty picture...

I took this picture of a Milbert's Tortoiseshell and some pretty posies at Toad Hill, home of my friends Pieter and Ann, in the Mulmur Hills this week. The Milbert's Tortoiseshell is about 2 1/2" wide, eats nettles, and is fairly common in southern Ontario. The males like to establish perches on hilltops, as do Ann and Pieter (see photo below).

I am my car - my car is me

This is a disgruntled me, above, and my little red truck, which I was banned from driving last month for what the Ontario Ministry of Transportation told me would be 4 to 6 weeks, while I recuperated from my ministroke, and until the ministry got a letter from my nuerologist saying I was fit to drive again. I really had no beef with what happened...rules are rules.

4 to 6 weeks without driving is not an eternity. As it turned out, it just seemed like it. I had no idea how much my car is a part of who I am. It's a part of my identity and a huge part of everything I do. I am my car - my car is me, or so I thought. Actually, my car did just fine without me - and with my wife behind the wheel. She said my car was cheaper to drive because it runs on regular gas, while her older model runs on premium gas. I felt inconvenienced, held hostage, and totally dependent on someone else to go anywhere that my feet refused to go. I just kept reminding myself that if I had had a real, full-blown stroke, the resultant, life-altering disability would have been nighmarish. The money we saved on gas happened to coincide with the money I was saving on booze. I had also decided to become a teetotaller until my triglycerides went down.
While the photo above shows me sulking beside my trusty steed, the photo below shows Linda, in a totally uncommiserative mood, off on another jaunt in my little red Jeep. Thank God I am behind the wheel again. Some things should never be taken for granted.
BtheB

My new grandson, Spencer

This is Spencer James Bailey, my new grandson. A second son for my daughter, Allison, and her husband, Rob, he weighed in at 6 lbs, 5ozs. Mother and son, and dad, are all doing fine.

Rob and Allison and Baby Spencer in their first family portrait.

Meanwhile...

Spencer's grandpa and grandma believe you can never start them too young when it comes to birdwatching. In the photo above, Spencer's cousin, Emmy (Emondine), is being alerted to a pair of Northern Orioles flying over Cold Creek Forest & Wildlife Centre. Ya gotta start 'em early. BtheB

My new granddaughter Brawley

This is my adorable new granddaughter, Brawley Elizabeth Wallace-Parekh. She was born on May 14 and weighed in at 7 lbs. 1oz. Two weeks old tomorrow, she eats non-stop and appears to be thriving. An interesting name, Brawley, especially as a given name. As a surname, it's origin is the Irish Gaelic O Brolaigh and means 'descendent of Brolach' (a personal name possibly derived from brollach 'breast'). The Brawley name is first traced in Lancashire before the Norman Conquest and the Brawley family motto is 'Vigilant and bold'. Well, we shall just have to wait and see about that. If you Google her name, the first thing you come across is a cowtown in southern California, but that is not where she got her name. Baby Brawley's name is a memorial to her father's good friend, Eric Brawley, who passed away suddenly and sadly, a few years ago, at the age of 34. Now, I'm off to spend some time with the wee girl. Is their anything more precious, in your arms, than a newborn? BtheB

I'm a very, very, lucky guy

Last week I suffered a T.I.A. (trans-ischemic attack) or mini-stroke. I ended up in York Central Hospital, in Richmond Hill, for four days. YCH is now designated as a 'Stroke Centre' which was lucky for me. Over the course of four days, ( two in 'emerg' and two in the stroke ward, plus one hour-long follow-up visit at the Stroke Clinic), I was attended by 57 different people! Without exaggeration, I liked everyone of them. They were all friendly, helpful, pleasant and positive. They gave me every test known to mankind and pumped me full of clot-busters, anticoagulants, blood-thinners, cholesterol-fighters, stuff to make my blood platelets slipperier, and God knows what else. The paralysis in my right leg disappeared very quickly and I was feeling fine in short order: so much so that I started to feel like an imposter. I was amazed at the work-up they did on me and how quickly it was done. While I was there, I read that one in five who suffer a T.I.A., will have a real stroke within three months. My immediate goal therefore is to get past the next three months, mend my wicked ways and take better care of myself. While I'm at it, I intend to write a letter to the hospital's board of directors, the minister of health, and the Canadian Nurses Association to tell them all about the impressive care I received. I am waiting a little while for the euphoria of the care experience to wear off a bit so that I do not prejudice or exaggerate my remarks with emotion or drug-induced delusion. My wife, Linda, and daughters, Allison and Auralee (both ready to give birth this month) were bricks, especially Linda who visted me and then hurried home each day to deal with a total, floor-to-ceiling kitchen demolition and renovation. Yes, I am a very, very, lucky guy and judging by what I saw at YCH last week, there are many stroke-victims who cannot say that. My thoughts are with them as I go back to bird-watching and enjoying this spring.
Please comment if you wish and please take of yourself.
BtheB