Nesting Birds and Human Contact

As they are extremely vulnerable during their nesting periods, birds will do whatever they can to protect their offspring, and if they feel safe from intrusion, they will likely return in subsequent years.  If a young one falls from the nest, or an event disrupts or damages the nesting area, there are steps that should and should not be taken.

Alerted by a Robin’s frantic calls some years ago, I discovered that a fledgling had fallen from its nest in a tree located near our house.  I watched from a distance as the parents called out and the young one responded with chirps.  Knowing that I could not reach the nest, I waited to see what would happen. 

Later that afternoon, the fledgling settled into the shrubbery outside our large front window, and received regular feedings from its protective parents. 

The most important thing we could do to help was to keep the cat away from the area. 

The birds’ ‘conversations’ continued during the days when the tailless and flightless youngster cautiously moved about the garden, ventured farther onto the lawn, hopped onto the lower branch of a spruce tree, and eventually took flight. 

Those Robins stayed with us throughout the season, and we believe they returned to our area the following year.

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Belted Kingfisher Female

While walking along a lakeshore, a friend of mine watched in horror as the operator of an earth-moving machine moved too close to the edge above and caused partial collapse of a large sandbank colony of Belted Kingfishers’ and Bank Swallows’ nesting burrows below. 

The well-established lakeside colony and its amazing occupants were well known to locals who observed the activities but did not disturb the site or its inhabitants.  Needless to say, there was considerable anger directed at the careless operator.  

Parent birds, seeing that their nests with eggs, hatchlings or fledglings were destroyed, flew in all directions while frantically calling out in their harshest tones.  Instinctively wanting to rescue some of the fallen birds, the woman carried several young Kingfishers to her nearby home.   

While acknowledging the woman's good intentions and advising as to the proper care of the fledglings, a local Field Naturalist expressed his opinion that they should have been left alone.  He added that when the dust settled, the parent birds may have returned to rescue their young.  Though a large section of the sandbank colony was destroyed, they may have established another spot for rearing the young.

Regardless of the great concern and careful tending provided by the woman, only one young Belted Kingfisher survived.  We could only guess at the number of nests, eggs, and birds involved in the tragedy.


(Female Kingfisher photo credit:  "Mike" Michael L. Baird)
 

Cold Weather Guests

Our provision of seeds and suet throughout the winter months enabled all members of our young family to learn about our winged guests and the squirrels that periodically jumped into the feeding area.  The first lesson was that birds are reliable weather predictors as they gather in feeding frenzies shortly before storms set in.

Some experts criticize the practice of feeding wild birds, citing the natural food sources as most beneficial, while others believe that with increased urban sprawl and other factors causing natural areas’ depletion, our feathered friends need help. 

From their autumn arrival that indicated changing weather conditions, until their return to northern breeding grounds in late March or early April, slate-gray Dark-Eyed Juncos were delightful guests.  Foragers in fields and gardens where tall seed-bearing plants protruded above the snow, the pleasant-sounding twitterers frequently joined other birds at the feeders.

We were fascinated by the thirty or so brown and white birds with crimson forehead patches and black chins, and some with rosy vests (the males) that flitted from plants to trees to feeders in synchronized formation.  That was our first ‘Redpoll winter’, so-named because those ‘buzzing’ birds of the finch family don’t always appear at the same location in successive years as they seek food south of the tundra.

 

Regular visitors to our gardens and trees throughout the year, Black-Capped Chickadees’ numbers increased during winter.  Small birds that puffed up their feathers against the cold, dashed from tree, paused, searched for food in bark folds, hung upside down on branches, and indulged in morsels from clumps of suet, they delighted us with their antics and variety of calls and songs. 

I was able to observe them closely when they and their ‘cousins’ the Nuthatches discovered the windowsill feeder sheltered by an overgrown honeysuckle bush.  An industrious Chickadee worked for several minutes at burying seeds and bits of peanut in the bush’s bark crevices then carried another away.  Immediately after its departure, a quiet, clever Downy Woodpecker crept up the branches, systematically retrieved and ate the treats.

Early in November, a chunky, gray-yellow Evening Grosbeak sat near the top of our large maple tree, ate solitary meals of sunflower seeds which it cracked easily with its stout bill, and for two days watched and waited until two bright-yellow males arrived.  

The next morning, thirty-four of those striking birds converged on our feeders, consumed every sunflower seed quickly, and demanded a refill.  In March, at least one hundred of those winter show players dominated the early morning and late afternoon scene with their constant chatter and seed-cracking.

Each day, the steady metallic chip sound broke the early morning silence as Northern Cardinals arrived from the nearby woods to add a brilliant, colourful touch to the winter landscape.   During periodic visits that continued until dusk, they were extremely cautious and quick to depart whenever they sensed danger.  However, they merely hid in our cedar hedge during one blustery afternoon while I uncovered and replenished the food supply, then resumed their ground feeding as soon as I left the yard.  

One calm, bright February afternoon, a male Cardinal appeared as a brilliant flame atop a tree where it enjoyed the warmth of the sunlight.  When his mate arrived at the feeding area, he joined her and, as we observed, they dined side by side for the first time that season. 

Small groups and pairs of soft brown Mourning Doves swiftly flew in on whistling wings or wandered in from neighbouring fields to partake of the bounty.  As many as forty of those gentle birds strolled among Sparrows, Finches, Pine Siskins, and Juncos, apparently oblivious to the bad-mannered Blue Jays and Blackbirds.  When strong cold winds ruffled their feathers, many nestled into an evergreen branch shelter we placed near the feeding area. 

At dawn, raucous calls echoed from the woods out back, and blue streaks crossed over the field.  Small birds scurried and showers of scattered seeds flew in all directions onto the ground as Blue Jays pounced onto the feeders where they quickly ate some seeds, then filled their crops.  With understanding of the pecking order, we overlooked their bad manners.  Also, as we soon learned, they provided sentry duty, and gave out shrill calls to warn of impending dangers such as hawks or shrikes.  

Admittedly, we wondered about their apparent false alarms that resulted in quick departures of all other birds followed by the Jays’ swooping down to enjoy sole occupancy of the feeders.

As many as fifty Eastern Goldfinches in their dull winter plumage were fascinating to watch as they approached the feeding area in undulating flight.  On one bitterly cold blustery morning many small birds ate hastily then retreated to the shelter provided by our cedar hedge.   At the same time, twenty-seven Goldfinches clung to the sheltered south wall of our brick garage where they were warmed by the sun.   

Woodland Stroll on Snowshoes




Beyond the Garden Fence

Those of us who have access to woodlands throughout the seasons are indeed fortunate.  We can discover plants previously unknown to us, and become aware of the habitats of creatures that prefer trees, brambles, and fallen logs. 

During winter, the woodlands often present surprises, as we discovered during a late January stroll on snowshoes.  Determined to get away from the day-to-day rush, we set out with no schedule or concern for time.  Soon after we entered the woods, we heard the distinctive vocalization of a Raven coming from high above the trees. 

We were soon greeted by the delightful sounds of male Black-Capped Chickadees and knew that milder weather would appear soon.  While there were several of those hardy little birds nearby, only one followed us as it delivered its cheery ‘dee-dee’ notes.  Familiar with their habits, we knew that if we presented seeds or peanuts in outstretched hands, it would eventually dart in to grab the offering. 

While pausing on the trail to listen to the echoing sounds of a Pileated Woodpecker, we noticed a large, dark patch of something resembling jumping flecks of black pepper on the snow.  We watched the ‘Sand Fleas’ for a few minutes, and decided to learn more about them when we returned home. 

Though frequently referred to as Snow Fleas, those tiny flecks are not actually fleas or insects.   They are Springtails, so named because of their ability to jump in any direction when a spring-like apparatus is applied.  Completely harmless and mostly unseen during warm weather because of their colouring, they are part of the wooded areas’ clean-up crew as they assist in the decomposition process by eating rotting leaves and other decaying matter. 

A large grove of white cedars holds many secrets as it is inhabited by snowshoe hares, red squirrels and other small mammals that feed on seed clusters that hang from snow-laden branches.  During harsh winters, it provides not only shelter but also one of the White-tailed deer’s favourite foods – the scaled leaves of small cedar offshoots.  We did not venture into the grove, but paused and wondered about the number of inhabitants, then continued on our way.

Rowan Tree Myths, Legends, and Facts

Sometimes we do things without fully understanding why, and later realize that we actually had the reason hidden somewhere in our minds.  There are folks who believe that we carry the spirits of past generations that guide us. 

Rowan Tree Berry Cluster

Years ago, my daughter gave me a Rowan Tree (often known as a Mountain Ash) as a Mother’s Day gift.  Without hesitation, I decided to plant it a few feet from my front door.  It flourished, bore flowers and berry clusters, attracted birds that picked every bit of fruit from it in the autumn, and survived a move to my new home where, once again, it grows near my front door.

Several years later, while researching the Rowan, I learned of that fast-growing tree’s ability to tolerate air pollution.  Also, I learned that in many different cultures through centuries, it was revered for its special powers and properties.

The Old Norsemen treated the tree as holy and sacred for, according to their mythology, Embla, the first woman, was made from the Rowan tree.  Also, they believed that when Thor fell into a swift-moving river during his journey to the underworld, a Rowan tree bent over to help him as he struggled to reach the shore.

According to many, the tree’s protective influence strengthens a person’s life energy which then allows her/him to break victim consciousness and be self protective through intuitive insights.  To this day, many believe that the Rowan’s energy can increase individuals’ abilities to communicate with the spirit realms.

The trees’ berries bear a five-pointed star – the ancient symbol of protection – that represents the five elements:  spirit, earth, air, water, and fire.  Believing that this “Tree of Life” provided protection, Celtic people frequently planted them in churchyards to ward off evil spirits, or placed Rowan twigs on graves “to keep the unquiet dead from leaving their graves”.

In some Scottish areas, Rowan branches were hung above stable doors to prevent witches from taking the horses for a midnight ride.  Highland Scottish women wore necklaces of Rowan berries strung on dyed red thread, while in Wales people wore crosses carved from pieces of the tree’s wood. 

Some Irish people believed that fairies loved it so much that they hired a giant to protect their Rowan tree.  Highland Scots made wines of the berries while the Welsh made ales, and the Irish used them to flavour mead. 

Symbolizing growth and rebirth, the Rowan tree’s  dense wood, considered the best for making walking sticks, Druids’ staffs, divining rods, and, of course, magic wands, has always been used by the wise ones.

Why did I plant my Rowan tree near my front door?  Perhaps because that's where the ancient people planted theirs.

 

 

 

 

 

Who’s Been Eating in My Garden?

What happened in the carrot patch?  Early one morning I noticed that there was a pile of chopped-off tops where rows were previously visible.  Later that day, I spotted the culprit – an Eastern Chipmunk – digging to retrieve the succulent young roots.  In all my years of gardening, I had not seen that particular bit of thievery.

The Chipmunk, a regular visitor to my property, gathers hazelnuts that it frequently shells and eats while sitting on the deck.  It’s a joy to watch as it scurries about, lets out its ‘chip’ sound,  samples buds from a Johnny-jump-up plant, checks the cherry tomatoes, and drinks water from a shallow pan after sliding down the eaves trough.  Before that day of discovery, I had not seen it in the carrot patch.

The name of this smallest member of the squirrel family derives from the Algonquian “Adjidaumo” (pronounced a-chit’-a-mauk) in reference to its habit of descending trees head first.   Though it gathers most of its food by ground foraging, it easily climbs trees and shrubs to harvest berries, nuts and seeds.

Inhabitants of mostly deciduous woods and solitary by nature, each Chipmunk constructs its own burrow tunnel with the entrance camouflaged by a fallen log or tangle of shrubs.  It uses its cheek pouches to carry the excavated earth out and away from the entrance.  During its lifetime (usually about four years) it may have a 40-foot tunnel with several entrances and chambers.

Separate from others, the nesting chamber is insulated with fluffy seed heads and/or grasses, and shredded leaves.  The winter supply of non-perishable foods is stored in an accessory chamber.  The majority of Chipmunks in Canada breed only once, though in the southern U.S. they frequently produce two litters. 

Mating occurs in northern regions during April or May near the burrow of the female who produces a litter of about five young that she rears alone.  By September or October, the adult-sized young retire to their individual burrows.  Not a true hibernator, the Chipmunk enters brief periods of torpor, awakens, eats some food, then sleeps again and repeats the routine until mild weather appears.

When comfortable and assured of its safety, this delightful creature will cautiously venture towards a human and chew on apple cores placed nearby, or accept hand-held peanuts or sunflower seeds. For its entertainment value alone, it earns the small amount of carrots or other treats from the garden.  Additionally, its uneaten, small caches of seeds germinate to become the Chipmunk's contribution to the spread of plants, shrubs, and trees.

 

Sharing and Remembering

Through the years, my family members, friends and I have exchanged numerous specimens of favourite plants.  As I look at my gardens that contain a wonderful assortment of perennials and shrubs, I reminisce about the people who generously added to the collection – where we were and what was happening in our lives at the time. 

More proof, if it’s needed, that the garden is a place where not only co-operation, good planning and hard work happen, it is also a place where good memories dwell. 

Some of my plants that travelled several times over many miles during transitional periods settled nicely into new garden patches, and continue to thrive.  Perhaps the most successful in that regard is the hardy Shasta daisy – a hybrid produced by horticulturist Luther Burbank in 1890, and named after Mount Shasta because of its snow-white petals.

Long a favourite of mine, this strong, old-fashioned plant with bright yellow centres in its large white flowers contrasts beautifully with others in a mixed border.  Even when the blossoms are finished, the dark green foliage provides a good background.  Attractive to bees and butterflies, the flowers are excellent in cut-flower arrangements, and will last up to ten days in water that is regularly freshened.

My original Shasta daisy plant lived in a relative’s garden during a brief period of change in my life about thirty years ago.  When I was again able to establish gardens, I brought it home.  Since that time, as it spread and required dividing, I planted some in different areas of the garden. 

In the spirit of paying it forward, I gave substantial root clumps to several people – some avid gardeners including a local storekeeper who gave me a hydrangea, and some novices interested in learning about the activity that consumes most of my time and energy during good weather.

                                  

Family Tradition

As a child, my first chore was the removal of weeds from a flagstone walk -- tedious, yes, but a good lesson in tenacity.  While I enjoyed being in the garden, the plants that fascinated me most were the tall, colourful hollyhocks with their seed-filled discs.
 
We didn’t use any chemicals; only natural fertilizers applied to the rich loam soil to produce a wonderful variety of healthy, gorgeous flowers and an abundance of vegetables.  

Certainly as a child I didn’t always want to help with chores, but throughout my lifetime, gardening has been an integral part of my being.  I’ve often wondered if that was learned or inherent.  Perhaps it’s both.

My parents planned and maintained gardens throughout their lifetimes.  Though my maternal grandparents were not avid gardeners, their daughter (my mother) was.  

While searching my family’s genealogy, I discovered that my paternal grandfather was groundskeeper at The Guynd in Carmylllie, Scotland – a large country estate with landscape designs laid out between 1750 and 1860, and later at Colliston Castle in St. Vigeans Parish, Forfar.  Successful groundskeepers with considerable wide-ranging horticultural knowledge displayed their own creative designs within the original landscape architect’s site plan.

Beginning in their early years, while following me around the yard, my children touched, smelled, and asked questions about various flowers.   I’m pleased to observe that the family's gardening tradition continues.