Tag Archives: house sparrow (Passer domesticus)

From the living room to the back door

I’ve unfortunately been too busy with work and last week too sick with the flu to do much walking at the lake, let alone to do much in the way of photography.

That vexes me, yes, but things could be worse: I could be unemployed.  Now’s hardly the time to complain when it comes to being overworked and underpaid.

All the while, I’m back on call this week (what a familiar refrain that’s become).  There’s no chance of getting out for more than a visit to the patio.

But the patio’s not at all bad considering where I live.  So much life flourishes at White Rock Lake that living here makes it all but impossible to not see something of interest even if the length of my walk is from the living room to the back door.

A male house sparrow (Passer domesticus) perched in the tree (2008_12_17_002590)

A male house sparrow (Passer domesticus) perched in the tree is a familiar vision.  A veritable horde of this species lives nearby, so they make for constant companions throughout the year.

But these are not brave birds, I’ve discovered.

A cardinal need only hiss to frighten the sparrows away, and even a Carolina wren can chase the sparrows off.  Having seen both events recently as many species vied for a bit of the birdseed bounty I put out, I laughed each time: surprised to see a male cardinal be so forceful and shocked to see a tiny wren send the sparrows fleeing for their lives.

A northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) perched in a tree (2008_12_17_002579)

Northern mockingbirds (Mimus polyglottos) are as ubiquitous as they are fearless.  When all other birds flee, at least one mockingbird will be around to keep an eye on things.  When a predator moves in, at least one mockingbird will sound the alarm and launch the first assault.  When other birds invade territory that somehow is sacred—nesting season or not, the mockingbirds sweep in and attack.

How beautiful their diverse repertoire of song, though.  The other morning I thought one of the local monk parakeets had landed in my tree; the mockingbird offered a perfect copy of the bird’s sound.  Only when it launched into a complete musical presentation full of various songs and sounds did I realize I had been fooled, and joyously so I will admit!

A friendly fly (a.k.a. government fly or large flesh fly; Sarcophaga aldrichi) sunning on the patio fence (2009_01_07_004240)

The friendly fly (a.k.a. government fly or large flesh fly; Sarcophaga aldrichi) looks like the common housefly; the only difference is that it’s noticeably larger than its pesky cousin.

In the midst of a winter that has been overly warm, I discovered this friendly fly grabbing a bit of sun on the patio fence.  Hot enough for me to be in shorts and a tee shirt and quite to the fly’s liking, we spent a wee bit of time together as it warmed its wings.

They’re called friendly for a reason, you know.

A green anole (Anolis carolinensis) sunning on the patio fence (2009_01_09_004279)

Green anoles (Anolis carolinensis) began leaving hibernation in the middle of December.  That worried me.  A winter that wasn’t much of a winter provided enough warmth for the lizards to seek heat and nourishment.  Only one of those commodities was in abundance.

The first anole I saw showed ribs through taught scales.  Others who followed worried me with the same presentation.

As December gave way to January and the springlike winter continued, more insects showed up and the anoles filled their skins a bit more until finally they looked healthy again.

And notice how this one has matched the paint color on the fence.  Chameleons change color to control body heat and to communicate.  Anoles, on the other hand, change color to control body heat, to communicate and to act as camouflage.  I’ve seen them match colors no chameleon could touch, and I’ve seen them do it with blazing speed and precision.

A Virginia opossum (a.k.a. possum; Didelphis virginiana) eating cat food on the patio (2009_01_19_005240)

One of my neighbors enjoys the local Virginia opossums (a.k.a. possum; Didelphis virginiana) about as much as I do.  She told me one day that someone walked by and saw her snapping photos in the dead of night—photos apparently focused on something quite mundane: a tree.

She was taking pictures of a juvenile opossum who’d climbed the tree in response to an approaching dog.

I do love opossums, love their personalities, their singular claim to being a marsupial in North America, their gentle dispositions, their methodical approach to movement that keenly hides an ability to move rather quickly when the need arises.

Finding this one early one evening as it enjoyed some of the cat food on the patio made for a pleasant discovery.

A Carolina wren (Thryothorus ludovicianus) standing on a gardening glove (2009_02_02_006025)

I absolutely adore Carolina wrens (Thryothorus ludovicianus).  The busybodies of the bird world, they look like a bunch of Chatty Kathy dolls marching along beneath the shrubs as they gossip and bicker and jabber throughout their search for a bite to eat.

Like mockingbirds, they also lack the overwhelming fear of people that most species (should!) have.  I can’t begin to count the number of times one has perched on the fence next to me or hopped on my foot as it made its way across the patio.

A gardening glove that blew in during a powerful wind storm provided the perfect scale as this one bopped along in speckled sunlight between the fence and the photinias.  Not large at all, these wrens make up with attitude what they lack in size.  How delectably enjoyable!

One need not leave the patio…

…to enjoy a bit of the natural world.

This weekend I have spent my time doing the on-call thing for work.  Right now I feel drunk, although not from alcohol.  From lack of sleep, yes.

I’ve had perhaps two hours of rest since five in the morning on Friday.

Needless to say, it’s been a hell of a weekend.  And not in a good way.

Still, my want to take walks and snap photos suffers no lasting damage from such times, for it is with a great sense of gift that I can stand outside on my own patio and get a fix for my need.

Nature comes to me, you see.

Clance standing outside the patio fence (20081005_13300)

Clance[1].  For some time I thought I would never see his cross-eyed face again.  He disappeared for more than a year with but one or two minor visits in early 2007.  I hoped for the best and feared the worse: that he had been adopted and that he had died, respectively.

Then he suddenly reappeared maybe two months ago.  Now he comes running when he sees me on the patio and he purrs and meows as he speaks to me with trust and affection.  I’m thrilled to see he’s alright.

A male house sparrow (Passer domesticus) perched on the patio fence (20081005_13353)

A male house sparrow (Passer domesticus).  Whilst kneeling on the patio floor trying to snap photos of a lizard, I heard the tiniest bit of noise beside me, something much like a dry leaf rustling against an old log.

Slowly I turned and looked over my shoulder.  There hardly an arm’s length from me perched this little bird.  He clung to the fence and glanced about as though he’d lost something.

In truth, I put birdseed out every day.  The sparrows join the cardinals, the blue jays, the mourning doves, the rock doves, the Carolina wrens and a litany of other species as they each vie for their bit of the bounty.  My little sparrow friend probably wanted to make sure no threats lurked about before he dove to the ground for a bite to eat.

A friendly fly (a.k.a. government fly or large flesh fly; Sarcophaga aldrichi) standing atop the patio fence (20080516_05296)

A friendly fly (a.k.a. government fly or large flesh fly; Sarcophaga aldrichi)[2].  It sat atop the patio fence soaking up sunshine.  If I approached too closely, it scooted off in one direction or another, but it never flew away—at least not until it was ready to do so.

I enjoyed watching it, appreciating its behemoth size and dazzling contrast of colors.  And the fact that it was so tolerant of me made it even better.

A male green anole (Anolis carolinensis) challenging me from the tree with this throat fan fully displayed (20080613_06520)

A male green anole (Anolis carolinensis).  He spent a great deal of time challenging me as I stood and watched him climb down the tree rooted just outside the patio fence.  Having been confronted by my share of anoles, I thought nothing of this contest save that it made for a good photo opportunity.

What I didn’t know would be discovered later.  He defied me only because he meant to woo a lady of his kind who hid in the branches above him.  Minutes later I returned to the patio and discovered his display had so impressed her that she had succumbed to his ways.

Yes, the two of them stood on the side of the tree and consummated their meeting in a public display of affection that would so offend James Dobson and his bigoted ilk that they—the lizards—likely would have found a new constitutional amendment being passed to stop reptile procreation altogether due to its immorality.  But I found the exhibition mesmerizing and educating.

A rock dove (a.k.a. common pigeon; Columba livia) looking away (20080202_01690)

A rock dove (a.k.a. common pigeon; Columba livia).  Ancestor of all pigeons, this species, despite the unwarranted disgust by many humans, brings a profound beauty to its surroundings.  The iridescent feathers, the amber eyes, the tolerance for our ways and our places…  Well, I find them intriguing and beguiling.

A Virginia opossum (a.k.a. possum; Didelphis virginiana) eating cat food outside the patio fence (20081102_14542)

A Virginia opossum (a.k.a. possum; Didelphis virginiana).  Part of the cleaning crew, in fact, as you can see this one readily went to work on the cat food I had just put out for Clance.  After the cat had his fill, he walked away.  That’s when, much to my surprise, this opossum scampered around the corner, ambled up to the table so to speak, and began munching away.

Oh, and the marsupial knew I was there.  I knelt next to the fence only a yard/meter away, so every sound and movement I made set off alarm bells for this small juvenile (not as small as the baby, though).  But I know something about them: their eyesight is relatively poor, although they can hear and smell like a top predator.  Staying downwind of the little cutie and not making a lot of noise meant it only looked at me with suspicion if I moved too much or accidentally sounded my presence with some clumsy racket.

A male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) perched atop a leaf (20080620_07043)

A male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus).  My favorite insect in all the world, and a most gentle and placid leviathan if ever there was one.  The huge colony of these beasts that surrounds my home thrives only for a brief period before falling under the heels of time’s onward march.  But during that short life they captivate me to no end, and they give of their calm nature the companionship made possible only by two disparate lives sharing a clear understanding: we can be friends.

— — — — — — — — — —

Notes:

[1] Many would argue that domestic cats are not natural.  I beg to differ.  The wildcat who gave life to this species has been pushed to near extinction by humans.  What can fill that ecological niche if not the very children of the parents put to death by the march of our intelligent advancement.

That said, I don’t like the idea of outside cats, I don’t like seeing them outside fending for themselves and being exposed to all manner of illness and danger, yet the humane side of me—the part of me that knows what it means to be human—likes even less the idea of seeing them go hungry and without compassion.  I put lots of money into no-kill shelters each month in hopes that some of these lost souls will find a home; meanwhile, I have no intention of turning my back on them when I can afford to offer a meal, a bit of attention and friendship, and a kind soul to whom they can speak.

[2] Amazingly, this is not a macro shot.  I stood some distance from the fly and zoomed in to take the picture.

[3] The photo is bad, I know, but I took it in very poor lighting and with the camera on the wrong settings.  I was more intrigued and enthralled with the opossum than I was with making a piece of art.  So sue me.

Exotic isn’t necessary

I don’t always know what I will see, let alone photograph, when I go for walks.  Although the rare occasion pops up when I set out on a quest to find a particular something or other, mostly I let my body and eyes wander aimlessly so I don’t miss the artwork of the mundane.  Well, that’s assuming any of nature’s handiwork can be called mundane.

Something in the ordinary, the usual, too often goes unnoticed.  “Oh, it’s just a duck.”  “Sparrows?  How boring.”  “We don’t see autumn foliage in Texas like you see up north, you know.  Down here it just goes from green to dead in a few days.”  The list goes on.

Truth be told, so much beauty rests unappreciated in what too many call pedestrian.  If only they’d look closer.

Domerstic swan geese (Anser cygnoides) and domestic greylag geese (Anser anser) paddling about a local creek (20081025_14134)

I myself sometimes fail to notice what should be seen yet passes right before my eyes with nary a glance.  And shame on me for that!

Even a gaggle of our local domestic geese deserves more than apathy.  They bring verve and vigor to the lake, their loud voices ringing across the water’s surface and echoing in defiance of the woodlands.  Would that I could gift them for the splendor they bring to my life.

A pekin duck (a.k.a. domestic duck, white pekin duck, or Long Island duck; Anas domesticus) taking a bath (20081101_14213)

Of all the ducks in all the world, White Rock Lake boasts a year-round population of many species, not the least of which can be found bathing in early morning light in the shallows of Sunset Bay.  I stand upon the pier which beckons to me all too often, and there I see a familiar vision which even to me seems nothing short of routine.

But then I look closer, look with eyes intent on devouring the majestic hidden within the unexciting.  Even as I look on, snap photos, appreciate, others glance here and there, perhaps mentioning the water thrown this way and that by a simple white duck, and finally seek more exciting fare.

And I wonder what might be more exciting than this…

Rock doves (a.k.a. common pigeon; Columba livia) perched on the juts of a pier (20081101_14249)

The common pigeon.  They draw their beauty from their forefathers, the rock doves, the progenitors of all pigeons, and they carry to this day an iridescent beauty and unmistakable aura that rarely is as admired as it should be.

I sat upon my favorite pier and let these birds join me, along with dozens of their friends.  Some allowed me to touch them, others allowed me to serve as a perch, and yet more scampered about me as though I didn’t exist, ducking beneath my legs, walking over my hands, standing next to my arms.  Almost an hour burned away in the autumn sun as we enjoyed the morning together.

A male house sparrow (Passer domesticus) clinging to the branch of a shrub (20081020_13882)

Rested upon a branch within a shrub so near that I might reach out and touch him, this male house sparrow accepted my presence, my invasive spirit as I poked my camera in his face, and he never budged for all my commotion.

What a ubiquitous marvel he is.  What a common artwork he proffers to those willing to notice.

American white pelicans (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) and American coots (Fulica americana) preening on a sandbar (20081101_14233)

Pelicans and coots preen upon the desolate sandbar jutting across the bay.  Busy with their grooming, they fail to notice the autumnal canvas nature paints behind them upon what was just a few weeks ago a lush, verdant, green landscape.

I bear witness to the changing of the seasons, to the changing of the guard.  Like these birds, I feel the warmth of a cool day whilst enjoying a potent magic offered up for our enjoyment.  I notice the magnificent display, however, much unlike my avian counterparts.

Golden autumnal foliage sheltering an uphill path at White Rock Lake. (20081101_14476)

Golden canopies stretch endlessly as they mix with reds and browns and greens and hues untold.  Simple yellows, some claim, although they fail to see the truth of the moment.

The trail leading up the hill toward my home snakes its way beneath a sky contrasted by trees intent on showing their autumnal best.  I scarcely knew a moment of peace as I walked this path.  Sunlight falling against and through the gorgeous arms of life succumbing to seasonal sleep brushed upon the bones of the world a gorgeous shelter of color, a shelter beneath which I lost myself.

I’m left feeling satisfied and bewildered all at once.  The everyday can be so exquisite, so delightful.  It can also be terribly ignored.

I wonder why…

— — — — — — — — — —

Photos:

[1] Domestic swan geese (Anser cygnoides) and domestic greylag geese (Anser anser) paddling about a local creek.

[2] A pekin duck (a.k.a. domestic duck, white pekin duck, or Long Island duck; Anas domesticus) taking a bath.

[3] Rock doves (a.k.a. common pigeon; Columba livia) perched on the juts of a pier.

[4] A male house sparrow (Passer domesticus) clinging to the branch of a shrub.

[5] American white pelicans (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) and American coots (Fulica americana) preening on a sandbar.

[6] Golden autumnal foliage sheltering an uphill path at White Rock Lake.

February feathers

Before all hell broke loose at work and I lost the majority of my time to the demands of employment, I enjoyed a leisurely walk at White Rock Lake early on the morning of February 2.  While this by no means encompasses the totality of the photographs taken that day, it does present a nice avian menagerie representative of that glorious experience.  You can expect more later.

Ring-billed gulls (Larus delawarensis) preening and sunbathing on a pier (20080202_01679)

The most ubiquitous species of its kind here at the lake, ring-billed gulls (Larus delawarensis) enjoyed a casual sunrise on the pier in Sunset Bay, my favorite spot to sit and meditate in the company of this urban oasis and all the nature it has to offer.

I especially like the juvenile on the right caught with its leg outstretched while grooming (I believe that’s second-winter plumage).

Three female house sparrows (Passer domesticus) perched on one of the pier's support columns (20080202_01693)

Three female house sparrows (Passer domesticus) perched atop one of the pier’s supports as they undoubtedly gossiped and spoke of the ungrateful men in their lives.  You can almost hear the cackling and goings on, the talk of no shopping money left in the nest when “those men” disappeared all too early, the discussion about who really has to raise the young’uns while others gallivant around the countryside as if they haven’t a care in the world.

A male downy woodpecker (Picoides pubescens) hanging upside-down as he searches for a meal (20080202_01715)

A male downy woodpecker (Picoides pubescens) spent a great deal of time hunting the outer branches of this tree in search of food.  His female counterpart, also in the same tree, never left the dense shadows of its thick trunk.

Only later did I realize this is normal behavior, the male commandeering thinner branches while he forces the female to stay lower in the tree.  Apparently he knows where the better insects hide.

A female European starling (Sturnus vulgaris) high in a tree facing into the morning sun (20080202_01741)

A female European starling (Sturnus vulgaris) sat high in a tree facing the sun, making photography rather difficult lest I stand facing her.  Such is the result.

She made a great deal of noise as I approached her nest (hidden in a hollow limb).  When I didn’t pass by uncaring of her presence, she bellowed out a series of demands that I move along immediately.  Too bad she remained in the tree’s upper branches and in a position that forced me into a singular view of her (from in front and below).

A male pekin duck (Anas domesticus) swimming near the bank of a creek (20080202_01768)

A male pekin duck (a.k.a. domestic duck, white pekin duck, or Long Island duck; Anas domesticus) swam by me as I walked along the banks of Dixon Branch (one of the many creeks that feed into White Rock Lake).  He paused briefly to look at me, perhaps a question as to my intent or a quick pondering of my obvious inability to swim.

In either case, he made a rather nice portrait with his deep blue eyes and illustrious whiteness.

A close-up of a rock dove (Columba livia) looking at me as I pass by (20080202_01759)

A rock dove (a.k.a. common pigeon; Columba livia), one among many, paused momentarily as it glanced at me while I trundled along pretending I hadn’t noticed all of them feasting on breakfast.

The last walk left lonely

Written yesterday before I decided to go offline for the evening.  Yet even now as I post this, the sky has grown dark and forbidding as clouds heavy with rain float by overhead, and already they bring us more of the same…more rain…a tremulous dance performed to the unending beat of heavenly outpourings, one punctuated only by thunderous cymbals clapping to their own rhythm. . .

It has been more than two months since I’ve been able to enjoy a walk at the lake.  As I told Jenny,

I’d really like to start taking walks again! Ugh. At first, I loved the constant rain. I loved the cloudy skies and cool weather. I hated the high humidity levels but was willing to put up with them for the gorgeous storms and torrential downpours. Now I’m over it. Too much of a good thing becomes a bad thing, and this is the perfect example of that premise. Enough already! I want to take walks again. I want to know what a blue sky looks like, and I don’t just mean via tiny holes in an endless cloud that stretches from horizon to horizon. Occasional rain? Sure, that works. Even infrequent flooding and, of course, severe storms. But give me a break.

This coming from me represents nothing short of a biblical event.  I love rain!  I most assuredly love storms!  Nothing enchants me more than dark clouds and gusty winds and strong rain.  Thunder is music to my ears and lightning art to my eyes.

But not anymore.  At least not right now.  Tempests have become ubiquitous.  When one appears, no longer do I feel the enthralling fascination I once felt.  No, it’s become more noting that it’s still raining, still storming, rather than losing myself in the pleasure of trembling before nature’s power.

What began as a welcome respite from drought in March became a missing friend in April, but then it returned in May and hasn’t left us since.  I’m ready for this to end…at least for now.  Let us recover a bit such that the ground can be walked upon without sinking in mud up to my ankles.  Let the sun shine a bit and the heat settle down on us so that we might look forward to the next refreshing, cooling shower.  Let our ears thirst for the sound of approaching thunder, and let our eyes quiver at the unexpected sight of lightning dancing betwixt earth and heaven.  Let all of this become a joy again, rather than a tedious mess.

It occurred to me today that the one or two readers of this blog might feel the same way.  Because it has rained for two months, torrential rain that seemed as unending as intent on inflicting harm and damage, I realized that much of what I’ve posted here has been wrought of our ad nauseam floods.  Two words: BOR. ING.

Well, perhaps not for me, as I’m living it.  Even now, rumbling and roiling, billowing and boiling, a dangerous thunderstorm swims through the air overhead.  There is more rain, of course.

Yet both Jenny and I have increasingly spoken of the longing we share once again to enjoy walks at the lake, to bathe our bodies in nature’s bounty, to wallow away the time with wanderings free of schedules.

These things are simply not to be, however, for the constant deluge keeps the area one massive mud pit, an example of Texas quicksand wherein shoes are deposited without being returned, where nature takes a holiday to escape storm after storm after storm, where plants swim to keep alive, and where the only clear path is made of concrete, something which removes all but the most mundane discovery and joy from the experience.

So it has been for some time now, and so is the cause of my inability to provide new experiences and photographs from the world around me.

Instead of lamenting it and crying about it, however, today I’m going to revisit the last walk I was able to take, the last walk left lonely for the absence of walks to follow.  It was April 29, the day before the rains came, the day before the world changed into a wet tropical mess.  Visit with me that splendid morning now so long ago. . .

A lone male mallard duck (Anas platyrhynchos) sleeping atop a fallen tree as a few American coots (Fulica americana) swim in the background in front of the water theater (191_9189)

A lone male mallard duck (Anas platyrhynchos) sleeping atop a fallen tree
as a few American coots (Fulica americana) swim in the background
in front of the water theater

The community amphitheater in morning sunlight (191_9199)

The community amphitheater

One of the many communal birdhouses around the lake with male and female purple martins (Progne subis) and a lone male house sparrow (Passer domesticus) (192_9213)

One of the many communal birdhouses around the lake with
male and female purple martins (Progne subis) and
a lone male house sparrow (Passer domesticus)

The tiniest of flowers, blue fieldmadder (Sherardia arvensis), still covered with heavy morning dew (192_9216)

The tiniest of flowers, blue fieldmadder (Sherardia arvensis), still covered with
heavy morning dew

A lone blade of grass held upward (192_9218)

Wielded like a sword, a lone blade of grass points toward
the heavens

A field of Engelmann daisies (Engelmannia pinnatifida) and as yet unidentified white flowers (192_9238)

A field of Engelmann daisies (Engelmannia pinnatifida)
and as yet unidentified white flowers

A field of wildflowers with the lake in the background (192_9275)

A field of wildflowers

A grove of trees near home (192_9292)

Standing amidst a grove of trees near home

Finally, some photos of my favorite bird, the red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus).  They are common in this area, especially around the lake.  I chanced upon this male perched atop an electrical wire.  Although the photos were taken from some distance, I still find myself entranced by this creature, even by these images, as no other bird captivates me so. . .

A red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) perched atop an electrical wire (192_9278)
A red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) perched atop an electrical wire (192_9279)

[I have but a few photos left from this walk and intend to post them at a later date; perhaps under different circumstances I would claim I’m saving them for a rainy day. . .]