Who’s counting?

No one needs incentive to venture out in the fine sunny weather we’ve been having here in PA.

So, while out, why not spot some local birds, or even tally some for the Great Backyard Bird Count (running through Monday)? 

Here are the birds we’ve been seeing this winter on a small stretch of Little Crum Creek:

• blue jay
• common grackle
• American crow
• dark-eyed junco
• white-throated sparrow
• house finch
• hairy woodpecker
• downy woodpecker
• red-bellied woodpecker
• tufted titmouse
• chickadee
• wren
• nuthatch
• cardinal
• mourning dove
• brown-headed cowbird
• robin
• house sparrow
• starling
• goldfinch
• turkey vulture
• red-tailed hawk
• sharp-shinned hawk
• Cooper’s hawk

Some are easier to count than others.  Some are easier to photo …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From top: robin, house sparrow, goldfinch, downy woodpecker, starling.

 

Introducing the house sparrow

Histories suggest that English house sparrows were first introduced to the United States in New York during the 1850s.

Introductions then followed in several other cities, including nearby Philadelphia. 

Surely soon after, house sparrows found their way to Little Crum Creek where they now seem quite at home.

These gray-capped & black-bibbed males, tawny-topped females, and young ones who closely resemble their moms might be the most frequently seen birds in our area.

Shown taking advantage of a mild winter, several dry their ruffled feathers in the warming sun while others plunge in the rippling shallows of the stream below.

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The house birds

One might easily pass a climbing mass of multiflora rose and
barely notice all the birds meeting there throughout a winter day.

 But then a sudden flutter reveals a house finch, flanked
by house sparrows, on a tangle in the sun.

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Winter visitor

Suddenly snow & a sprinkle of seed
draw the white-throated sparrow
closer than usual by Little Crum Creek. 

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Dark-eyed junco

Amid winter’s brown stripes of sparrow, finch, and wren,
zipping from brush to branch to feeder and back to brush again,
a dark-eyed junco’s charcoal hue is easily distinguished.

Often found feeding on ground-spilled seed,
this little sparrow brightens considerably
 when flashing outer strips of white tail feathers
in sudden lift to a nearby tree.

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I see the morning light

From the western side of Little Crum Creek,
it seems that autumn’s fall prepared the trees
to welcome winter’s sunrise.

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Tree of life

Thanks to spring blooms that fed the bees
that pollinated the flowers that produced fall’s fruit,
a gray squirrel dangles from hind legs, to pluck a ripe crabapple, 
and nibble the food in its paws on a nearby branch.

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From flower to fruit

In certain cultures, it might be improper to tell stories out of season.

Nature sharing can feel that way too.

But when some of the year’s last fruits hang from their branches, I can’t help but see a whole tree abloom like spring.

Culmination of our seasons, late fall’s crabapple makes even that floral expression seem present today.

 

 

Camel cricket

Camel crickets look humped & leggy.

Wingless, they can not chirp like other crickets.

So it could be easy to mistake these silent basement dwellers for eccentric spiders.  

They just suddenly appear of a day, cavalierly crossing the floor.

But, approach for a closer look, and one’s subsequent jump will emphatically correct the misconception.

It might also incite a thrilling chase to cup this guest and gently suggest another place to live.

 

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Field cricket

“It is in the wild in the seventh month,
Under the eaves in the eighth month,
In the house in the ninth month,
and under my bed in the tenth month.”   *  ^
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Some anonymous soul composed this verse over 2500 years ago in China.

Today one might witness a similar pattern repeating itself here on Little Crum Creek.

Summer’s chirping symphonies of the grass have gradually dwindled to autumn’s solitary calls.

And a field cricket suddenly sounds from a darkened corner of the house.

Only a male field cricket chirps, rubbing his wings to attract a mate.

The female is distinguished by a long, menacing-looking appendage jutting from her back end.

Actually harmless, this ovipositor inserts fertilized eggs in the soil after a successful coupling.

Those eggs overwinter, hatching a new generation of field crickets in the spring.

But the parents won’t survive to see them. 

So why begrudge a male’s last call in the house or, seen from the corner of my eye somewhere down on the floor, a mother’s final crawl?

The silence and stillness of winter comes soon enough.

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