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August 25, 2005  August Company Despite the second frost of August laying heavy on the deck, I threw open the front door, propped it wide, and welcomed the morning. The dogs, not so keen about the wave of cold air invading their indoor cavern, hunkered down deeper on their mats. ‘Call us when the food is served,’ they thought in unison as I stepped out on the deck. ‘And for dog’s sake close that door!’ It is about a week past the middle of August and the nights are already cooling down. Last evening’s gibbous moon, glowed a baleful orange as it rose over the east pasture. A sky full of twinkling stars suggested that by dawn the land might be nipped by frost. They were right. When the coffee was ready I again went outside and noted that the sun, still a powerful force this time of year, had already turned the frost to water on the deck. I stood, coffee in hand and listened to the morning sounds. Similar to some cool autumn mornings, there are few bird sounds. From the hill to the south I hear a Pileated Woodpecker with a potty-mouth call out ‘pee pee pee poo.’ Up close the sound is a less juvenile phrase, but as far off as it was, that’s how I heard it. A Yellow-rumped Warbler let out a few snappy ‘vit’s just to let me know it was still around. Dark-eyed Juncos, hidden about the yard, emitted sharp squeak notes. Canada Geese on a pond a mile down the road honked like rush hour traffic so that those of us freshly back from the coast wouldn’t miss that lovely sound. Suddenly, up in the blue I heard the sound of a Shorebird calling ‘skreed.’ I tilted my head and scanned the clear sky but saw nothing. I don’t know what told me with such confidence that it was a Shorebird but I was certain. ‘Call again!’ I thought loudly. It did. ‘Screed’ it called and when it did I saw its dark form jittering through the clear air. It wasn’t that high up and flew towards the west. I’m not too good at identifying small shorebirds even when they’re sitting rather still right in front of me. When they’re in the air its another battlefield entirely. I am however, quite familiar with the flight call of the Western Sandpiper which always sounds plaintive and reminds me of gray days along the ocean. This was not that bird, but one of the same size. The call of the mystery bird was totally unknown to me and I thought it odd enough that it might be identifiable in the book by the call alone, but it wasn’t. Later in the morning I walked from the shop to the house and heard the unmistakable two-syllable run-on dialogue of a Cassin’s Vireo. Though still chatty, the song was not as full and talkative as it sounds in early spring. I must hesitate each time I use Cassin’s Vireo in place of the Solitary Vireo, but that is its new name. Having heard and seen the Blue-headed Vireo in Alberta, I can see why a change of names was suggested. After implementing the name change there was no longer a bird called the Solitary Vireo. From that single identity sprang forth 3 distinct races or subspecies of Vireos; Plumbeous, Cassin’s, and the Blue-headed Vireo. This doesn’t mean anything happened to the bird formerly called the Solitary Vireo. It simply couldn’t go on sharing the same name as the other two subspecies, each of which had distinct characteristics, songs, and ranges. So there sang the Cassin’s Vireo, high in the poplars behind the woodshed, oblivious to all these human moniker manglings. The first returning Vireo in spring and likely the last leaving in fall. It has been many weeks since I’ve heard its relative, the Warbling Vireo, sing - perhaps it’s already lounging about in southern Mexico. As the insect and worm eating birds slowly take their leave, resident birds, though no less visible in summer, suddenly seem to reappear. Yesterday, at the urging of several Black-capped Chickadees, I strewed sunflower seed on the window feeder tray. Soon they were coming and going with seeds as if they had never left. They don’t actually leave, but do take the spring and summer off to build nests and raise young, a time in which one might wonder where they’ve gone. When on the land, away from feeders, Chickadees often move about with other small birds. This was evident yesterday as the Chickadees flew to the window feeder closely followed by several Ruby-crowned Kinglets. Of course the Chickadees were there for seeds, but the Kinglets were totally flummoxed. While trying to emulate its flock mates, one Ruby-crowned Kinglet flew toward the house, veered upward just before the window, then retreated to a branch to further study the situation. Ruby-crowned Kinglets are inveterate insect eaters and cannot be attracted by seeds or even suet. Attracted by the calls and flight of a dozen Killdeer (or is it Killdeers?) yesterday, I went down to the east pasture pond. This year the pond is much more grown in with grasses than last year when I recorded 12 species of shorebirds at the same spot. Through my scope I made out some Killdeer taking a bath in the shallows. Although I saw 2 small shorebirds in the company of the Killdeer in flight, I failed to find any such birds on the shore. I also heard a Lesser Yellowlegs as I walked toward the pond and that too was nowhere to be seen. Part of the difficulty in searching for Shorebirds here, is the tall grass at the margin of the pond. Also, I’m loathe to flush ducks that also feed and rest at this spot. The duck species often present are Wigeon, Bufflehead, Mallard, and Green-winged Teal. While walking across the field, returning from the pond, I couldn’t help noticing how green the grass still is. It suddenly dawned on me that it wasn’t autumn, it was only August. Obviously these early frosts had bitten into my sense of time. As I noticed a string of Canada Geese rippling across the clear blue sky ahead of me I remembered that I sometimes say that August in the Cariboo is a fall month. Well, maybe it’s not fall; maybe it just has all the signs of fall. Why did I defend August’s honour I wondered while marveling at the height of some mullein in the field. Perhaps because, as humans we like things to have fixed identities, not so much for the purpose of knowing what they are, but so that we can reference who we are. A birder could identify with such an idea. So, go August, go and be more than a span on a calendar. After all, if you are just a collection of traits, I may well see you again in September. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
