Category Archives: birds

Data Points in My Life

In my September 2025 post, I noted that my mind was full of unruly ideas waiting to form themselves into a reasonably cogent article.* Two months later, that still hasn’t happened. I think I might reasonably throw some blame on the challenging times.** Instead, I am going back to the fundamental premise of this blog: eschewing grand belief systems, in favor of concentrating on smaller things, on trying to be closer to the ground (both in metaphor and in fact). So, with no essay in mind, I am falling back to a tool of education and other disciplines: the bulleted list.

Speaking of smaller things, closer to the ground, I fear that oak leaf gall mites (Pyemotes herfsi) have it in for me. Since the summer of 2023, I have been prey to sporadic seasonable bouts of small, itchy, painful rashes that look like the work of oak leaf gall (or itch) mites. I am not sure that the oak leaf gall mites are the culprits, but, my brief investigation leads me to think so. As an amateur (wannabe, at least) naturalist, I spend an inordinate amount of time poking around in nearby woods. Four of my favorite local parks have plenty of oak trees. I am happy about this as I love oak trees (see Old Growth), but I going to have to suit up more carefully next season.
I do go on about flowers, trees, birds, and other little live things. Sometimes, too, I go on about canyons and other grand places. However, I noticed a few months ago that the wallpaper on both my laptop and on my phone display photos of water. I think that looking at these photos calms me (a bit) and makes me happy (somewhat) even in these disordered and disturbing times. These photos remind me of the lake water I listened to and watched day and night during my childhood.
I have been pretty grouchy the last few days and last night I had troubled sleep. Nothing major: life stuff, getting old stuff, and the ridiculous and unrelenting dross emanating from the U.S. president and his minions. Also, I have recently curtailed my nature walks hoping to avoid the pesky mites (see above). Still, It’s now the end of November, so today I chanced a walk over to the Ballston Wetland Park. I saw the water, the fall plants, the insects, and the birds. I watched a bumblebee busy in the late flowers and a small flock of Canada Geese flew in for a paddle. I heard several small birds in the underbrush and caught sight of a northern mockingbird and a cardinal. I feel much better now than I have for the last few days. I (sometimes) try not to be (overly) directive, but I do recommend a bracing walk in the woods, in the fields, along the shoreline, or in the park as an antidote to the blues.

near Kirk Creek, Big Sur, March 26, 2013 (my laptop wallpaper)

Lake Superior, Ontonagon, Michigan, September 17, 2021 (my phone wallpaper)

view from my front yard, Lake Sherwood, circa 1960s or 1970s (photographer unknown)

staghorn sumac, Ballston Wetland Park

mallard ruffling his feathers at Ballston Wetland Park, Arlington, VA

Canada geese, November 26, 2025

In the beginning of November, Tom and I drove up to Michigan for the memorial for our sister-in-law, Nancy. When we were young, Tom and I didn’t expect that we would come to enjoy memorials for those who die, but we have done so. Along with the others in attendance, we laughed, we cried, and we ate a good lunch. Before and after the service, we drove the back roads of southeastern Michigan: sun and wind and red and golden leaves. It was perfect. This was the landscape of my early life. On the way up to Michigan and then heading back home, we stayed with George and his wife, Valerie, as we have for close to 40 years. We drove home on the tollways, highways, and byways of Pennsylvania to visit our sister-in-law, Jeanne. Tom and I were glad to see so many people we love.
I love music, but I never learned to play an instrument or to read music. In sixth grade or whenever, when students were encouraged to take up an instrument, I was too shy to do so. I regret this decision, but then I have been a life-long whistler–taking after my dad. I am writing about music now because the Beatles came to mind a few days ago and started me on this article.

There are places I’ll remember
All my life, though some have changed.
Some forever, not for better;
Some have gone and some remain.

All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall.
Some are dead and some are living,
In my life I’ve loved them all. “In My Life,” (1965)

I wish you and those you love a Happy Thanksgiving..

* I am (mostly) not being lazy when I use this “wait until something bubbles up method.” I discovered this method in college, or even before, and it works for me. There seems to be some part of my brain that keeps working on ideas and words while other parts are focused elsewhere.

**”Challenging times,” are my trying-to-sound-balanced words. More viscerally and honestly, the sh%$ storm that Tom foretold before the last inauguration has turned out to be an ongoing superstorm. I am devastated by the wanton destruction of so many of our Constitutional, governmental, and societal norms on the part of individuals who appear to be cruel and fascist. However, I will keep fighting what I believe is the good fight and trying to love my relatives and friends and neighbors. I also am working on having empathy for all.

Listing

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Listing Part 1 Since I was very young, I’ve enjoyed making lists in my head, verbally, or on paper. For example, I had a list of all my stuffed animals. I could rattle off their names whenever I felt like it: Woodsy, Foresty, Teddy, Fishy, Plushpuppy, Ginger, Kitty (if there were more animals, I have since forgotten their names). I think that I might have already told you how in high school, I wrote a list of the books I owned.

My penchant for listing does seem at least somewhat acquisitive. My heaps of names, words, and books made me feel a little like Scrooge McDuck immersed in his pile of money (I read my share of comics, too). However, since my freshman year of college, I have also used my lists to organize my life. I would use a day planner to list what tasks I had to do and marked each one off when it was finished. That made me feel like I was accomplishing something, even if it just meant one more day until a visit home. Most importantly making lists has helped me remain engaged in my own life and the world around me. Below are some examples.

About six or seven years ago–before the pandemic–I signed up for the INaturalist app. This app (and the organization behind it) allow me to identify plants and animals and share photographs I take with amateur and professional scientists around my community and the world.

screenshot of my INaturalist list, March 15, 2025

I was so happy with INaturalist that I finally downloaded the Merlin Bird ID app from Cornell Lab of Ornithology. I used this app just two days ago to help me identify the bird calls of eight species I heard on my eleven minute walk home from the library: northern mockingbird, American crow, European starling, American robin, Carolina wren, northern cardinal, house sparrow, and blue jay. In less urban environments, I use Merlin to identify birds I can’t see in the trees and to verify guesses about the birds I do see. Below is my list from the afternoon of May 13, 2024, in North Bend State Park, West Virginia.

North Bend State Park, West Virginia, May 13, 2024

Following in the footsteps of my brother Dan, I have again started writing a list of the books I’ve read. Dan’s list (I have a copy of his list tucked away somewhere) featured academic literature. Mine is my usual hodgepodge, but I like it.

book list circa 2024-2025

Through the last 14 years, I have used my day book to note trips to gardens, museums, forests, parks, visits with family and friends, road trips, and the like. Since the beginning of this year, I have also used my day book to list each day’s activities more granularly. My daily list has changed. Now, along with lunch or dinner with friends and family or going to the Smithsonian or working at Hillside Park, I also list going to the store or to the the recycling bin in the next block or to the downstairs gym or that I made muffins. I am focusing on daily tasks. One task listed is, “breathe.” Not, breathe in and out 24 hours a day; I mean meditative breathing to keep myself moderately calm(ish). Our country is in turmoil. I need to stay calm enough to empathize with others and to remain active, helpful, and hopeful. Today I sent ten postcards to Donald J. Trump expressing my views on social, political, and governmental issues. I also responded to a text from one of my senators. Some days I contact people in Congress, join in town hall meetings, sign petitions, or donate tiny bits of money to the ACLU. These things are also on my list. I haven’t gone to a march yet, but I think I will soon. So my lists have changed a bit, but they still help me keep engaged in my own life and in that of my country.

Listing Part 2 A ship can be said to be listing when it tilts to the port (left) side or the starboard (right) side. Our ship of state is listing dangerously to the right. I do not want it to founder on the jagged rocks of racism, sexism, homophobia, greed, ignorance, or cruelty. I will to do my part.

Note: “Democracy” is on my long list of favorite Leonard Cohen songs. Please be well.

Roads

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After failed attempts in three successive years, Tom and I recently completed one more road trip to the western United States. While not the year-long or months-long trips of years past, it was (you may say) satisfactory. We drove 6,184 miles through 15 states. For a good part of the trip west, we tried to travel on U.S. Route 50. On the way back home, once we got through Colorado, we mostly followed U.S. Route 30 east.

early morning, Iowa farm country

We heard birds everywhere we traveled: a Baltimore oriole cheeped in the tree above our campsite at North Bend State Park in West Virginia; dicksissels and Eastern meadowlarks sang in the TallGrass Prairie National Preserve in Kansas; and we saw, heard, and acknowledged the ravens at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. At the Gates of Lodore campground in Dinosaur National Monument, Tom and I camped next to a busy family of black-billed magpies, where, for hours at a time, the parents took turns quickly gathering food and returning to the nest to feed their clamoring babies. I had never seen before this intense behavior so near at hand. I feel lucky to have seen it On our month-long trip we heard and saw warblers, vireos, woodpeckers, sparrows, nuthatches, tanagers, cardinals, owls, Canada geese, wrens, and many more species. Through the weeks and miles–in the woods, prairies, canyons, and mountains–I often would hear a particularly sweet clear song. It was always familiar, but I would check my Merlin app to be sure. It was always an American robin. I love them and thank them for their companionship on this trip and in my life.

On this trip Tom and I made an effort to see not just our favorite places, but also some places we have longed to see. We sought out gardens, arboretums, forests, preserves, parks, and monuments. Some places–like Browns Park in northeastern Colorado–I had been reading about for decades. Other places–like Purdue’s Gabis Arboretum in northwestern Indiana–we searched out as we traveled. Below are photos of some of the places we visited.

cream violet, North Bend State Park, West Virginia

Muscatatuck National Wildlife Refuge, Indiana

southeastern Colorado

Bandelier National Monument, New Mexico

roundleaf buffaloberry, Cape Royal, North Rim, Arizona

Gates of Lodore, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado

Browns Park National Wildlife Refuge, Colorado

Poudre River Canyon, Colorado

evening, Prairie Rose State Park, Iowa

bur oak, Gabis Arboretum, Indiana

Tom and I were going on a road trip, so we were also planning on finding some tasty road food along the way. In fact, before our departure, Tom had been studying The Great American Burger Book to find iconic burgers in the states we would travel through. As it turned out, we only tried two regional favorites from the book: a GOM Sandwich at Zaharakos Ice Cream Parlor and Museum in Columbus, Indiana and a bierock at Runza, a chain restaurant in North Platte, Nebraska. I found the GOM sandwich pretty good and the root beer float I drank with it delicious. The fast food bierock tasted like nondescript fast food, but the staff members were friendly. If I travel through Nebraska again, I would like to try a slow cooked version of a bierock.

We did come across a handful of good restaurant meals on the road, though. Pepperoni rolls are a thing in West Virginia and we had great ones–for lunch and dinner!–from Tomaro’s Bakery in Clarksburg. If you like good bread and flavorful artery-hardening Italian meat and if you are nearby, it’s worth a drive to the old Clarksburg downtown to try these rolls. It’s a long way from almost anywhere to the generic strip mall in Minooka Illinois, that houses the Dragon Inn. We ate the best dumplings we ever had and the other dishes we had (which escape me already) were also delicious. I wish I had taken more photos, but we were busy eating.

On this trip Tom and I stayed in hotels much more than we camped. Still, one of my favorite meals was our standard camp meal of cheese sandwich, hummus, carrots, and chips.

The Great American Burger Book

pepperoni roll from Tomaro’s Bakery, Clarksburg, West Virginia

bierock, North Platte, Nebraska

dumplings, Dragon Inn, Minooka, Illinois

camp meal and game, Bandelier National Monument

The Other Road We Travel Yesterday was Tom and my 50th wedding anniversary.* As it does happen in this life, we started out young and now we are old. When we were young at the North Rim and a few years later in Salt Lake City, we flew with our friends like a flock of freewheeling birds above our uncertainties, our problems, our pains, and our setbacks. This year, Tom and I needed to get back to the the rim and Salt Lake City (and the Front Range of Colorado) one more time (at least) to where we began together and to see others of our flock.

This was the primary impetus that got us on the road. We feel fine, or fine enough for a couple of old coots, but we don’t know how long that will last. I don’t know the exact words to describe the sweetness and comfort I felt–even in this uncertain, uncivilized, and fraught era–in seeing our friends again. Laura, Art, Howard, and Mark in Salt Lake; Sally in Colorado; and Richard when we were back home in Virginia. I remember with love all our friends from those days–the ones we recently saw and the ones we didn’t. And, I just now recalled a line from Bob Dylan that gets me closer to what I mean to say: then and now, you give us shelter from the storm.

ravens over the Grand Canyon

North Rim, 2018

* Because it was our actual anniversary and the Summer Solstice, I hoped to finish this article yesterday. My excuses for others: It was hot and we went out to dinner. My excuse for myself: I was in an extended period of procrastination.

Spring Ephemera

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Last Friday, on a tramp looking for invasive incised fumewort, I spied my first mayapples of the season.

The previous Sunday, on Theodore Roosevelt Island, I saw three spring ephemerals: common blue violets, cut-leaf toothwort, and–one of my favorites–spring beauty.

common blue violet (Viola sororia)

cutleaf toothwort (Cardamine concatenata)

spring beauty (Claytonia virginica)

On the island, people were walking, jogging, volunteering with the National Park Service (clearing out invasive plants and other activities in aid of the island’s health), birding, and other spring pursuits. Speaking of birding, on the upper trail in the middle of the island, one young woman shared her exciting find with me: a baby barred owl. I think maybe I finally saw the baby bird; I hope I did; I imagine I did.*

Just because I was having a hard time seeing them, does not mean that the owls and other birds were not in full springtime mode. Throughout my walk around the island, the Carolina wrens were making an exuberant racket. Using my own limited knowledge and with the help of the Merlin app, I heard 16 species of birds:

Carolina wren
mourning dove
Northern cardinal
song sparrow
tufted titmouse
downy woodpecker
American crow
red-winged blackbird
swamp sparrow
American robin
common grackle
Canada goose
white-throated sparrow
cedar waxwing
Carolina chickadee
ruby-crowned kinglet

Speaking of birds: so far this spring at least four species of birds have visited our balcony: mourning doves, blue jays, sparrows, and one American crow. I think the mourning doves started visiting in February. Alone or with a partner, the doves walk along the railing planters and investigate the other pots scattered around. I think they do this with an eye to starting a family. They do seem to feel at home here, as I have observed them mating the last couple of years. As a result, each of the last two years a single egg has been laid in a pot and then abandoned by the doves. I am not sure why this happens (mourning doves are not noted as particularly conscientious nesters), but I think if they did they would be sitting ducks for more aggressive birds.

Blue jays visit occasionally throughout the year and have been here several times recently. The jays seem to like to keep a lookout on our space. They sometimes plant the peanuts that they find somewhere, and generally mess up the dirt in our pots. I love jays for their raucous, bold, blue, and beautiful ways–hold the presses! Two minutes ago a blue jay came swooping in to inspect the coral bells that Tom planted in his planters twenty minutes ago. They have their eyes on us.

Although they are very common in our urban neighborhood, this is the first year I remember sparrows flying up to our balcony. These little visitors flit around so quickly, I am not sure what species they are. They may be invasive house sparrows, but I am not sure. Today, I put the binoculars in the living room so I can look closely next time before the sparrows fly away.

Three days ago an American crow flew onto the balcony railing. He or she peremptorily picked at the planter where I recently planted black-seeded Simpson lettuce and where mourning doves recently walked and blue jays recently snooped. Then the crow swooped right next to one (of two) black painted wooden crows we’ve had in every garden, since the 1990s, The crows seem to have their eyes on us, too, and–somehow–that comforts me.

American crow and wooden crow from Glen Arbor, MI with Virginia switchgrass

The Blues At several places on that most recent walk on T.R. Island, I encountered little blue butterflies. These “blues,” as they are called, are some of my favorite butterflies. I never manage to get photos of them–they are so quick and erratic. When we meet, it’s a flash of blue and an intense feeling of movement and light. In 2014 Tom and I were hiking on an upland forest trail in Great Basin National Park when we came upon hundreds of blues dancing in the bright dappled sun. I think I took a photo, but, if I caught anything, it was moving sunlight.

These walks in dappled sun, these glimpses of spring beauties, these baby owls, these flashing wings of blue, help me keep the other blues at bay.

*I have been watching birds all my life and I have tried, fitfully, to be a birder for over 50 years, but I am still a novice. I have spotted many wonderful birds (e.g., vermilion flycatcher, American condor, cactus wren, etc.), but I have missed many more.

Close to the Ground: Living Inductively

Lynda Terrill