Tortoise Beetle (note gold-flecked "shell", it's only one-quarter inch long)

Mating Dances

During April I watched various sparring displays between males of the same species. It was fascinating to see them engage in singing competitions and joust with each other for territory and the right to mate. Many male songbirds are not able to mate—there is only so much turf available, and the stronger and more capable guys get their pick. The losers remain single for the season, so the competition can be fierce.

By May the mating season gets into full swing. Our birds will pair off, remain monogamous for the summer (or even longer), and raise as many as three broods. Some species—such as the cardinals—remain mated for life. Each species has a preferred nesting site and nest type; building anywhere from flimsy cups to sturdy structures—in cavities, bushes, under eaves, and even on the ground. From two to half a dozen eggs get laid, incubated in only a couple of weeks, and the nestlings get prodded to leave at 2-3 weeks of age. That next brood must get started!

I love to watch the mating behavior, as the birds pair off and begin to set up house. Early in the process it can be difficult to tell if two squabbling birds are competing males or two opposite-sex birds in the first stages of wooing. Some males will initially act quite aggressively towards a potential mate—chasing her off at first. It’s as if he’s checking out how serious she may be about him. If he shoos her away and she quickly returns, maybe she’s really attracted to him and now it’s time to woo her. He will then become increasingly attentive towards her—following her around, deferring to her choice of nesting site, and even feeding her.

I’ve watched the male cardinal tenderly feed his mate several times. The pair often comes to the feeder at dusk to get a snack, before retiring for the night. Usually they come and go individually, but not after their mating dance gets into full swing. Lately I’ve watched her fly to a tree branch above the feeder and chip repeatedly at him, as he sits at the feeder, chowing down on seeds. Eventually he will fly up to her and place his sunflower-stuffed beak into hers, gifting her tenderly with the hulled nuts. They then fly off into the night together, the light fading as in a Hollywood movie.

I’ve wondered about all this solicitous activity on the part of the males. Are they really that much in love, like a swooning human teenager? Birds are not very affectionate. I suspect a couple of other motives might be responsible. First, he may just be trying to be sure that she stays faithful, so the coming babies are really his. (Males of all species often go to great lengths to ensure their own genes are in the kids they take care of—not some stranger’s.) But he may also be buttering her up, for in most cases it’s the female who does the majority of the work in raising the kids. (Sound familiar?) She will likely choose the nest site, build the nest, incubate the eggs, and do at least half of the feeding—while the male perches nearby and sings. His conscience will be less burdened while he croons, if he previously had treated her like the queen that she is.

Goldfinch at the Window

Bowing Trees

By mid May most of the deciduous trees are finally decked out with their summer’s full regalia, and when they do, they respond to winds very differently from winter’s breezes. In cold weather, stripped of their leaves, these trees emit a soft whistle and whir, when the gentle wind flows through them. They bend but slightly, as they offer minimal resistance to the breeze. Fully leaved in spring, however, they present a much bulkier profile to the wind and so must bow to the breezes. They are also noisier in spring, as each leaf gets rattled and rustled about by the gusts, adding countless voices to the chorus.

Sitting quietly in the outdoor tub at this time of year, I can often hear the wind coming for several long moments, before I see it flowing through the trees on the hillside—much like “amber waves of grain.” Strong gusts were coming through the other night and I was enjoying watching the trees bow deeply in response. I was struck by how flexible a tree trunk is, as I watched the tops of the trees swing far to one side and then spring back.

What an exquisite balance a tree’s trunk shows, between suppleness and rigidity! Over millions of years of evolution trees have learned to have just enough stiffness to withstand strong winds by bending, but not so inflexible that they snap. They balance that with just enough elasticity to bend appropriately, but not so supple that they flop over.

Not too stiff, not too soft… just the right balance. Each species of tree has worked out its appropriate equilibrium—according to its height and shape. Furthermore, each individual tree must adapt that balance to its particular location—accounting for the soil its roots have delved into and the degree of its exposure to the weather. Only the fittest thrive.

A tree has to endure challenging conditions far beyond what we feeble humans can tolerate. A venerable oak must stand its ground for several hundred years—resistant not only to gales, but to the assaults of temperature extremes, diseases, insect invasions, and droughts. When things get tough we mobile critters can run for cover, but a tree must stubbornly stand and face it all.

No wonder we look up to a tree towering above us and find ourselves filled with awe. That awesome feeling can swell within us, when we watch that mighty trunk deeply bow to a strong wind, but then sprightly spring back upright. It’s like watching a ballet.

Moon Rising Over Ridge

Sacred Creativity

I’ve written before (12/4/08) on creativity and how it can emerge when one enters the silence. Adherents of wisdom traditions the world over have long understood that, by slowing down and placing attention to the divine void, inventive and imaginative insights come. Every creature naturally seeks and exhibits creativity. We all understand that creativity is life-affirming, that it nurtures life. Similarly, life itself is creative, in that it is continually evolving and persevering.

But creativity demands a lot from us. It’s hard work. Although we may inherently comprehend that creativity is sacred and crucial to our survival and success, we also have an innate lazy streak. It’s far easier to coast downhill than struggle uphill, thus our potential for imagination and resourcefulness can quickly turn to the vacancy of dullness and repetition. Creativity also requires us to take a risk—to step into the unknown and chance failure. Many artists who once creatively displayed great talent later opt for financial success and status; with the result that their output becomes monotonous, as they try to attain popularity by endlessly copying themselves or the latest trend.

One beautiful aspect of creativity is that it’s an equal opportunity quality. No matter our circumstances—whether rich or poor, free or imprisoned, capable or handicapped—we can be creative. Some of the most oppressed and disempowered people have achieved autonomy and freedom by exhibiting imagination and creativity. Blacks in America and South Africa finally gained some measure of civil rights by becoming nonviolently creative; facing the oppressive machinery of the state. Helen Keller—blind and deaf—overcame her adversities to become an inspiration to millions.

And that’s what is most important about creativity: when we use what we gain from it by inspiring and teaching others. We can give no greater gift than to use our skills to help others to realize what wonders await them if they pause, go inward, seek inspiration from the divine void, and touch their creative source.

Dove at Feeder

Bird Tongues

I have written before of the different methods that our resident birds use to chow down on sunflower seeds at the feeder. Birds with beaks that are slender and pointed (like titmice, chickadees, and nuthatches) will grab a seed, fly to a nearby perch, wedge it with their feet against something, and hammer away with their bills until the husk cracks and exposes the inner meat. Others with stronger bills (finches and cardinals) will squat right at the feeder, pick up a seed, crunch down, and spit out pieces of husk. It’s fun to watch each technique and guess how they’re doing it.

While watching these contrasting methods recently, it occurred to me that, while I was interpreting the finches to be chewing on the seeds, it couldn’t be. Birds have no teeth! At best they are cracking the seed shell. So how do finches separate the “wheat” from the “chaff,” or husk from the nut? They’ve got to have a pretty adept tongue, I realized. If you think about how we humans eat, our tongue is very active, shoving food around our mouth and placing it between molars, so it can be ground into mush. (Except when we’re not quite a deft as we could be and grind down on our tongue. Ouch!) So I did a little research on the mouth organ of birds.

Their tongue is quite similar to ours—being attached to the floor of their mouths, from which it sallies skillfully and rapidly around to manipulate food into place. But there’s nothing scarcer than hen’s teeth, as the saying goes, so a bird cannot chew… thus in the case of the finch, it cracks. A bird’s bill is a horny material, much like our fingernails. In place of jaws they have an upper and lower mandible. Since they can’t chew, they have three ways of ingesting food: swallowing it whole (such as bugs) or breaking it up with either that tough bill (finches) or bashing it with a lance-like beak (titmice).

A finch has a long and fat tongue—shaped, as is the case for all birds, like its bill. The upper finch mandible has grooves inside it, into which the tongue maneuvers a seed, the viselike lower mandible closes for the crunch, and the shell is cracked. The finch quickly rotates the seed with that dexterous tongue and crunches again. It then spits out the husk pieces, still maneuvering that nimble tongue.

I’ve watched a cardinal or goldfinch perform this deft and rapid task many times—not able to understand the intricate tongue work happening. From now on I’ll see it weaving around inside that bill, with my mind’s eye. Hmmm, I wonder if they ever bite down on their tongue. I’ve not yet seen a finch flinch or yelp like I do when I crunch down on my tongue. Maybe there’s an advantage to having no teeth!

Wild Azalea (smells good too)

Bird Feeding: Helping or Harming?

We feed birds. We’ve been doing so for many years now—for various reasons, but I sometimes ponder whether our feeding them is for our benefit or theirs. We love to watch them buzz around the feeder; they are very entertaining. We like to feel that we are helping our feathered friends—especially during cold and snowy times. But are we really aiding them? Is it an act of anthropomorphizing to call them friends? Are we just making them dependent on us and thus less able to forage for themselves? How much do they need our food? We shudder when our cat catches one and wonder if we are just attracting them largely to serve as feline snacks.

These are not easy questions to answer. Numerous organizations and experts, with mixed results, have repeatedly considered them. Countless people feed birds and avian experts are chary about telling them that their efforts are not really helping. I’ve done some investigation and here are my current feelings. I stress the word “current,” because I believe that the jury is still out on the matter.

First the pros: As I said, we love to watch birds. They are beautiful and their antics provide unending fascination. In the process, we come to appreciate and understand them better. We mostly feed black oil sunflower seeds—a nutritious and energetic food. We add suet cakes and other kinds of nibbles, as the birds show their preferences. So we are giving them valuable nutrients that can help keep them healthy and better able to withstand cold winter nights and fend off disease. Studies have tended to show that feeding birds does not make them dependent—they’re still likely to go after other sources of wild food. Finally, when birds gather together around the feeder they can be safer than when alone, since more pairs of eyes are on the lookout for predators.

Now for the cons: The principle one for us is the cat. Although we want him to go after mice, he still catches half a dozen or so birds each year. I’ve rigged the feeder so that he can’t reach it and it’s out in the open, so he can’t hide behind something and ambush them. We severely scold him when he stalks the birds and keep him inside most of the day (to allow for his overnight mice hunting time). But it’s his nature to prey on birds. I believe we’ve minimized his success rate, but he’s still going to get a few. I’d like to believe that he’s culling out the less healthy ones, but that might be just a hope.

For some folks bird feeders attract other kinds of predators—especially hawks and even dogs. Since we’re home most of the time, we have never had a hawk close by, and our sweet dog ignores the feeder. But we are also aware that disease transmission can be a problem when birds crowd around a feeder.

So what’s the bottom line for us: Are we helping or harming our local birds? I believe that I can make a case for helping. Maybe the cat gets a few, but the birds are generally healthier than if they were on their own. Songbird mortality rates are quite high these days—what with withering habitat and plentiful predators (especially humans). I am conscientious about keeping the feeder always stocked and clean. We do our best to ward off predators. But I’m biased towards having birds around the place and am open to another conclusion.

Last of all, I’d like to think that our feeding efforts provide the local birds a little leisure time—and don’t we all like a little R and R… even birds?

April Waning Moon (left click to enlarge)