A Rare Find!

From afar I saw it. At first not paying much attention, for it looked like some kind of black bird but then I saw the long legs. Umm… maybe some sort of sandpiper? No, it’s not spotted or light brown but dark. And the most prominent feature was the long, down-curved bill.

Stepping closer quietly, I saw its deep maroon, multi-coloured plumage. Magnificent, maybe even magical. I haven’t seen this bird before.

Many of you might be able to ID it, but I had to do a lot of digging into Google search to discover what I’d just seen was a GLOSSY IBIS (Plegadis falcinellus). From Wikipedia, here’s the origin of the name: The scientific name derives from Ancient Greek plegados and Latin, falcis, both meaning “sickle” and referring to the distinctive shape of the bill.

And why am I so excited about seeing it? Look at this distribution map:

The glossy ibis can be found along the east coast of the United States from Maine to Texas. In the winter it lives from the Carolinas south to Florida and along the Gulf Coast to Texas. It is also found in Central America, South America, Africa, southern Eurasia and Australasia.

And where am I? In Alberta, Canada. From the map above, the second province from the west coast of Canada. Why is this glossy ibis here? A stray? Off course during migration? Or, just needs some cooler and crisper air up here?

I just couldn’t help but moved another step closer and that was it for my short discovery. It flew away but in a circle, coming right back at me, as if saying farewell, then disappeared into the distant sky:


I sure hope it will find its way back to where it belongs… But fine too, if it feels the Pond is a safe, new home, however temporal. You’re welcome to stay!

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Midsummer Colours

As I look through my photos taken in the past few weeks, I find that the prominent colours are yellow and green. We don’t have bright red birds like the cardinal, so, I’ve long settled for yellow, green and blue as my summer colours.

Two goldfinches made my day, vibrant golden yellow. They seemed not to be bothered by my presence as they were too busy with their breakfast:

well except this one with attitude:

Another sort of yellow, unintended, for I was aiming at the wren. Only when I uploaded the photo did I notice the lichen on the stump:

Sometimes, an accidental shot needs not be deleted. Why, this looks like an impressionist painting to me:

This one most symbolic, for the colours yellow and blue remind me of a war-torn country with millions of her people fleeing from their homeland. May this tiny yellow warbler, always so full of life and song, be a symbol of resilience for the ravaged country of Ukraine:

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A Summer Splash

A few days ago, I happened to catch sight of a jolly yellow warbler bathing (or playing) in the water. He plunged right into the shallow stream, splashed around, after that flew up on a branch preening, singing, then splashed right back into the water and do it all over again just for the fun of it.

I’d like to tell you it was a bright, sunny day, inviting a cooling summer splash. But I can’t because it wasn’t. The day was grey, overcast, chilly even and with a thunder storm in the forecast.

This tiny warbler’s joie de vivre defies the gloominess of the day or any imminent storm… a mighty hard lesson to learn from a three inch creature.

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Memories of Thanksgiving Past

Today is Thanksgiving Day in Canada. 2021 marks a significant turn as we’re slowly coming out of a pandemic, albeit still riding through bumps and waves, currently the fourth one for us. Amidst the collective chaos and discontent, I still have much to be thankful for, learning to count my blessings despite what we’ve gone through.

However, I admit I’m in a nostalgic mode. I check back to my previous posts and revisit some experiences of my Thanksgiving Past.

Thanksgiving 2017

I just came back from New York City attending the NYFF. While the Walter Reade Theater at Lincoln Center was the venue, I’d the chance of visiting many places that were unforgettable for me. Like, Central Park:

Monet’s Water Lilies at MoMA:

And Luke’s lobster roll by Brooklyn Bridge:

Thanksgiving 2016

The end of a 5-day escapade to London where I’d bagged loads of fond memories. While the streets of Cambridge were like a ready movie set,

this one was the actual setting… a dejected William (Hugh Grant) walking through the four seasons in Notting Hill’s Portobello Market, to the sad tune of ‘Ain’t No Sunshine when She’s Gone’:

and the blue door where his fame-crazed flatmate Spike (Rhys Ifans) opens to a crowd of paparazzi, in his just-out-of-bed attire:

Thanksgiving 2015

Around that time I was driving through New England where many indelible images had lodged in my mind. Along the country roads of New Hampshire, it was a bit early to see red. The primary colour appeared to be orange:

Thanksgiving 2012

As I scrolled through past photos, it’s this orange that seized and brought me back to Thanksgiving Present. On Thanksgiving Day, 2012, I was at Iona Beach, Richmond, B.C. These lines and image are from my post then:

And finally, I saw the sun slide down the distant sky. What a sight to wrap up Thanksgiving. If anything’s common… it’s Common Grace:

Iona Beach in Richmond, B.C., on Thanksgiving Day, Oct. 8, 2012

To all my Canadian readers, Happy Thanksgiving!

To my neighbours to the south, early Thanksgiving greetings!

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Blackie Spit, Surrey, B.C.

Sometimes you stumble upon a place looking for something, unaware that there are so much more to explore. Last week I drove out to British Columbia, our neighbour province to the west. While in Surrey, I searched for birding spots in the area and decided on driving down to Blackie Spit by the coast.

The Spit is named after an early settler Walter Blackie. Way before Walter and his fellow Europeans arrived here, the place was called “Tsee-wahk” Point, indigenous language for “strawberry” or “elderberry”, a place rich in food. Their saying goes: “When the tide is out, my table is set.”

Blackie Spit is located where inlets from Boundary Bay flow in. Zooming out would be the Strait of Georgia:

I followed a path that put me inside a fairytale:

In such a setting, I shouldn’t have been surprised to stumble upon a Great Blue Heron but I was as I looked across a stream…

and just a few steps away along the path, another one. This time, right in front of me up on a tree:

Never have I seen a GBH so up close and personal, and not flying away even when I stepped right underneath it to take a picture. No cropping of the photo here.

As I walked further along the path, absorbing the stunning view of the outlet, I found yet another one. Three GBH in a row… I’ll call that a good birding day.

Or, was I dream walking? Can you see it too?

You found it?

Of course, there must be an abundance of food for them here, as the indigenous people had known a long time ago. I could see why when I saw this mural. I was in salmon habitat:

So, I was indeed dream walking…

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‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

–– Emily Dickinson

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Ripple from The Chair (E6).

When human and bird collide

Spring is home construction season. The Ospreys are back and busy building their perennial home.

The Ospreys have the same address every year, that’s right on top of a highway sign. I don’t know why they like it up there above a busy highway while there are many trees close to a river nearby. No building permit required, so they are free to set up their family home and raise their young wherever they like.

This year is different. Some human have chosen that exact spot to work on something. Not sure what they’re planning for the site. A lift equipment is nearby and a little wooden triangular structure has been erected, right where the Ospreys are building their home.

So there are two different building plans on the same site, but the Ospreys are undeterred. They haul in material from nearby trees, transporting one twig at a time.

Here’s making the best of a precarious situation. When you have an unknown, triangular intrusion right by your home, might as well use it as a watch tower.

I don’t know how the story will unfold. I sure hope co-existence will be the happy ending.

***

Spring Sightings

First time is always the most exciting. These past weeks, I came across three sightings of something I’d never seen before. They may be common for other birders or nature watchers, but what’s important for me is, those were my first time.

From afar, I knew that wasn’t a Chickadee or a Nuthatch, albeit about the same size but plumper. I took the picture and later looked it up. It was a Dark-eyed Junco. Sure I’ve heard of the junco before, but have never come face to face with one. I further found out that it was one of the most common birds in Canada. Oh really? This was the first time I saw it, and that made it special for me. Love that tiny pink beak.

Another first-time is this photo here. Someone’s having a hearty meal, its delicate hands holding up a green shoot and chomping away. Can you guess what it is? Not a mouse:

Here, its tail gives it away… a baby muskrat. I’ve seen the adult ones but sighting a pint-size muskrat was my first time. At first I thought it was a baby beaver, but the narrow, long tail distinguishes it from the beaver, which has a flattened, paddle-like tail. Here’s a helpful page.

But the following is the most exciting find for me. In a shimmering pond lined with cattails…

I found a water bird I’d never seen before. It had a greyish white patch on its cheek:

I learned later that it was a Red-necked Grebe, breeding mainly in Canada (distribution map here). A grebe is not a duck; it doesn’t have webbed feet. I went back several times and found there were two pairs of them. I look forward to seeing their babies on their back in the coming days or weeks. I’ll be visiting them often.

Their colour features are fine and distinct, rusty red long neck and breast, with a yellow strip along their beak. Loud and distinct calls. Male and female have similar appearance.

I can’t explain it… I’m mesmerized by their serene movement, and yes, crazy calls. I’ve gone back a few times already, at different times of the day and in different weather. Nature’s calming sessions.

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Heralds of Spring

April is unpredictable. One day we have warm, sunny weather, the next there would be flurries. But the creek and pond have mostly melted. A new sound I heard a few weeks ago when I was walking by a stream, something I had never encountered before. The sound of melting: the cracking of ice, like a small firecracker had gone off.

But this is the true herald. When I saw the first robin, I knew Spring had arrived. There were many of them during my walk last week, turning the woods into a convivial nesting playground.

And up in the sky, a red-tailed hawk flew by. Sunlight seeping through its feathers:

At the bird sanctuary, the wood ducks are back, brightening up a cold morning:

But here’s what made my day: my first time sighting a Hooded Merganser. This is rare in our locale. From their range map, they’re only passing through during migration.

I often think of the female Common Merganser as having hair like Lucille Ball’s. I’ve found another celeb look-alike… the male Hooded Merganser’s hair sure has an Elvis look:

As for the female, I always find them to be more playful than the male, both the Common and now as I observed the Hooded one. Wish I’d taken a video to share. She was splashing and calling out in exuberance, while Elvis glanced back in nonchalant coolness:

Sure, shake your sillies out… Spring has sprung!

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Beauty in the Curves

Yesterday I went back to the place where just a few days ago I saw the Trumpeter Swans, and this time I found more. One adult and five juveniles were swimming leisurely in a peaceful surrounding. The scene was breathtaking.

This was the closest I’ve ever got near to a bird this big. They were swimming just a few feet from the snow-covered river bank where I was standing. This time, I could observe much clearer the beauty of their form… and discovered, of course, it’s in the curves!

Their naturally endowed, long neck is a posture of grace when held up straight, elegant and serene:

But when they bend down, the velvety, long neck creates curves that are sensually stirring:

When they fly, I could see the lofty curvature composed by their wings:

Beauty in its most natural and simplest form. Not flaunting, just being. Nothing they do to cultivate that, all endowed by their Maker, the creative Giver of life and grace.

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The Swan

Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air –
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music – like the rain pelting the trees – like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds –
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?

– Mary Oliver (italicized lines her own)

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“A white cross streaming across the sky”

Yes, I saw it… and felt it. Still rippling in my heart.

***

Swans in February

Previously on Ripple, I posted pictures of song birds that stay here in the winter. The House Finches surprised me, still chirping away in -24C (-10F) wintry air. But today, as I walk along the river, basking in the balmy weather (just at freezing point), I behold an even rarer sight. Trumpeter Swans!

Normally, they fly to the south and the Pacific Northwest beginning October, but ‘normal’ is no longer a term with relevance these days. Maybe the birds already knew that. With Texas bombarded with arctic storm and sub-zero F. temperatures this week, the Trumpeter Swans must have decided not to bother months before. Staying close by the river here above the 49th at least there’s food. And, as they say, if you don’t like the weather, just wait––normally five minutes––I’ll give it a few days.

An adult Trumpeter Swan with two juveniles on the river close by the shore, unafraid of the few of us birding paparazzi shooting away.

Interestingly, two Mallards cling to the Swans closely, reminds me of the term ‘imprinting’. Parent Swan keeps an eye on them fondly. Neighbourhood watch.

Half a mile up the river, there’s another juvenile all on its own. I gather it must be a teenager, as the plumage is more white than grey as the younger ones, also for its personality. This one just wants some alone time, seeking independence. Note the black foot out:

A fruitful day of birding and workout chasing after swans.

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Which birds still sing in the deep, cold Winter?

First caught my eyes when I looked out the window were the movements of flight. It was -23C (-9F), which birds were still active in these temperatures? I could hear them chirping cheerfully out on the trees in my backyard.

House Finches are not supposed to be hanging out in this latitude, according to Audubon. But here they are, right in my own backyard, saving me a birding trip which I’d never take in this weather.

House Finches eating the remaining fruits on trees. Apparently not just for the food, but the drink. Never thought how birds in winter get their water from, since everything’s frozen. The snow, of course! Here they are taking in the snow. Not very clear picture, but you can see the snow on their beaks if you enlarge the pic. Trust me, they were feasting on the snow.

The other day, I took these photos as I saw a group of birds perched high on some tall trees in a distance. I heard their electrifying trills. Yes, Waxwings! But in the winter, the Cedar Waxwings have all flown away. What we have here are the Bohemian Waxwings, the vagabonds of birds, kind of rare for some birders located in the eastern and southern parts of North America:

They are more plump in the body than the Cedar Waxwings, but with the same spiky crest and yellow-tipped tail. Don’t have anything closer than these photos as they were so far away.

These birds still sing in -20’sC weather, plus the chickadees and the nuthatches, the downy woodpeckers too. Not to mention the ducks.

Life goes on.

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