Category Archives: Nature Photos

Creative nesting 101

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I mentioned a few days ago that I visited xocobra and LD on Saturday.  I also said I had returned from that visit with some interesting wildlife photos to share with you.  Now seems as good a time as any to do just that.

A great deal of my visit with them was spent in the back yard supervising the installation of a new stone walkway.  I also helped, mind you, but a great deal of the heavy lifting had to be left to others due to my back surgery from years ago.  I may want to help, but I ain’t stupid about it.

So I drank some beer, talked ad nauseam, watched birds of all shapes and sizes, and enjoyed a rather stunning afternoon.  Where possible, I got involved and got my hands dirty.

At some point during the course of the work outside, I noticed two mourning doves (Zenaida macroura) perched in one of the trees in their back yard.  They were near enough to the ground to be clearly visible.  I pointed them out to xocobra since we’d been randomly talking about the many birds in the area and wildlife in general.

His reaction was nothing short of the best kind of frightening.

He immediately became excited and explained he had completely forgotten to share something with me that he knew I’d enjoy.  He became somewhat animated as he made his way across the yard toward the gate that leads to the driveway and garage area.  The whole time he was motioning for me to follow without too much commotion.

As I approached his position, he gestured toward a hanging pot on the patio that swayed and turned easily in the wind.  It dangled from a metal hook under the roof’s eaves.  My eyes followed to the place where he was pointing and immediately fell upon a mourning dove nesting in the pot.

A mourning dove (Zenaida macroura) nesting in a hanging pot (mourning dove 002)

That’s when I had a V8 moment.  I didn’t have my camera with me and said as much.  I wanted to kick myself.

Generous as always, xocobra told me to go inside the house and get their digital camera.  So I did.

Despite not being familiar with it and having little clue about its various settings, I snapped just shy of a dozen photos using different options in hopes at least one of them would be presentable.  Thankfully, some of them came out rather well.

A mourning dove (Zenaida macroura) nesting in a hanging pot (mourning dove 005)

After snapping the photos, I set the camera aside and left the dove in peace.  I’ll admit I was quite smitten with her and the fact that the nest had been placed in such a smart position.  It was covered and protected from most of the elements without being boxed in, out of reach for most predators, and sized just right for her, her husband, and their future brood.

Throughout the day I glanced and watched and eyeballed as the lass did the same.  We were quite close to her on many occasions.  She never fled, though, but did keep a sharp eye on us.

Apparently while changing the light seen in the first photo, something he was doing late at night, xocobra disturbed her and she fluttered from the nest with much noise and ruckus.  It scared the fire right out of him because he didn’t even know she was there.  Since then, he’s made it a point to ensure she and her mate are left alone so they can raise their family.

A mourning dove (Zenaida macroura) nesting in a hanging pot (mourning dove 008)

I kept an eye out all day for her mate because I knew he’d be out and about grabbing something to eat and doing his dove thing, but that he’d be back to switch places with her so she could go do her thing while he tended the nest and its occupants (and I’m assuming there are or soon will be eggs).

Sure enough, a lone mourning dove appeared in a neighbor’s tree in the late afternoon.  It perched on a limb overlooking xocobra’s yard, and there it sat directly facing the nest.  It was watching us and his mate, and he was waiting for a chance to complete the shift change.  I’m sure he’d been watching us for some time before I noticed him.

Eventually he flew to a different tree for a different view, and then he flew to a different neighbor’s roof where he perched and watched from a different angle.  As we finally began cleaning up our mess and preparing to go inside, he flew over and perched on xocobra and LD’s roof—the closest he had gotten since we saw him return.

I explained to them what would happen once we got out of the way.  We wanted to see them make their moves, though, and stood like voyeurs at the patio doors watching from inside.

The moment we were out of sight, she rose from the nest, stretched her wings, and flew away.  He immediately flew into position across from the nest before flitting over to the pot and taking his place inside it.  He quietly settled in for his turn at playing parent while she went to find something to eat and to take a break.

I’m quite excited about this because, so long as nothing happens to the nest, they should have offspring in the coming months.  To have the chance to witness nature’s cycle of life right there on the patio with such beautiful creatures involved is a fantastic opportunity.  Having had such an occurrence in my own life many years ago with a pair of mourning doves who nested in a tree beside my driveway, I know xocobra, LD, and their kids are in for a wonderful treat.

[this is a perfect example of why I need to keep my camera with me at all times; it might not always be convenient, but that’s better than the eternal regret that comes from missing an opportunity that might never come again; the world is full of mystical goings-on and moments that we want to capture; not having a camera handy is akin to going through life with our eyes closed; I need to do a better job of keeping the camera with me so I don’t miss a chance to partake of the random splendor and memorable visuals that surround us at all times]

Mothra

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Although I had originally planned to share these photos at a later time, I became so enamored of them that I could no longer wait.  Call it premature posting…  Yep, I’m guilty.

When first I arrived at the family farm yesterday morning, one of the immediate things I saw was a collection of giant moths hanging around the central light pole in the main yard.  It’s not unusual to see these large insects loitering there.  In fact, nightfall often brings with it a virtual plague of Luna moths (Actias luna) that covers the pole from top to bottom, a recurring event which makes the entire structure look like one massive writhing organism of fluttering wings.  It’s a stunning visual simply due to the unbelievable number of the creatures that horde together in that one place at one time.

And although I did see some Luna moths while I was there, it was not that particular species which so quickly grabbed my attention.  The winged beasts I saw first are even larger, and I believe them to be even more beautiful.

Here’s an example of what I’m talking about.

A male polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) resting on the ground (177_7744)

That is a male Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus), one of the giant silk moth species.  Its wingspan reaches 6 inches (15 centimeters).  This particular specimen was about that large and easily covered the whole of my hand.

I cannot stress enough how spectacular these winged insects are when viewed up close.  For that matter, they’re quite enchanting when viewed from a distance because their size lends itself to easy appreciation from almost any range.  Yet to be near them and see the wonderful detail and colors melded together on something that seems frail and gigantic at the same time is to behold one of nature’s dazzling displays.  Take this close-up as an example.

A close-up of a Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) (177_7745)

What exquisite magnificence they present.  What marvelous artwork they are.

A Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) resting on the ground (177_7748)

Some part of me felt as though I shared something with the first mind to imagine a dragon, to see from the inside what it might be like to stand before a creature of myth and magic capable of bridging the gap between humanity’s appreciation of creativity and nature’s ability to outdo us every single time.  Very much unlike that first primitive soul to think of fire-breathing reptiles, however, I didn’t need to visualize some impossible monster in order to see the universe’s own fantastic fancy.  I needed only to look at what rested before my eyes.

And here’s a closer shot from that last photo showing the plumed antennae indicating this was indeed a male of the species.

A close-up of the plumed antennae of a Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) (177_7748_1)

Unfortunately for him, the male lay on the ground because his life ebbed from his body.  You see, they congregated around the light pole to mate, after which the males fluttered away weakly so that they might die while the females remained behind to deposit the hope of future generations in those places where they might be safe.  The women folk then likewise took leave of their young so that they too might go and breathe their last, a gasp or two coming so soon after the children of tomorrow had been given their best chance.

Some of those females could still be found on the pole.  One such lass had hidden away in the shadow of an electrical box where she remained unseen from all but the most prying eyes.  Like mine.

A Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) hidden in the shadows (177_7795)

One might wonder why they stayed there after their carnal rendezvous had ended.  That question has a simple answer: to complete what they had started.

I found one such female on another side of the light where she had become weak and almost lifeless.  Her intention kept her going, though.  Until her business had been completed, I doubted she would let go of the pole and allow her body to fall listlessly to the ground below.

A female Polyphemus moth (Antheraea polyphemus) laying eggs on the side of a light pole (177_7793)

What you see attached to the pole beneath her abdomen is the fruit of her labors and her mate’s giving of his last moments to ensure the longevity of their kind.  Soon after she completed her final task, her body fell lifeless to the grass and added to the growing collection of moth wings and bodies littering the ground.  She had given her all for a generation she would never know and never see.  All her hopes rested in those tiny inconspicuous dots left clinging to a simple light pole.

The majestic approach

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I’ve often wondered about the “swan geese” moniker given to Chinese geese (Anser cygnoides).  Sure, they’re as large as swans and have long necks they sometimes hold in positions reminiscent of swans, but I didn’t particularly feel either of those traits warranted a nickname linking these raucous birds to their distant cousins who quite dissimilarly are full of grace and quite a bit less noise.  I realize they are domesticated swan geese, but that still leaves me wondering about the name.

And then I captured these photos of both the brown and white varieties.  The question was answered.

Watching these large waterfowl as they glided across the surface of the water, their heads held with courtly elegance, their necks long and slender, and their wings pushed up by an upwardly held tail, suddenly reminded me of the same postures and visuals often seen with swans.  Although no one would ever mistake one of these geese for a swan (unless seen from quite a distance), I realized while watching them approach the shore that they indeed deserved that very cognomen.

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Even the American coots (Fulica americana) seemed to offer genteel deference as the geese made their way toward land quite near where I stood.  Then again, maybe they were just trying to get out of the way of this much larger and quite forbidding gaggle that seemed intent on mowing over anything that got in their way.  That definitely is another similarity to swans (who, if you didn’t know, can be quite mean and aggressive, a trait contrary to their beauty).

Nevertheless, the geese came ashore only a few yards (a few meters) from where I stood taking photographs.  Until they were out of the water, one easily could see how swanlike they were.

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Let’s not forget they are geese, however.  Before they reached my position, I captured this video showing just how rowdy, boisterous, and shrill they are.  The honking echoed across the entire lake and sometimes threatened to reach earsplitting levels.  Just listen to them in this brief film.


There’s something else in that video I want you to take note of as well.  Underlying the sounds of the geese and other birds is an almost mournful noise, one in close proximity to the camera.  It runs throughout the video and repeats constantly and at almost clock-like intervals.

That sound is a coot standing in the shallows.  I had never heard a coot make that noise before.  I’ve heard the other sound they make, the one that reminds me of a throaty groan (you can hear it a few times in the first five seconds, and then there’s one right at five seconds that’s much louder and clearer).

I watched the coot making that sorrowful sound to see if perhaps it was hurt or sick.  After several minutes, I concluded it was acting like the rest of them who were loitering about the area where land and water joined together.  Despite its kith and kin making what I thought to be normal coot noises, this one continued its crying for quite a while.  Eventually, though, it reverted to the expected calling as it and the other coots made their way to land for a free meal provided by some very nice folks bearing the gift of breakfast.

A very nice surprise

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My walk to and from the lake offers me a relaxing jaunt through comfortable woodlands filled with all manner of things to see, not the least of which happens to be the area itself.  There’s plenty of wildlife, sure, but there’s also plenty of flora and the general scenery with which I can glutton my insatiable appetite for natural wonders.

In fact, this is the view while returning home recently from a morning stroll.

The wooded scene during a walk at the lake (174_7427)

I live just behind the evergreens lining the right side of the picture.  This is the hill leading from there down to the floodplain and general park area.  From this particular view, the lake is behind me.

Once the plant life returns to its verdant splendor, this entire area is a lush garden topped with a thick canopy of foliage, and that in turn provides a magnificent home for a variety of wildlife.

As I made my way off the trail onto the leaf-covered grass still brown with winter’s slumber, I continued snapping quite arbitrary photos of this and that.  I had already captured some images of the squirrels enjoying their breakfast, as well as a diverse list of other creatures, so I focused more on the surroundings and less on its inhabitants.

That was a mistake for I missed several opportunities that slipped by almost unnoticed while my attention remained elsewhere.  With my eyes fixed on the viewfinder, small bits of movement escaped me even when they involved the very scene on which I was fixated.  Only after I snapped the photo would I notice some tiny thing rushing by in front of the lens, something jotting in and out of the shadows playing around me in the early morning sunlight.

I had to put the camera down and take a direct look to realize that amongst the squirrels were several American robins (Turdus migratorius) dashing about with gleeful abandon, and like the squirrels, they appeared intent on finding a morning meal.  They regrettably maintained a significant distance from me, although it was not me they were staying away from but rather it was their focus on food that kept them constantly in motion and constantly moving away.

Then imagine my surprise when I discovered this while processing the images once I’d arrived home.

An American robin (Turdus migratorius) standing in a field (172_7299)

I realize it’s not a very good picture, but I also happen to know it’s a tiny crop from a much larger scene…a scene where I didn’t even realize the bird had crossed into the image area while I was taking it.  It won’t win any contests, yet it satisfies me.

But that wasn’t all I found of these birds as I looked ever more closely at each of the large photographs.

For example, I caught another of these wondrous little birds as it ran by me, through the photo, across the path, and down toward the floodplain where I accidentally caught that first one.

An American robin (Turdus migratorius) standing with its back to me (172_7284)

Again, not a splendid shot, especially with the light balance so out of whack for the bird’s position.  It’s nevertheless a nice view of what I didn’t even know was there!

And finally, I think this might be the best (relative term, that one) photo of the robins who apparently wanted their pictures taken but didn’t want to be obvious about it.

An American robin (Turdus migratorius) standing in the shadow of a tree (172_7293)

Because they moved in and out of the shadows cast by the trees, none of the chance images I got were of very high quality.  Similarly, each of the birds was a minuscule dot of color on a rather large canvas of imagery.  Despite the circumstances, I still found it to be a nice surprise when I realized I had some acceptable views of these busybodies scampering around in my line of sight.

[btw, I will probably tinker with these photos a bit when it comes time to relocate them to Zooomr; I think I can get a little better quality out of them, especially with regards to light and shadow and the balance between the two, but only if I have more time to play with them; you know I’m not good with editing images like that, so I need a lot of wiggle room to see if I can improve them; if I do, I’ll let you know in a subsequent post that they’ve been updated—but only if I can make them more presentable without ruining them]

Great-tailed grackle

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Most people living in North America are quite familiar with the great-tailed grackle (Quiscalus mexicanus).  They’re loud, they tend to congregate in large numbers, and they leave an unmistakable mark on everything unlucky enough to get caught beneath them.  In fact, they’re often seen as nuisance birds, an unfortunate impression being seen right here in DFW where humans are colliding with these avian beasts—and the birds are losing.  For example, air guns and other deterrents are being utilized to dislocate grackles from their homes so they don’t pose a threat to people and cars.  We as a species can be so pathetically and heartlessly selfish.  But anyway…

I’ve always been fascinated by grackles.  Like other larger congregating birds, they have no problem giving chase to a hawk invading their territory, a true sight to behold as the poor hawk generally winds up abused and frustrated and forced to flee either to higher ground or another location altogether.  This show is augmented when grackles and other species join forces against the predator.

Another thing I like about grackles is the plumage of male birds.  It’s such a robust, iridescent black that one’s eyes can get lost in the color.  Hints of blue and violet and green, and even a rich gray, all dance about the deep darkness that coats their feathers.  It can be quite stunning.  Add to that the male’s bright yellow eyes and you have a spectacular winged creature that’s a true sight to behold.

Yet I believe much of my enjoyment stems from an experience almost two decades ago when my father caught a male grackle in our back yard.  It was completely by accident, of course, and no harm was done and no malice was intended.  The bird happened to be quite near where Dad was standing.  Being the consummate challenger of assumptions, my father gave chase thinking he wouldn’t catch it but at least would give it a try.  Weren’t we all surprised to see him succeed!

I guess the bird really was too near Dad’s location.  Although it immediately tried to take flight, my father’s proximity kept it from getting into the air quickly enough to escape, and the next thing you know Dad comes to the porch to show off his catch.  After we all had a good look and got to touch the ebony feathers that seemed painted of a magical substance, the bird was released back into the yard where it went back to its personal business.  Flee?  Yep, it certainly did that, but it was no worse for the experience—and all us kids were just fascinated by the twofold wonder: Wow!  Our dad caught a bird! —and— Wow!  That bird sure was cool!

Since I was quite young when this happened, I suppose it cemented the grackle’s place in my heart and gave me a deep appreciation for its brethren.

But I also think the grackle reminds me of my favorite bird, the red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus).  I first learned of them in first grade when our class began studying the local fauna in North Texas.  Something about the red-winged blackbird took hold within me.  It’s been my longtime favorite since then, and so the grackle with its similar size and color perhaps gives me a more common view of the less abundant bird I so love.

And now that I’ve rambled on ad nauseam, let me get back to the purpose of this post.

While taking a morning walk recently at the lake, I came upon some male grackles hanging out in a tree.  They watched me closely but did not flee even when I came within three yards (three meters) of where they perched.

Two male great-tailed grackles (Quiscalus mexicanus) perched in a tree (173_7398)

I kept an eye on them while I continued snapping photographs of other wildlife and general scenes.  Because I stood near the confluence of several creeks feeding the lake, there was plenty to see.  Nevertheless, my eyes kept returning to the grackles.

Finally, one of them came down out of the tree and landed perhaps midway between my position and their location.  He stood near the shore and watched me closely.

A male great-tailed grackle (Quiscalus mexicanus) standing near the shore (173_7399)

Perhaps when he finally became convinced I had no intention of bothering him, he proceeded to grab a bit of breakfast from the ground around him.  I couldn’t see what he was eating but could tell he was finding plenty of munchies.

That’s when I was startled by another bird rushing headlong through the dry, brittle winter grass.  It was a female of the species.  She came around from behind me and was less than an arm’s length away.  Unlike her male counterparts, she didn’t seem to fear me much.  I’d suspect she saw me more as an impediment to her breakfast than as a threat.  She rushed around me in sweeping and random jogs, turning in sporadic directions as she stopped abruptly to snatch up some morsel of morning goodness.  Again I couldn’t tell what the bird was eating, but she certainly seemed to be finding plenty of it.

A female great-tailed grackle (Quiscalus mexicanus) jogging about looking for breakfast (173_7400)

She spent several minutes on the shore near me before finally moving down into the shallows for more hunting.  Meanwhile, the males busied themselves with manly things (lots of yelling at each other, some beating of wings in manly displays of superiority, and eventually flying off to get into trouble without the wives hanging around to see it).