If ever there is a time when I am most content with my thoughts, it is the time spent in predawn inaction - not fully awake to the constant struggles of a chaotic nation filled with sensationalism, frustration, distrust. Daily disruptions will certainly gain momentum with the rising sun, but until sunlight peaks gently over the horizon, earthly affairs have little importance as I sit alone enjoying my first cup of early morning coffee. It is these moments - this stillness of time - that I treasure.
Before the constant blare of daily rush hour traffic signals my day has officially begun, I spend a few minutes sitting alone looking out the window watching silhouetted shadows concealed in darkness come into view. Robins no longer stop by my backyard searching for their early morning breakfast. Backyard grackles . . . red-wings, cowbirds, and catbirds, too . . . have all disappeared from their nesting perches hidden high within clusters of maple leaves.
Looking back over the months, I am reminded of my first annual robin sighting. My first sighting of the *March of the Grackles*. Not particularly fond of grackles, I do marvel at their regimental flight patterns as they approach my feeders. The leader of the flock arrives first, perches itself directly above the yard feeder. The others advance - tree limb to tree limb - until finally, and only after all grackles have stationed themselves according to the lead grackle’s satisfaction, does it swoop down onto the feeder. The other grackles perched overhead stand as sentries awaiting their turn.
No sooner had October juncos landed in our backyard, did we see our first snowfall - an early warning of another bitter winter to come. Why is it that so many of our backyard friends choose not to avoid the harshness of a Minnesota winter, dust off their feathers and fly off to warmer climates?
It turns out that birds (even the little guys) aren’t so delicate after all, and they’ve got a few tricks up their sleeve.
Or so states the insider.si.edu/...:
Birds’ feathers provide remarkable insulation against the cold, and the oil that coats feathers also provides waterproofing, which is important since the only thing worse than being cold, is being cold and wet.
Even so, I am filled with overwhelming compassion whenever I watch our local birds stand on a frigid, sub-zero morning to wait for their turn at the feeders.
A 2017 winter photo gallery of what is right around the corner for our neighborhood friends to endure yet again.
You’ve been reading The Daily Bucket,
a nature refuge.
We amicably discuss animals, weather, climate, soil, plants, waters and such, and note life’s patterns spinning around us.
Phenology is how we take earth’s pulse.
We discuss what we see in each Bucket.
Each note links our surroundings to life’s cycles, and adds to our understanding. Please comment about your own natural area, and include photos if possible. We love photos!
To have the Daily Bucket in your Activity Stream, visit Backyard Science’s profile page and click on Follow, and join to write a Bucket of your own observations.
Thanks for reading;
Now its your turn--
What have you noted in your area or travels? Please post your observations and general location in your comments.
Be sure to peruse Meteor Blade’s valuable "Spotlight on Green News & Views,” every Saturday at 5pm Pacific Time and every Wednesday at 3:30 Pacific Time on the Daily Kos front page. Please recommend and comment in the diary.