Monthly Archives: June 2010

Illumination

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Crepuscular rays.  Also called Buddha’s Fingers, sun rays, Ropes of Maui, sun drawing water, Jacob’s Ladder, and a great many other appellations.  Such visuals occur when sunlight passes around an obstacle (e.g., clouds, trees or the horizon).  They are created by the physical processes of scattering, reflection and diffraction, and the optical process called linear perspective.  They are called crepuscular rays when they diverge from a central point and anticrepuscular rays when they converge toward the antisolar point.

Despite their frequency and simple origins, crepuscular rays have beguiled me since I was a child.  No matter the circumstances, they always stop me in my tracks and cause me to take notice.

Crepuscular rays (139_3983)
Crepuscular rays (180_8067)
Crepuscular rays (206_0700)
Crepuscular rays (20080625_07503)

The cardinal rule

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Living in Texas has its challenges.  There’s the oppressive heat and humidity.  There’s the tendency to have ice storms instead of snow.  There’s the threat of hurricanes, tornadoes and hail the size of softballs.  There’s seemingly unending construction on every road that goes somewhere.  There’s horrific air quality from our energy production.  There’s an overabundance of religion in government.  There’s a gobsmacking quest for ignorance in our schools.  There’s a radical conservatism that permeates culture to the point of nausea.  And the list goes on.

A male northern cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) perched in some bushes (2009_01_25_005280)

But one of the things that make it all bearable is nature.  Eleven distinct ecological regions.  Ten climatic regions.  More recorded bird, wild cat and reptile species than anywhere north of the Mexico border.  More mammals than any state other than California.  The third largest rate of endemism.  An estimated 30,000 insect species.  Nearly 6,000 plant species.  Host to the vast majority of the eastern monarch butterfly migration.  Part of two of North America’s four bird migratory flyways.  Weather so diverse that it boggles the mind.  Mountains, plateaus, dense forests, plains and prairies, deserts, swamps, rivers and creeks and bayous oh my!, and an assortment of views to satisfy desires both gross and subtle.

A female northern cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) perched in a tree (2009_12_13_044604)

And because most of the state is humid subtropical, Texas is the go-to place for many migratory birds.  But it’s also the year-round home for birds that otherwise migrate from points further north.  One such bird species is the northern cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis).

A male northern cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) perched in a tree holding a berry in his beak (2009_06_06_022650)

The only other cardinal species north of Mexico, pyrrhuloxia (Cardinalis sinuatus), occurs in far south and west Texas, but it’s so dissimilar that it can’t be confused with northern cardinals.  That makes this a very distinctive bird (and anyone who tries to identify an empid flycatcher by sight quickly learns to appreciate visually distinctive bird species).

A male northern cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) perched in a tree holding (2009_10_18_032412)

My experience with northern cardinals indicates they bond for life.  Maybe that’s not true in toto, but it sure seems that way to me.  For years a pair nested in an evergreen tree near my garage.  They always graced me with singing and, when breeding season rolled around, I enjoyed watching the male (first photo) collect food and feed it to the female.

A female northern cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) standing on a rock in the middle of a creek (2009_06_06_022623)

But she died in 2008.  He spent quite some time lamenting, calling out a lonesome dirge from treetops and bushes.  He’s immediately recognizable because he never lost that dark spot on the top of his bill, so I paid attention to him.  I’m not anthropomorphizing his actions; during his mourning period, his song and behavior changed.  For several weeks at least.  It was an enlightening experience to witness.

A male northern cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) perched on a tree branch (2009_10_17_031861)

By last year I saw him flitting about with a new gal in tow (second female photo).  They regularly perched in the shrubs around my patio, so I watched him bring her food and I watched them engage in typical mating behavior.  His song changed back to the celebratory tune I’d come to expect from him, and together they could woo a smile from even the most stoic of faces.  And now they’re nesting in the same tree he’s called home for ten years or more.  Around these parts, his is the cardinal rule that counts.

Being a third grader

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Like many around my age then, in an untold year in the 1970s I found myself in third grade.  I already felt all grown up.  A big boy.  One of the ruffians of adulthood who could look down on those puny first and second graders and, most notably, the tiny tots in kindergarten.  And as third grade teachers are wont to do, our marvelous guide through those wee years took us headlong into the daunting task of learning about our local flora and fauna.  It was during that journey that I met my favorite bird.

A male red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) displaying and calling from atop a tree (2009_03_21_013144)

The red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus).  Oh, you expected cock-of-the-rock or bald eagle or some other manifestation of untold beauty or power?  Nope.  It boiled down to a simple, common blackbird that caught my eye and somehow forever ingrained itself into my psyche as the most fascinating, marvelous, beautiful bird ever imagined.  Maybe I just have simple tastes.

A male red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) perched on a thing branch (2010_03_06_050710)

It goes without saying that I have a great deal of interest in and adoration for black birds, such as grackles, blackbirds, cowbirds, and crows and ravens (corvids).  Most especially corvids.  But that’s a subject for a later time.

A female red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) perched on a reed (2009_03_08_012714)

As I sat in the bright classroom many years ago and colored my blackbird to make it look like the teacher’s example, the creature took on new life.  Something about it captured my imagination.  Something about it grabbed me and shook me and demanded that I look closer, that I look beyond the ubiquitous nature of these creatures and see what lay beyond.

A male red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) perched on a tree branch (2009_03_21_013196)

Like other black birds, red-winged blackbirds make up in personality what they lack in showy colors and over-the-top patterns.  Such life!  Such vitality!  And too often overlooked.

A female red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) standing atop a pier support column (2009_05_31_020950)

I don’t know precisely what it is about these birds that reaches inside me and holds me still.  I don’t know why hawks are my medicine animals while these simple blackbirds are the avians I enjoy most.  I don’t know why over the years, having seen so many other bird species, this one remains the most powerful inducer of smiles.

A male red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) watching me from a tree branch (2009_05_31_021197)

No, I don’t know any of those things.  And I don’t care.  All I know is that every time I see one—pretty much every day of the year—I become that third grader again, that awestruck boy captivated by a bird unequaled by any other.

[The unfortunate truth is that I take very few photos of red-winged blackbirds.  I spend more time sitting and watching them than I do photographing them.  I guess I’m selfish that way, always keeping the joy to myself rather than sharing it, which sounds a lot like a third grader I used to know.]