Many of you probably read Bonnie's blog, so you know, probably, that we went to Houston's Batfest recently. The next week I was waiting out at the bus stop by my school for an unusually long time. But I am glad to have been waiting, because I became introduced to a box, swoop, or otherwise flock of chimney swifts that were flying around that day after school. It was a curious sight. There were a dozen or so--not nearly the size of the flock you can view below. I noticed their curious flying, which actually is quite bat-like in their flitting and of course in their swallow-like or kite-like way of quick aerial maneuvers. In fact I had to analyze closely to distinguish the birds from bats, because they also peeped and chirped in the way that just a few evenings before I had witnessed from thousands of bats. I could distinguish a clear bird wing pattern though when they flew, the angle opening to the aft, the wings swept slightly back. I did not know, offhand, what bird this was but felt determined to find out.
The priority of my determination left something to be desired, because when I got on the bus and continued to read Nada, my current Spanish book in English I am reading thanks to Edith Grossman, then arriving home and then going off to teach my evening class, and then getting back and playing with the tots and eating dinner and spending time with Bonnie, I did not think again of the mystery birds.
Not until a day or so later when Bonnie, out of the blue, to me, remarked on the chimney swift--she'll have to fill in the details of what brought the bird to mind. Bells started ringing and dots connecting and I knew soon after that yes, this was indeed the bird I was introduced to just a day or so prior. Below you can see what bats look like and what swifts look like as well.
The bats:
A box of swifts:
You would think that this would be enough bird talk for one blog, but no. We had a killdeer experience yesterday at a museum that reminded me of my childhood. At the old farmhouse, and I am talking about the one near Eden when I was a young child, we first learned about killdeers when some nested out back. The bird is fairly prevalent in the irrigated fields of southern Idaho, but when I was really young, I learned that their nesting was done on the ground, and that the parents have a peculiar tactic of pretending to be lame to distract predators away from the nest. As a boy, I was curious about the eggs, and recall a stiff reprimand by my father for bothering some birds who were cheeping desperately at the bipedal monster who was not fooled by their lame-wing foolery.
Yesterday, at the museum, two bird parents were similarly desperate because they, too, were pestered incessantly by bipedal monsters, for their nest was in the landscaping of a parking lot. And we were able to identify the nest, and not meaning to bother the parents, we wanted to spy on the two hatchlings and remaining egg, which were so well disguised I am sure I could show you the photo and you would look right at it and not see anything remarkable. But while the parents were trying to lure away the bipedal monsters, a grackle which no doubt has in his bird brain an opportunity at fresh chick flesh came swooping in. You can imagine the terror and horror, not only of the killdeer parents as they realized the vulnerability of their little ones, but of me and my dear wife also as our human brains pieced together nature's scheme and dismayed at the thought of losing our own precious hatchlings. Moreover, I felt that I didn't learn well enough the lesson from 30 years ago as I then heard the piercing desperate calls of the killdeer. But to clarify, the grackle didn't eat the killdeers at this time. I'm explaining to you because you looked nervous. Because we can stop now if you want. Oh, I can tell a little more? Well, the story is over. The grackle came, one killdeer raced back to the nest at the right moment, the bipedal humans--with mortality fresh in mind--got in their white van and left. It was more a spectacle for the human parents, in this case, than the human children, which were already buckled up.
And finally, I cannot catch you up-to-date without mentioning my glee at finding a project of the esteemed Theodore Zeldin online: the Oxford Muse. Many of you know his book, An Intimate History of Humanity, is a work I've touted over the years and not without fervor. I found myself beside myself talking with him about work on a project with him that I will at a later date disclose more fully.
Biryani, well that's a spicy Indian dish. But I couldn't think of another b-i-r word that had to do with Professor Zeldin. I liked birefirgence, but didn't want to get too wordy on account of making a connection. Biryani. Yum.
i certainly am pleased with how much of a bird lover i've become. i hope to join the audubon society one day soon. and i saw a killdeer this morning! as well as some starlings in flight.
ReplyDelete