Close Encounters of the Bird Kind

I was editing photos for my next project on the train ride up to New York. I liked the above image and when I zoomed in to check focus I had a delightful surprise, enough to make me yell out in the Quiet Car.



Look who’s lurking in the silo window. I love surprises like that—small things that change the photo’s atmosphere. Well, she’s probably not all that small, but you know what I mean.

T
his is the scary house where the vulture bum-rushed me from that upstairs window.

That’s the second consecutive photo safari that included a vulture. Maybe I should stop combining long runs with photography?

Close Encounters for the Third Time

The amount of wildlife here is phenomenal.

I can’t believe it happened again!

This time Cole and I were taking a break from a little hike on the Appalachian Trail and were sitting on a pile of rocks, engrossed in an intense discussion. There was a little rustle that I figured to be a squirrel, when suddenly Cole jumped up and got behind my back, as bear cub ambled onto the rocks near by (a few feet).

Boy was he cute! Boy were we startled! He was even more spooked—and went tearing off down the mountain at lightening speed. The next logical question, of course, was the location of his mama. Though we hiked the rest of the way with a big stick in one hand and rock in the other.

Happily, we never did meet the rest of his family.

Weekly bear sightings? What is this place; Alaska?

Close Encounters of the Animal Kind

On this morning’s run, I encountered deer, rabbits, horses, birds, and cows. As I ran by the Sweetbriar barns, of course a bunch of dogs attacked. Most were up to the usual dog-on-runner tricks but one of them was super-aggressive and it went straight at me—and bit me! Fortunately, his teeth happened to land harmlessly on my watch and I was not injured. Here’s the shameful thing: it was a big white...poodle(!). I’m almost too embarrassed to write it.


But the highlight of the morning happened about 2 minutes into my run. As I headed down the mountain on a back road, who should cross my path but a big black bear. YIKES!!! And he was really close—about 40 yards, which a bear can cover quicker than a sprinter. Clearly escape was impossible, so I waved my arms over my head and clapped and yelled real loud. Fortunately, he crossed the road and into the woods in a bear’s ambling way. I guess the wild blueberries were probably more interesting than my tender flesh...

Where's the Love?

First the "Love" note got taken down, now the whole dialogue has been removed.

Someone took down the "Love is in the air" response to the recent mockingbird bulletinboard battle. That's just sad.

Of course, I blame it on the City Itself, which renders people utterly incapable of handling Nature's slightest caprice, all the while becoming caricatures themselves.

I reiterate: someone needs to take a little vacation from the city...

Love is in the Air, Part 2

It started with a note on the bulletin board at my studio building. Something to the effect of, “Hey everyone! Call 311 about that annoying electronic bird song device that always goes off around midnight.”

Hmm.. that’s odd… I’ve never heard it (though I’m not usually at the studio at midnight. I wonder if it’s a real bird?

A few days later, a reply:

“I think it’s a northern mockingbird. They sing their mating call at night. Let us know if you discover otherwise.”

Soon, another resident chimed in:

“It’s definitely more than one kind of bird.”

And back:

“I don’t think so. Listen to mocking bird (aka nightingale) calls. They imitate everything and only sing about 3-5 reps of each song. It stopped singing at 11:06 tonight.”

“That’s very interesting. Thanks for your advice.”

With a second sheet of paper now filled, the OP posted on a third sheet,

“Last night it was quiet. If it was a real bird, perhaps he changed shifts. More plausible it was a device and someone changed the timing. All last week, two calls at a time continuous from 11:00 at night to 4:00 or so in the morning. Does not match typical bird behavior unless it was a very loud mockingbird (perhaps with an amp) and OCD. I think it man-made.”

Too much fodder for ridicule to even bother with that one. Clearly, someone needs to a. get out of the city for a while, b. start preparing for black helicopters to descend, or c. pick up some ear plugs.

On yet another sheet, confirmation of the sound’s avian origins from a fourth writer:

“I asked a birder friend—male mockingbirds run thru all the different bird call sounds to attract a mate. They only sing around midnight and when they find a mate, they don’t sing anymore. Maybe you should just hope the poor guy gets a date…”

Then some wiseacre [not me this time] tagged the corner of this last sheet with some inspirational words that brought the dialog to a nice conclusion:

“Love is in the air…in every sight and every sound.”

Cue the music. "Hush little baby don't say a word..."

That #$^%@@& Squirrel!!

Not THAT squirrel! We LOVE the Splinter squirrel!
It's the one that's been digging up our garden that has us all outraged.

With the passing of Epiphany, it was time to compost our enormous Christmas wreath. Sebastian and I took it outside and methodically unwired and dismantled the thing, making little blankets of greenery for the sad trees that line our street, like they do on the Upper East Side. Those pine needles were the only greenery to be found within about a mile radius of our house. I’m not exaggerating about that.

We saved a bag full of twigs for the flower box in our kitchen window, that planter being the only green anything visible from our apartment window. There used to be a tree back there but our lovely neighbors chopped it down to give the “denunded-tropical-hillside” look that reminds them of home. They, did, surprisingly enough, leave an eight-foot stump, so the grandmas could still hang their laundry lines. The drunken supers and the old ladies are serious threats to the backyard ecosystem, but the greatest menace of all is scruffy, vicious squirrel.

In one of my fondest recollections of the summer, we once spotted him digging the plants out of said flowerbox so I called my cat (Creepers) to deal with him. Creeps is a bad-a$$ kitty: big, burly, aggressive and a very efficient and reliable hunter. Prototypical New York street cat. Anyway, Creepers made good on his name and crept right into the windowsill until only a screen window separated himself from the rodent.

When the squirrel looked up from his depredations and saw that he was face to face with a big cat, he did not run. No sir, he bum-rushed Creepers, leaping spread-eagle onto the window screen and hissing, sending the cat rolling backward head-over-tail in astonishment. It was very cartoon-like.

Creepers was pi$$ed. His expression read “Let me at him, I can take him!” I was quicker though and repelled the varmint with a broom I had ready for the occasion. Our victory was merely tactical (not strategic) and he soon returned while we were away and completely devastated our fine window planting.

So we’ve decidedly lowered our expectations for the flowerbox. I thought about planting my bulbs while I was gardening, but I figured the pest would quickly devour them. So I decided to simply mulch the flowerbox with the pine branches, to keep the soil moist and active. Well, no sooner had I finished and closed the window then the wretched thing arrived and started rooting around. Finding nothing buried under the needles, he proceeded to eat the pine needles themselves. Ouch! Yucky!

That’s one hungry squirrel, with a belly full of turpentine. I’m sure his nastiness results from starvation and he’s undoubtedly driven to desperation by the total lack of vegetation. But he’s also to blame for it. I once saw him systematically going from branch to branch of the now-deceased tree and stripping off every leaf one by one and letting it fall. That squirrel is sort of typical in my neighborhood. It’s a vicious cycle where people live in squalor and don’t see any reason to not trash the place.

After chasing the squirrel off again, Sebastian and I decided to go to the playground (which obviously has no grass, but at least affords a decent view of the sky). As we left the building, we noticed that the super had meticulously removed the garlands we had laid and dumped them into the trash.

In the bleak Mid-Winter

I love this time of year--the solstice season. It always gets a little bit warmer for a few days, the fields are cut, the birds easy to spot, and the light makes everything look like a fairy tale. The days are getting longer and the holidays create a tone of wonderment and awe.

If I were not in the city, I would go for a long walk through fields and forests, meadows and bogs and reflect on all that surrounds me. Since I'm stuck in the City, I went for a lovely run across the Williamsburg Bridge and meandering through East River Park. Let's be real--even though the gardens are nice it's not a natural environment. In fact, my reverie was disturbed by an attacking pit bull and its urban-cretin owner blamed me for it yelling, "why are you running around, anyway?" Well, countrymouse is well accustomed to negotiating aggressive dogs (almost every run in rural VA features at least one encounter). My tactic, which has always worked, is to ignore them completely (with the occasional gratuitous kick to the head) knowing they can't keep up for very long and are not fast, smart, or well-trained enough to know how to land a truly grievous bite.

The dog didn't disturb my reverie at all. Very Zen-like, actually, though the owner was less than courteous. I quickly distanced myself and had a wonderful run. The perfect weather (crystal clear and 45 deg.), combined with the Christmas-induced claustrophobia, and the sugar and caffeine rush from Cole's yummy cinnamon rolls and coffee created a perfect situation for a nice run, deep breathing, and as much peace and reflection as one can ever hope to find in an urban park.