Gobble Gobble

I was on the trail the other day, in a nearby forest, which led me to a meadow.  (These things happen.)  I crossed the meadow and found myself near a roadway.  I decided to walk along the road for a little way and just see what I could see.  As I began to top a little rise, I found these gobblers.

Run for the Forest!  Run!!!

They were out grazing.  Not on grass - they were looking for insects and nuts and such other delicacies as wild turkeys like to eat.  (Think "snails".)  There were four adults - probably hens - and five young ones.

I was thrilled to see them, although they dashed for the woods as fast as their meaty legs would carry them.

I circled back around the clump of brush they had headed into, but for the life of me, I could not find them again.  They are wary birds and were probably just standing there, magnificently camouflaged, and laughing at me.  (Happens to me all the time.)

Word has it that their common name, "turkey", comes from - you guessed it - the country of Turkey!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!

It's a long story, but here's the short version.  When Europeans first saw this native American bird, it reminded them of a different but similar bird that they had seen in Europe, which had been imported either from or through the country of Turkey.  At least that's the story in the 'hood.

A Buck Rub

In the fall, bucks rub their antlers on trees, leaving behind a scent message as well as a visual indicator that says, "Hey!  I'm in this area - don't mess with me!

A buck rub

It also says to the ladies, "Hey, Baby!  I'm in the area - call me maybe!"

Gray Squirrel on a Gray Day

Saw this little fellow during a chilly walk yesterday.  He was way up in a tree, and probably taking the brunt of a lot more blustery wind than I was down on the ground.  Of course - he had a genuine fur coat, and I didn't.

Here's a close up.  I love how you can see his little claw.

Cold Feet

I have always wondered how it is that birds don't have their feet frozen off in the winter, from the frigid temperatures in the air or water, or from the metallic objects upon which they sometimes perch.

As it turns out, their legs and feet have special scales that help conserve heat loss.  Also, sometimes the veins and arteries in a bird's legs sit side by side, transferring heat from one to another.

Of course sometimes a bird can just sit on their feet to help warm them as well.

Evening Hawk

I went hiking recently, in the afternoon.  It threatened rain, but did not deliver.  That was good.  But as my hikes usually go, I explored longer than originally intended.  I clammered up over a hilltop fully expecting to emerge in a certain meadow of which I know, and was surprised to realize that I was somewhere else.  Oh.

Luckily, the forest where I was walking is small enough that there was no danger I could ever really become lost, and I bushwhacked my way along the ridge and across a ravine.  I knew the sun would soon begin to set, and that, along with an already overcast sky, made the woods rather dreary.  At last I crossed a power line and came out in the right place.

Because I was in a hurry to cross the large meadow and avoid as many burrs and thistles as possible, my focus was no longer on looking for birds to photograph.  As a result, I missed seeing a large hawk that must have been perched very near to me, working on getting his last meal before nightfall.

As I "swam" through the tall grasses, I thought I saw something moving out of the very corner of my eye.  I almost disregarded it, but turned to check.  That's when I saw a very large bird flapping across the meadow, having just lifted off from a nearby tree. A hawk!

I had put my lens cap back on my lens, in order to keep it clear from the dust and bits of brittle plant material that can always be a problem.  As a result, I lost precious seconds removing it as the hawk flew past me.  I turned to track its flight and shot wildly.  (My personal mantra is, "Always take the shot.")

My photos are not great, but I was still pleased with them, because as you will see below, you can tell exactly what kind of bird this is.

This hawk was moving fast!

Having had his evening hunt disturbed by a bumbling human who made more noise than a heard of elephants and scared all the field mice away from miles around, this hawk quit the meadow for better hunting grounds.

So there you have it - my first red-tailed hawk where you can actually see the telltale red tail!  Compared to my usual sparrows and finches and cardinals, this was some pretty big game and I left the meadow with my heart soaring.  What a cool encounter!

Morning Starling

I caught this starling at the very top of a tree just as the sun was coming up.  He was up there basking in the first rays of sunlight.  I didn't blame him for being an opportunist like that.  It was a chilly morning at 21 degrees.

The starling's white spots are a dominate feature in the winter

Starlings, also called European starlings, have an iridescent or metallic sheen.  Their scientific name, Sturnus vulgaris comes from the Latin meaning "starling common".

They are noisy birds, and can take sounds from their environment, even man-made sounds, and incorporate them into their vocal patterns.  This one was pretty quiet as it soaked up all the warmth it could get, and if it had any anything to say, it was probably, "Brrrr!"

Morning Commute

Saw my neighbors the other day, as I pulled out of the drive.

They took time to stop and look both ways before crossing the street.

Then they hurried on their way - late for their morning commute.

My Heart Is There

Today's post is dedicated to the poem "Tadoussac" by Charles Bancroft.  It expresses so well my never-ending delight with the woods, and the hunger in my soul to be there when I must be other places instead.

I've seen the Thousand Islands

In the beauty of the dawn;

And sailed on lake Ontario,

When the shades of night were drawn,

I've wandered in Toronto,
Climbed the "Mount" at Montreal;
Run the great St. Lawrence rapids,
Where the waters swirl and fall.

I've slept up in the Chateau,
At Quebec; and known the thrill
Of rambling through the "Old Town"
And the fort upon the hill.

I've felt the sacred beauty
Of the splendor on Sag'nay;
The warmth of homespun blankets
That were made at Murray Bay.

But in my soul's a hunger
Once again for Tadoussac;
The endless fascination
Of its quaintness draws me back.

I hear again the mission bell
That calls the folks to prayer;
And as I walk the city streets
My heart is with them there.

Sycamore Leaves

Gigantic sycamore leaves are littering the forest floor right now.

The come in a variety of colors.

Some are as big as dinner plates!

Daddy Longlegs

Daddy longlegs are spiders.  That's the name that my family, friends and neighbors always used for them, anyway, but some people also call them granddaddy longlegs or harvestmen.  What do you call them?

They don't spin webs, and contrary to popular urban legends, they cannot poison you - no, not even if they were able to bite you between your toes where your skin is reportedly the softest.  (Check out snopes.com for more information on this, if you don't believe me:  http://www.snopes.com/critters/wild/longlegs.asp .)

They are still kind of creep, however, when they are in your house or in your tent at summer camp.  I have known them to strike fear into the hearts of otherwise perfectly normal and mentally sound people.

Interesting fact - if their legs get cut or torn off, they still jiggle and move afterwards.  Don't let that freak you out next time you come upon just such carnage!