Serendipity

What in blazes was that?

I am by no means an expert birder, but I am familiar with many of the common birds one encounters in the suburban Midwest. A glance through binoculars or the zoom lens of the camera is usually enough to determine the nature of a bird that I can't distinguish by eye alone (particularly since I refuse to wear glasses for seeing at a distance unless I am driving.

 But occasionally, excitingly, I will see a bird that I haven't seen before on the Greenway. A few weeks ago it was the Rusty Blackbird, looking like a Common Grackle from a distance but, through the lens, its pale eye, shorter tail and rusty wash proved that assumption wrong.

Orchard Oriole

Turning back towards home on a recent sojourn, heading north along the "spine" of the Greenway between the Sycamore Apartments and the part of the trail that jogs west towards the Birds in Flight sculpture, I stopped to photograph a dark bird in the branches of a small tree. It was smallish, and I assumed it was another of the "blackbirds" that frequent the Greenway, perhaps a cowbird.

 When I looked through the lens, however, I saw a fresh face, with a black head and dark rusty underside. Naturally, if flew off in the opposite direction and I turned tail to follow it, a mad gleam in my eye as an older couple out for their morning constitutional passed with a smile.

It was my lucky day, for the mystery bird stopped near enough for me to snap several more pictures before flying off farther than I was willing to follow. Its shape and coloring struck me as something I had certainly come across before in my handy guide, but the name didn't come easily to mind. 

I practically skipped the rest of the way home, grinning at the unexpected encounter (coming almost immediately after crossing paths with a  mama opossum and her babies). Back home, a quick glance through the bird book identified an Orchard Oriole, a regular inhabitant of open shrubby areas.

It doesn't have to be a rare bird. It doesn't have to be a new bird. Heck, it doesn't have to be a bird--an odd weed or bug will do. But these brief encounters are exhilarating just the same, small, serendipitous novelties that are unsought and unearned; moments of communion that remind me of how much is out there, if we just create the mental and physical space to allow it in.

Watching Butterflies

When I was little, I loved to go out to the empty fields near our home and catch butterflies with my little white butterfly net. They were almost always little white cabbage butterflies caught in my little white net, and sometimes they would be put in a glass jar with holes punched in the lid for observation before I grew bored and released them (because a butterfly in a jar is of course boring--it can't do anything a butterfly is supposed to do!).

As an adult, I can't imagine sweeping up a butterfly in a net. I'd be fearful of damaging their delicate wings, or accidentally pulling off a threadlike black leg. But I now realize there is no need to capture a butterfly to get close and observe them, and the fact that they are free to come and go at their whim makes the moments I get to spend with them that much more precious.

Some butterflies are incredibly difficult to observe: the little guys who swirl around low to the ground, often in paired dances so small and fast that, by the time I notice them, they have moved off beyond view. Others, however, are big and colorful and kind enough to spend many minutes at the same patch of flowers, pausing at one after another to sip nectar before fluttering lazily to the next.

I spent a pleasant number of minutes in the company of a female Black Swallowtail (Papilio polyxenes) on the Greenway last week. It was not necessary to confine her in a jar to observe her closely--just slow movement and awareness of where my shadow would fall.

She methodically visited flower after flower around the same shrub. I had ample time to observe the furling and unfurling of her proboscis; the intricate veins and scales on her deep onyx wings, with tiny jewels of yellow, sapphire and orange adorning their perimeter.

I could appreciate the way her dainty, segmented legs clung to the flower while she fed, and the elegant arc of her antennae. Her body, particularly her head and thorax, were covered in a velvety black fur that extended to the top of her legs.

She was a study in color, texture, and movement. I have no idea how long I might have stood out on the Greenway watching her, had she not grown weary of that particular shrub and fluttered off beyond my reach.

These moments are why places like the Sycamore Greenway and other natural areas are so important: they provide an opportunity for wildlife to go about their lives in close proximity to our own, and we are the richer for time we are able to spend with them.

A Blackbird Primer

People often mention the "blackbirds" that descend on their backyard feeders, generally with irritation at their gluttonous behavior. Further questions, though, lead to confusion. Did the perpetrators have yellow bills or black? Were their heads shiny and iridescent, or plain black (or maybe even brown)? Long tails or stubby? At some point the answer to each of those questions has been "yes."

So who are some of these "blackbirds" you may encounter?

#1. The European Starling (Sturnus vulgaris). The city bird. Almost universally reviled as an aggressive non-native who pushes out less boisterous birds.
Identifying features: Longer yellow bill. Stubby body with very short tail; iridescent sheen throughout. Plumage appears white-speckled in the winter. Males and females are similar in appearance. A chatterbox with a wide repertoire of clicks, whistles and whirs interspersed with occasional mimicry.

Starling (there was a head, it was just being shy)

Starling

#2.  The Common Grackle (Quiscalus quiscula). The intense eyeball. A long-legged, long-tailed strider.
Identifying features: Long, wedge-shaped tail. Black body with iridescent head, bright yellow eye and a slightly disapproving expression. Males and females look largely the same, though females may show less iridescence.

Grackle

Grackle, mid-call

#3. The Red-winged Blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus). The surreptitious sidler. Often hides his distinctive red epaulets when visiting birdfeeders outside his territory to keep the peace.
Identifying features:  Flat black body without iridescence. Scarlet shoulders above a yellow border. Heavy black bill (shorter and heavier than both the starling and the grackle). Females look very different, streaky brown instead of black. Not as likely to be seen on the ground as the other three blackbirds.

Red-winged Blackbird, female

Red-winged Blackbird, male

4. The Brown-headed Cowbird (Molothrus ater). The deadbeat dad. Lets other birds raise his kids, so he gets to keep all that sweet, sweet seed for himself.

Identifying features: Brown head (imagine that!) with a glossy black body. Compact build with a shortish tail. Heavy conical bill. Females a nondescript brown all over.

Brown-headed Cowbird (male)

Brown-headed Cowbird (male left, female right)

Hopefully you can now identify your blackbird neighbors by name! They each have their own unique and interesting traits and are well worth getting to know as individual species.