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I must have been on Santa's 'nice' list this
year. My many Christmas gifts began arriving on Christmas Eve
with a 5-o'clock Merlin looking down from my favorite Ogden power
pole. A nice present--it was exactly what I wanted! Wednesday's
sighting was my first of the winter at that spot. Last year, I saw a
Merlin many times in late afternoon on the same tall, rusty pole.
These prominent poles run north-south along the bench and are two to three times
higher than the usual wooden ones. The underlying suburban
neighborhood is by no means the open country a Merlin might prefer,
but nothing nearby matches the height of the pole. The great view must
serve the falcon's habit of hunting from an open perch.
After I watched the Merlin for a while, it took
off and half-heartedly pursued a flock of starlings coursing just over the
treetops. Then it gave up the chase and circled north. I lost
the bird as trees obscured my view, so I became the chaser. I
believe I have perfected the art of merrily chasing birds to new perches in my
subdivision. The attempt on Christmas Eve was no exception and
besides, I had time. My shopping was done, the gifts were wrapped,
the turkey was defrosting, and dusk would soon truncate my
birding. I pursued the falcon, guilt-free. Left turn, right
turn, circle 'round a cul-de-sac. I stopped to ID the first
possibility. It was a Northern Flicker in the top of a tall aspen.
Then I looked north to the next rusty power pole and I could see a
little gray topper... the Merlin! Strategic repositioning put me in good
scope range and I enjoyed the gift of good views of a male Falco
columbarius subspecies richardsonii for about 15 minutes.
This bird was actively observing--I think it's safe
to say he was hunting--all the while I watched him. He perched in a fairly
upright posture and surveiled the neighborhood below. He bobbed up
and down; he turned left and right profiles; he swiveled 180 degrees.
It's as if he were trying to show me every possible view of his pale,
blocky head. His faint mustaches and supercilium were apparent with the
help of the scope. Even across the distance, his bill looked very
small...too small for a raptor. His breast was faintly streaked dark
orange and contrasted with his slate-gray shoulders. I finally looked
away to rest my eye and then returned to find a vacant pole-top. The gift
was gone, but it wasn't the last one.
More gifts arrived at my feeder on Christmas
morning. My parents called with holiday greetings and I chatted with
them while idly watching one of my feeders. When I noticed a
couple of the goldfinches had bright, lemon-yellow breasts, I started
paying more attention to the birds and less to the conversation. My
mom and dad forgave my inattention when I described the six surprising
and welcome Lesser Goldfinches. I haven't seen this species at my
feeder since June...of course! It was another Christmas gift. One of
the males was particularly intriguing. The black of his cap
extended down his back and through his tail. He was almost as dark
as the Lesser Goldfinches I've seen in Texas. The remainder of the
males wore the expected olive drab backs. The strong white smudge at
the base of their primaries was quite obvious in both males and
females.
A couple American Goldfinches mixed with the
Lessers. Both species had a chance to eat despite the presence of the more
aggressive rosy and brown House Finches. My way of maintaining equal
opportunity feeding stations was working. I use the thistle seed
feeder that caters to birds that can perch upside-down when they feed.
Thus, both goldfinch species fed without competition
from their pugnacious rightside-up cousins at the hopper feeder. And I benefit, too--I get
the gift of the goldfinches, pretty presents feathered in yellow,
white, black and olive.
I noticed the Lesser Goldfinches were much
more active at the feeder than were the Americans. The Americans hung
upside-down for long periods and consumed many seeds or
quarreled before flitting to a twig for a break. Not so for the
Lessers. They moved constantly. They barely had time to take a seed
or two before they flitted to a branch. Later, they gathered in the
tree higher than I could see beyond the eave. I could still hear
their inquiring, "tee-yeeEE?" through the window as they staged for
departure above a silent Western Scrub Jay.
Yet another surprising Christmas gift diverted my
attention. All of a sudden, a fast-moving kinglet
appeared. I've never seen this bird in my yard before
yesterday. It made a quick foray to the backside of the feeder and I
didn't see it again until it moved to a bare spot at the base of an
aspen. Next, it flitted to a neighbor's juniper. This little guy was
moving so fast that I can't definitively say which species it was. My
gut tells me it was a Ruby-crowned because I had a fleeting impression of
plain plumage. My parents once again overlooked my excited
interruptions to the conversation. My mom commented that a
Ruby-crowned Kinglet would be rare for her at this time of year (funny how
different our impression of the word 'rare' can be--she has a Carolina Wren
regularly visiting her feeder in New England). I hope my proffer
of suet cakes is an irresistible invitation for the kinglet to return,
and that I'll see it again. But no matter what, the
new Christmas visitor was a nice gift.
My attention returned to talking and listening
until a rapid series of events jumbled into the same 3
seconds. First, I saw flocks of small songbirds billow out of the
tops of surrounding aspens. Second, I saw a zipping, dark, deadly
silhouette pushing them like bow waves through the air. Then I
screeched, "There goes the Sharp-shinned Hawk!" to my parents as if I
had to make myself heard across 2600 miles without benefit of the
telephone. My parents may now be deaf, but I think they'll still
claim me as their progeny. After I hung up
the phone, I moved to scan the backyards in
the direction taken by the fleeing birds and their pursuer. The
Sharpie perched on the peak of a neighbor's house and focused back toward my
feeder. The chase had not been successful. I watched for 5 minutes
or so, until other neighbors saw to the duties of snowblowing and inspired the
hawk to leave for a more private ambush lookout. The hawk was
yet another nice Christmas gift.
In fact, they were all nice Christmas gifts.
They were pretty presents wrapped in hues of yellow, gray, rose, brown, black, white, rust, blue and olive. Most of
them were uncommon--I don't receive these gifts every day--and
consequently, they were of great value. And the best part is that all
these gifts were free. Isn't that how it's supposed to
be?
Kris
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