Bio Bits

I've got a post about phenology simmering, but no time to do it justice. Instead I'll share with you some related observations from the last week:

• Monday was unseasonably warm, and I dragged SodaBoy on a forced march to Stormwater Park after work. It was a bit of a mud wallow, but I did see my first red-winged blackbird of the season. Actually, I heard it long before I saw it, although that's probably not uncommon.



• I went for a walk around downtown yesterday at lunch. I found a dead bat on the sidewalk, which gave me quite a pause in light of the white nose syndrome that is plaguing area bats. I squatted down and visually inspected the bat, but saw no evident fungus. However, I couldn't help but wonder what the bat was doing out this time of year, when it should still be hibernating.



• Then, in the mid-afternoon, I glanced out the window to see not one, but two bald eagles riding the thermals. When I worked in Minnesota, I saw bald eagles every day, but I work in a northeastern rustbelt city now, right downtown. It was thrilling. At first I tried to explain it away, they must just be black-backed gulls, but a quick peek through the spotting scope proved otherwise. Eagles! Downtown!



• Why do we have a spotting scope lying around the office? For the peregrine falcons, of course. Their nest box on the tall government building is also in the viewshed from my desk. The pair has returned to the area, and I am now seeing them again daily.

I may have scraped the windshield nearly every day this week, and we may have a winter storm warning in effect as I type this, but spring is in the air. It's coming. Just ask the red-winged blackbird and the peregrine falcon.

Backyard Buck

We had a visitor yesterday. The impending storm must have emboldened the buck, because it was broad daylight and he came right down near the house to browse the English ivy.

I had no idea anyone ate that stuff. It must be a case of desperate times calling for desperate measures. The buck looks pretty healthy though, which is good, because it's only December... we are guaranteed to get a lot more snow.

It was fun watching the feline reaction to the buck. SodaBoy was able to sneak them onto the screen porch without scaring off the deer, so the encounter was a close one. The cats love the porch, but had no idea what to make of the dining deer. Much kitty poofiness ensued.

Feeding the Birds

I am getting really discouraged because I haven't heard back from that prospective employer I interviewed with last week. I guess the interview didn't go as well as I had thought. That's the trouble when you view the world through rose-colored glasses. Only I am not known for being especially optimistic; I must be getting desperate. See, I thought when they said things like they could market my skills and how I had much more experience than other applicants, I thought that meant something good. It wasn't just them being polite and me lapping it up. Or maybe it was. The bottom line is they haven't called back.

So I am feeling a little poopy. Watching the birds is one of the only things cheering me up these days. I got a bird feeding complex for Christmas, a big stand that hold three different types of feeders. There is the house-shaped one that holds black oil sunflower seeds, a cylindrical one that dispenses nyjer seeds, and then the peanut feeder. We couldn't find any unsalted shelled peanuts when we were buying birdseed, so got cracked corn instead. The corn is not very popular; we'll have to look elsewhere for the peanuts. We didn't get many visitors at first, with the unseasonably warm weather, just a few friendly chickadees. Once it got cold, other birds showed up.

It is so fun to look out the window and see a rainbow of species jostling for seeds. We regularly get gold finches, titmice, chickadees, nuthatches, chipping sparrows, cardinals, and woodpeckers. The house finches were late to the party, but now show up in droves. I think the blue jays will show up once we get some peanuts. I wish I understood their behavior a little better though. Some days it's a mob scene out there, with every feeder full to capacity and a queue of hungry birds fluttering around the birches waiting for their turn. Other days, it is completely desolate. Today, for example, I have not seen a single bird. Where are they all hiding?

Back off, Spidey!

I am not afraid of spiders. They do not seek out people to bite; we are not their prey. Spiders might bite a human if they feel threatened, but a creature can't be blamed for simple self-defense. As an adaptive trait, people may be genetically predisposed to learn a fear of spiders, along with snakes, as certain varieties of these animals have posed threats to hominids throughout our evolution. However, there are no poisonous spiders in my area, and I never had that initial bad experience that often ushers in phobias. So to me, spiders remain an object of fascination and wonder.

Occasionally, I will relocate them to what I deem to be a more suitable location. One place that warrants a reassignment every time is the shower. I don't know why spiders seems to favor the shower so much, but I suspect they are merely attracted to moisture, especially in the winter, when the air becomes so dry. But I hate seeing them in there, because I often fail to notice them until it's too late and they are swirling down the drain (and then I feel terribly guilty). It also can be hard to carry out the logistics of catch-and-release while soaking wet and possibly soapy.

Yesterday, I was lucky. The spider showed itself as soon as I opened the shower curtain, dropping in front of my face on a cord of silk. I grabbed the string of silk, and reattached it to the knob of a nearby cabinet and went about my merry business. Apparently, I wasn't thorough enough, though.

This morning, Spidey was back, and I didn't spy it until I was already lathered up. The poor creature was clinging to the wet shower curtain. I was careful for the rest of the shower, trying to keep water from spraying in Spidey's direction. Once I toweled off, I freed the little spider from the water droplet where it was trapped by surface tension. The spider seemed to recover quickly, suggesting by its mobility that it had not drowned. This time I moved it further away, to the guest room, where I put it on a houseplant.

Spider, meet spider plant.

Bribing Myself

I didn’t have any pressing errands to run today, but I knew it was going to be nice out again. I told myself I couldn’t go for a walk until I applied for another job. Going out this morning to bring up the empty trash can and recycling bin really lit a fire under my butt; it’s gorgeous out today, sunny and 55 degrees. Of course, even then, I putzed around for a while first: putting away clean dishes, loading the dishwasher, checking my email, reading blogs, updating lists.

I finally hunkered down to work on the job application early this afternoon. It was another application that must be completed online, and of the worst variety, too. “Paste your resume” into this rinky box and lose all your formatting. Super! So I dinked around with that for awhile before I got it into acceptable shape. Then I was free. I grabbed the camera and headed for Stormwater Park.


Our city has a great program where they pick up holiday trees curbside starting after the New Year. The trees are taken to one of several compost sites, where come spring time, they are ground into mulch. The mulch is available free to anyone who wants to come and pick it up. So to entertain myself along my walk to the park and back, I kept a tally of the discarded trees. Three balsam firs (Abies balsamea), two Douglas-firs (Pseudotsuga menziesii) and one Frasier fir (Abies fraseri). Nice trees, with the exception of the one Doug fir that had been spray painted with white streaks; some people are really desperate for snow, I guess. What the fake snow does to the mulch, I don’t even want to think about.


The park was bustling, mostly with families at the playground, and dogwalkers. I swear, dogwalkers are the friendliest lot you ever could meet. I love how when you make casual conversation with a stranger and their dog, you invariably learn the dog’s name but not that of their human companion. Today I exchanged greetings with many a fine folk, and had a friendly conversation with one man. His canine friend Reese approached me while I was taking pictures of the ducks, and tried to sit on my feet. Of course we talked about how the water should be long frozen by now, what a beautiful day it is, and how happy the foolish little mallards look.

All us foolish little humans looked pretty happy, too, if truth be told.

Tap-a-tap-a-tap-a

I awoke this morning to a loud, repetitive banging noise coming from the north side of the house. I thought maybe the next door neighbors were having some work done on their home, so I went and cracked a blind and peered through. The noise continued, yet I could see nothing out of the ordinary. I raised the blind halfway up and took in the full view, but with the same results. Definitely no roofers in sight, nor any contractors of any kind. Still with the pounding.

So I went downstairs, and after putting on the water for my tea, went out on the back porch and from there outside, and around the corner. It was a woodpecker! The both of us were so startled, I didn’t get the best look at it, but it was small: either a downy or a hairy. I see woodpeckers in the yard frequently, in the spruces or the birches at the edge the woods. Flickers, too. I like them. However, I do not like the idea of them boring a hole in my house. Or the possible implications: what if the woodpecker was foraging for food? Are there insects in our siding? I want my house to provide neither bed nor breakfast to these fowl.

The rest of the morning has been quiet; the bird has not returned. Due to our various states of underemployment, either SodaBoy or I (or both of us) are often home. This is the first time I have heard the woodpecker. And it was very loud. I simply cannot imagine that we wouldn’t have heard it previously were this a return visit, although apparently SodaBoy can sleep through anything. So I tend to think this was a random stop, or else the bird was staking out plans for a new shelter. Let’s hope for the former.

Maximus Indeed

One of the best features of our house is the large screened porch. It overlooks the back yard, and the woods, and has a very private feel. In the summer months, it is the perfect place to relax with a book, or visit with company. Another nice aspect of the porch is the cat door, which allows our little coyote bait free access to come and go as he pleases. We keep his food and water out there, and there are numerous comfortable chairs that he cycles amongst for naps. I had initially been very concerned about this whole cat door business. What if raccoons, or even worse, skunks started using the cat door, attracted by the dry food? I mean... the stuff is irresistible! But we have been fortunate so far to have no furry intruders. At least none that left a stench behind.

As far as uninvited guests go, our only regulars are the slugs. At night, they often let themselves into the porch, feast on cat food, and let themselves back out. No big deal, for the most part, although it's taken some acclimation. The reflexive response to seeing these giant slimy creatures in your house tends to be one of disgust. We escorted a few back outside, but that tends to be more trouble than it's worth. They are very slimy after all; one has to be careful handling them. And sooner or later, as long as we keep feeding the cat out there, they'll be back. So I am coming to terms with sharing my beloved porch with the slugs, especially since they only come at night. The days are for us; I am willing to compromise on the nights.


I see lots of slugs around after all, especially when gardening. But these slugs that come on my porch are different. Bigger. As in six inches long. Yeah, that's a big slug. Except on our trip to northern California, where banana slugs reign, I've seen nothing like this before. I started wondering if it could be the cat food diet, since I'd always thought slugs ate plants. So I decided to investigate the matter. It turns out these slugs are a different species from the common garden variety, and have a fitting scientific name, Limax maximus. The giant garden slugs (or leopard slugs) are omnivorous, hermaphroditic, live up to three years, and have remarkably unique mating habits. So there you go! Now I will tolerate them in good cheer, with the hopes of one day seeing this. Because that would just be way cool.

Rainy Day Deer

When asked about our new house, among other details, I always say, "it’s a quiet neighborhood." Actually, most days this summer it has been quite bustling, vibrant with activity: children playing, cats howling, people walking their dogs, mowing their lawns, gardening. Today, however, it is raining. Not pouring, just a slow and steady drum, a constant presence. It will continue to rain all day and through the night, no doubt about it. And today, our neighborhood is truly quiet. All the people have melted into their own cozy shelters. The wild creatures relax a bit, and tentatively blurring the edges of our world and theirs, step forth. I love seeing the doe with her fawn, the coyote, the woodchucks, the cottontails. They are always welcome in our yard, always cause for excitement.


But I miss the weeding. What a funny thing to say, hard to imagine what might inspire such sentimentality for such a mundane chore. And yet... every day this past week, I've weeded for 30-45 minutes. This was not the vigorous cardio variety of yard work that I did last Friday. No, although that is certainly satisfying as well, producing more dramatic and appreciable results both in the gardens and in the self, in the form of good, honest sweat. This weeding has been much calmer, contemplative, even sedate. Our back yard has large ivy beds wending along the north side of the property, and also along the back under the Norway spruces and paper birch that provide such lovely screening, a gateway to our woods.

Previous owners have neglected the yard in general, and it contains a blank canvas of possibilities. We like the ivy, a pleasing mix of English ivy and periwinkle. But the lawn seems to like it as well, and tall grass is merrily encroaching into the ivy, feeling out the potential for conversion. This proselytizing must be stopped at all costs. And so I've parked myself cross-legged, tracing each invading grass blade back to its base, taking care to extract only the intruder and not the ivy it winds amongst. A mindful activity, with slow progress. I've limited the daily duration of the weeding, due in part to the slope of the yard, as it tires the back. But today the rains have come, slow and steady, and yes, I miss the weeding.