We call this male Anna’s hummingbird “Old Man.”  He sits on a branch by the feeder on our porch, eats, then sits some more, as if on a park bench, watching the world go by.
The other day I stepped out to gather the mail, and was hit with a barrage of crow scolding.  There was a squirrel sitting on a branch near the crows, but surely that couldn’t have been the problem?  No, in fact the squirrel itself was scolding something.  Even a little Anna’s hummingbird was upset.  I felt very unobservant when I finally looked down to notice, almost right at my feet, the young raccoon that was exploring my front yard.  When I said “hello,” he looked up at me, came closer, and looked up some more.  The spell was broken when my cat Delilah got out, and I ran to get her (I had no worries that this little raccoon would hurt my cat, but Delilah is not supposed to go out!).  It is a common myth that raccoons seen during the day are rabid; here in the Pacific Northwest there is no rabies (except very rarely in bats–never in squirrels, raccoons, etc.), and there are all kinds of reasons raccoons might be out in daylight.  In summer and autumn, adult female raccoons will be out all day seeking food for their young of the year, either alone, or with the baby raccoons.  And adolescent raccoons, who are inexperienced and so have a harder time feeding themselves, are often out alone in daylight, but especially in winter when meals are more difficult to come by.  Distracted by Delilah’s escape, I didn’t manage to get this fuzzy iphone photo until the raccon was loping away, and under the fence into the backyard where my chickens were running loose!–locking them up was my next stop, but by that time he had completely disappeared, as raccoons do…

Who is visiting your urban-wild home these winter days?

Female Varied Thrush

Thank you Flickr users Lynette S, and rogerwshaw!

The nest they found in a corner of our roof is made almost entirely of mosses, refuse, and chicken feathers from our backyard.

Then a second message: “Well, we made a house for the little birds so they wouldn’t die in the sun, and put it on your house, close to where the nest was.  It’s not a very good house because we didn’t have proper materials, so I’m sorry about that.”  I smiled at the thoughtfulness of the roofers, and wondered just how horrible this ramshackle birdhouse was going to be.  But when I got home, this is what I found:

How cute is that?  It is neatly made with a leather hinge to open the box, and a perch for the parent birds.  Here’s a photo the roofers took while transferring the nest:

How good of them to take time out of the hot day, and their busy job to take care of these birds.  The nestlings are, of course, House Sparrows, sometimes called English Sparrows, an introduced species, an urban invasive, and one of the most ecologically despised of all North American birds.  Bluebird advocates in particular hate the sparrows for attacking bluebirds and evicting them from their nests, and recommend lethal control for the sparrows.  One intrepid elder in the movement catches them in a live trap, then cuts their heads off with her kitchen scissors.

I myself would never consider lethal control for a bird that has already been born, especially one that has made itself part of my household, invited or not.  I DO think we should remove nests and eggs of House Sparrows and starlings when we find them, and cover any inviting crevices.  The birds will attempt to re-nest several times after their nests/eggs are removed, but we can do our best.  Once the young are with us, though, they provide a good opportunity for the study of fledgling birds and parental care, as I wrote in a previous post.  Ecological disastrousness aside, the House Sparrow is an interesting bird with relatively complex social behavior, and both the male and female are devoted parents.  We can study them closely without worrying about disturbance as we might with a more sensitive, native species.

Claire studies a House Sparrow chick before returning it to its nest. Adult birds will not abandon young that have been handled by humans.

Curiously, while writing this post, a juvenile Cooper’s Hawk turned up on the wire beyond my study window.  He looks skinny, and autumn is a difficult, hungry time for hatch-year hawks.  Cooper’s are accipiters–bird eating hawks. Maybe he’ll catch one of the House Sparrows!

Meanwhile, I love our roofers.  What an inspiration to see such thoughtful care for wild things, even House Sparrows, even on a hot busy day, 20 feet off the ground.

P.S.  Alfa Roofing also did a great job on our roof!

My husband Tom, who manages the technical side of this blog, has been watching the search terms that bring traffic to the site. While the random one-off searches can make for interesting reading (today someone found the Tangled Nest by searching for “the world is our tool for love”–I guess that’s good!), certain terms come up over and over. One of the most common search terms bringing people to this site lately is “divebombing crows.” Or, as someone searched for today, in a resonant plea that has finally moved me to write: “crow divebombing help!” Questions about divebombing are also frequently asked at readings for my book, Crow Planet.  I’ve written a little about this before, but given the volume of searchers seeking help, here’s a little more.

Divebombing of humans by crows is a seasonal occurrence, linked to the most vulnerable stages of nesting.  Right now, fledgling crows are emerging from the nest, all of them are naive, and some of them are unable to fly.  It really is a dangerous phase of life for a crow family. Even if you don’t actually see the young, the adult birds may be protecting a nest with eggs, a hidden nest with freshly-hatched chicks, or chicks that have left the nest, and are tucked away in the branches or shrubbery.  In a couple of months, when  the young are grown and self-sufficient, the dive-bombing will stop.

Being so large and loud and bulky, crows are at a disadvantage as nesters. Think about it–most of the urban tree-nesting songbirds are so small.  Robins, chickadees, sparrows, finches.  They can build sweet little nests tucked into shadowy corners, well-camouflaged and difficult to find.  Their young are small too, and easy to hide.  Crows have no such luck.  They are stealthy for their size, but really–it’s hard to hid a big nest full of baby crows, all of them cawing in that baby-crow way, sounding like ducks.  As large, unpredictable mammals, we are rightly perceived as a threat.  HERE’S WHAT TO DO:  If a crow is calling at you during this season, just cross nonchalantly to the other side of the street, ignoring it completely, as if that’s what you meant to do anyway.  Continue on your way, enjoying the day.  If you are divebombed anyway, just keep going–the farther away you get, the better.  Think nice thoughts for the well-being of the crow young–who knows, it might help you seem less threatening to the crow.  If a crow has already determined that you are a threat and is divebombing you on sight (not ideal–other crows will think that this crow has a good reason to hate you, and might join the fun), then avoid the area for awhile.  If that’s impossible, walk through the area waving your arms slowly over your head, or consider a disguise–for real!  A hat that hides your hair color, some sunglasses…

Crows attacking hawks and owls is another common occurrence, and that happens year-round.  Many hawks and owls prey on both adult crows and their young, so crows are very proactive about discouraging their presence.  It’s amazing to watch a few small crows attacking a huge hawk or eagle.  If you hear crows suddenly calling in the neighborhood, it’s worth taking  little walk outside to see what’s going on–you’ll frequently be led to a wonderful wild scene.

The same impulse, of course, is what leads robins to attack crows this season–crows do prey on robin eggs and nestlings.  Robins don’t usually attack crows unless they actually see one approaching or pestering their nest or young.  You have to admire their guts!

I’m not a crow apologist, but I do think it helps to consider matters from the complicated standpoint of an urban-nesting crow parent.  And I think it’s wonderful that, no matter how urban our lives, we can witness firsthand the circle of life from our home places.  Enjoy.

Thanks flickr user Dr. Pat for the great crow image.

That same day, I heard adult Bushtits chirping in our yard, and followed them to the lilac tree and our own little cluster of newly emerged Bushtits.  I love how they huddle, all smooshed together in a little group.  When I mentioned this to Kathryn, she said, “Yes, just like they must have been in their nest.”  True, and wonderful to imagine, as Bushtits lay their eggs and grow their young in the loveliest hanging-basket nests, delicately woven of mosses, lichen, and spider webs. The inner chamber, where the eggs are laid, is lined with the softest possible things–animal fur and feathers–and the whole nest sways gently in the wind, like a cradle.

As nests go, they are relatively easy to spot:  hanging instead of tucked into the fork of a branch; often quite low in the tree; and built in open woodlands, at forest edges, in suburbs, parks, and urban neighborhoods, where we regularly wander.

Even though they are so common here in the western states, Bushtits are sometimes tricky to identify.  We are taught to notice the “field marks” on a bird–the colors, wing bars, eye stripes, tail shape, etc., that are clues to distinguishing it from other species.  But of all the birds in the entire North American field guide, Bushtits are perhaps the most “field markless.”  They are pretty much all brown, often described as “drab,” with no stripes or bars of any kind, just a vaguely lighter-brown breast and a longish tail.  There is one interesting field ID trick with which you can amaze your friends:  the adult female’s eye is light, the male’s is dark.

Bushtits are tiny, tiny, tiny, with a fabulous social structure.  Excepting spring, when the birds pair up for nesting, you never see just one or two Bushtits.  If you do see one in a shrub, look around–there will be a dozen, or three dozen, or more, all traveling as a little Bushtit organism, and if you spend some time watching them in action–their feeding acrobatics and constant movement as they glean small insects–you could never call them drab.

I’ve written before about how I prefer feeding birds with plants, rather than maintaining feeders.  For Bushtits, I allow a few of the invasive fennels that flourish in our herb garden to grow to maturity, even though none of us like fennel.  When the plants go to seed in the late autumn, they are covered with Bushtits and chickadees.  Bushtits weigh almost nothing, and though the fennel fronds are thin and delicate, they don’t bend in the slightest when the Bushtits land on them. We bring dried fennel branches onto the deck, so we can watch the birds feed at close range through the kitchen window.

Y’all know I never miss an opportunity to deliver my favorite sermon, and the season is ripe for it:  If you find a baby bird that has fallen to the ground, but can’t fly, please just pick it up and put it near its nest if you can find it, or on a nearby branch out of harm’s way.  Settle the bird on the branch by covering its eyes lightly with your hand until it is calm.  Softly remove your hand, and then leave.  The adult birds will continue to care for their young.  They cannot “smell human” on the little bird, and even if they could, birds are fabulous parents, and would not abandon their chick!  Let’s work to dispel this myth…

Meanwhile, enjoy this season of wonderful bird behavior, where naive young are learning their way in the world, and protective adult birds are so bold and busy.

The nest and fledgling photos in this post are by Kathryn True, an incredible naturalist, educator, writer, and dear friend.  Visit her website to see some of her work.

Thanks to Flickr users Rick Leche and judy h for adult Bushtit images.

Original enough for me, in spite of the artist’s protestations, and a reminder, in a society focused on the visual, to listen in ways I’ve never even thought of.  But I can’t definitively identify these birds in silhouette.  Any good South American birders to help me out?  I’m thinking an Icterid, perhaps the Shiny Cowbird?

Meanwhile–Peace, love, and birdsong.

We are loving this almost-autumn season, with the pumpkins turning orange, a chill in the still-warm air, the chickens putting themselves to bed earlier every night, and the sunflower heads heavy and drooping with seeds.

Sunflower seeds are super-nutritious.  You can roast your sunflower seeds for tasty human nibbling, or add them into breads and muffins (for ideas, how-tos, and stronger opinions about sunflowers than you ever thought possible, check out this Mother Earth News article from 1976–back in the day!).   Since we have many seed-loving native birds in our neighborhood (chickadees, nuthatches, goldfinches, juncos…), and we don’t maintain feeders, we just leave our sunflowers as homegrown birdfeeders.  The chickadees pluck one seed at at time, then sit on top of the flower to eat it.  Couldn’t be cuter.

Last Friday I received an e-mail from some neighbors that live about five blocks from me.  I’d never met them, but one of Leucy’s favorite perches was right in front of their house.  On the day of Seattle’s new heat record (over 103 degrees), they found her body on the parking strip.  They were heartbroken at the loss of “Brownie,” and were writing to ask if there was anything they could have done to help her, which of course there wasn’t.  I hated to foist my morbid tendencies on this super-nice couple, but this was such an amazing bird–I had to ask, “Did you by any chance save her body?  Maybe pop her in the freezer?”  They hadn’t.  She’d been wrapped in plastic in the garbage for the last three hot days.  Still, after receiving my question, they intrepidly dug her out and put her in the freezer.  I was a touch worried.  But the frozen body is actually in pretty good shape, now in my own freezer, next to the popsicles.  She’s worthy of further study.

All who observed Leucy agree that she was a particularly fabulous bird, both in terms of plumage and personality.  In her uniqueness, she invited people to look closely at the common birdlife around them.  It was her color that drew the initial observation, but her general wild wonderfulness that kept people watching–something shared by all crows, and the rest of the wild life that surrounds us.

Thank you, lovely Leucy, and RIP.

PS: Based on a couple of requests, my husband Tom posted this and another photo of “Leucy” on Flickr.com under a Creative Commons license, meaning you are free to repost them, print them, etc – basically do anything you wish with the images short of profiting from them.  They are at high enough resolution for a 5X7 print (unlike the image above in the blog post). Leucy photo 1, Leucy photo 2.

Hummingbird favorites: Crocosmia, spiraea, sweetpea, nasturtium, and pineapple sage (aka "hummingbird sage").

To bring them up to our deck where we can observe them closely, but without the worry of a feeder, I’ve been placing jars with a few of their favorite flowers along the deck railing.  I’m pretty sure this is the all-time perfect hummingbird feeder:  lovely to look at, pleasant to refill, and much better nectar than I could ever make.  This morning I was enjoying my first cup of java on the porch, and an Anna’s Hummingbird came right up to the jar of pineapple sage, just inches from my face.  I could feel the wind from her wings on my cheek.  What a nice way to start the day–a hummingbird and I, sipping together.

The other day Tom pulled down a House Sparrow nest lodged in an outdoor electrical box, assuming the birds were done with it.  But many resident birds, those that don’t migrate, will attempt a second brood of chicks later in the summer.  These birds first nested in a corner of our gutter, but their nest was destroyed (and their nestlings presumably eaten) by a Steller’s Jay.  There was enough summer weather left for them to try again.  I blocked off their gutter, hoping to discourage them (there are enough House Sparrows on the planet already), but they just moved a few feet away.  Tom was surprised to find four tiny birds huddled in the bottom of the nest, and called for Claire and me to see.

I love how the nest was made entirely from my yard–grasses, mosses, and feathers from my chickens–our two nests, human and avian, truly tangled.

It’s best to ignore wild bird nests–hovering over them can attract the attention of predators such as cats, crows, and jays, plus it makes the adult birds crabby, and can prevent them from tending their chicks.  But this nest belongs to a House Sparrow–a scrappy introduced species that thrives alongside human habitations–and a quick little educational peek at the nest and its inhabitants won’t hurt a thing.  I gently lifted one of the nestlings out for Claire to hold.

Have you heard the pernicious myth that birds will abandon their young if you touch them?  It’s not true!  Most birds do not have highly developed olfactory sense–they certainly can’t sniff “human” on their chicks.  And even if they could, birds are devoted parents; they would never abandon their young for such a silly reason.  If you find a bird that has fallen from its nest, just pick it up gently and put it back.  If you can’t find the nest, put the chick out of harm’s way on a nearby branch.  If the bird is an active almost-fledgling, cover its eyes after you set it on its branch to calm it, then walk slowly away. (You don’t need gloves, just wash with soap after.)  Resist the impulse to check on the bird every few minutes to make sure the parents are caring for it–your presence, no matter how well hidden you think you are, will worry the adults.

Pretty darn cute. I love the "gape" on nestlings--the colorful fleshiness about the bill and inside the mouth that serves as a target for adults with food. If you "cheep-cheep" like a mother bird and tickle their chins, they'll open up like this.

These little nestlings are about 6 days old, and will be ready to fledge in another 12 days or so.  At this stage their feathers are still covered by sheaths, and they keep warm in part by huddling with their siblings.  The inside of a songbird’s nest is remarkably clean. The young poop in handy fecal sacs that are removed or eaten by the adults.

Not everyone was allowed a close look at the chicks, no matter how badly they wanted one...

We observed the birds for just a few minutes, then Tom tucked the nest carefully back in its spot.  It was fun to study and enjoy these chicks, but we try to minimize the number of non-native species nesting in our yard.  Next year I’ll try to block off more House Sparrow nest-spots, and keep providing nest boxes for birds that need them, such as the migratory Violet-green Swallow.