Depending on Myself

It is an unfortunate fact, one I hate acknowledging, that I will no longer see 20 again. Or 30. Or even 50. 

What led me to this reluctant acknowledgement is feeling the pains in my neck and legs after taking long, slow walks outside to find the birds in my area on their way to northern breeding grounds.

Today's Merlin home screen
(RE Berg-Andersson)

Yes, it is spring migration season and every day there are different birds now coming to my feeders that weren't around over the winter - purple finches, chipping sparrows, even white-throated sparrows that may have been intimidated during the winter by all the juncos. Meanwhile, the number of juncos is down as they head north to breed.

My husband (MH) is slowing down and there are many days I can't get him to come birding with me. He is a late riser and his knees are balky. When he does consent to accompany me, he tends to lag behind and depend on me to point birds out rather than using his eyes and ears to help me find them.  

So now that I have the time to do this, most mornings I go birding alone. Until recently, though, I had some help.

I wrote last year about using the free Merlin app created by the birding people at Cornell. Along with my eyes and legs, my hearing has been declining after decades of blaring music through headphones to dull out the noise from commuter trains. The app hears things I don't always hear right away. It gives me something to look for. Yes, it gets things wrong, such as identifying the calling Canada geese overhead as the smaller, darker brant geese. It makes "suggestions" after all.

This is as much technology as I care to use when I go birding. I found Merlin to be a helpful backup -- until it stopped working.

A sighting of that rare bird, MH. (Margo D. Beller)

A couple of weeks ago MH and I went birding, I heard something, I put on Merlin. It shut off. I tried again. It shut off again. MH opened the app on his phone. It crashed. I tried opening it on my phone once we got home. It crashed again.

MH and I uninstalled the app from our respective phones. I looked on some online forums and found others were having the same problem. Had Cornell made some change so it wouldn't work with my phone? I wrote Cornell and never got an answer.

Some people suggested clearing the cache on my phone. Didn't work. I loaded Merlin on my tablet, even adding packages of bird data from way outside my area. It worked on the tablet. I uninstalled Merlin from my phone again and reinstalled it. Same problem.

MH, meanwhile, decided it wasn't worth his trying because he always birds with me and I am the more active searcher. So Merlin is off his phone.

For a couple of weeks I was back to birding the way I once did - depending on my eyes and ears, with maybe some help from MH if he deigned to go out with me. I was still finding things but the searching up and down did a number on my neck, a phenomenon birders call "warbler neck" because these little birds are always moving around high in trees starting to leaf out. 

(RE Berg-Andersson)

Without Merlin I was no longer taking off my gloves so I could carefully pull my phone out of my jacket pocket so as not to lose the list of what Merlin had picked up. I was no longer walking with a phone in my hand, looking at it every few minutes. I began to think I would only use Merlin on the tablet in places where I would really need help, such as during our annual trip to Old Mine Road where the cacophony of calls makes it hard to identify the individual breeding birds. 

Periodically I would try Merlin on my phone. Sometimes it would have trouble finding my location and then crash. Sometimes it wouldn't even get that far. 

I was resigned to depending on myself - bad eyes, ears and legs - to find birds, bothered by thoughts of what I could be missing because the calls were too faint or high in pitch for me to hear. 

This story has a quasi-happy ending. Merlin still does not work consistently. In fact, it has been about as easy to get Merlin to accompany me as MH. I've gotten Merlin to work on my phone after multiple crashes by turning the app on, leaving it alone long enough to load all the things it needs to work and then hitting the record button as a bird sings overhead. But this does not always work. I now have to be patient to use this app, and patience is not one of my usual traits.

So when it comes to technology I've been reminded it is better for me to trust the computer in my brain, enjoy what birds I can find on my own and not fuss about what I can't. 

Resurgence

Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans.

  -- John Lennon

The blue iris that suddenly appeared. (Margo D. Beller)

Hello! It has been a while. Time has a way of running away when you're not paying attention. In my case a combination of Covid prevention, cancer treatments and work stress had kept me occupied and not in the best state of mind. But today, Memorial Day, I have gotten my weekend chores out of the way and I'm not working - perfect for gathering my thoughts and catching up.

Azaleas 2022
(Margo D. Beller)

Since I last wrote we had a less snowy but very cold winter followed by a bit of spring when the trees started to bud and the grass started to go green. Then, in late April into early May, it was damp and chilly, which was good for the outdoor plants but not for me, who was itching to put out my pepper pots before the little flies killed them. The same with my canna pots, covered in the garage. The cannas went out first - a month late - while it was still in the 40s overnight. Finally, around the time we went to visit family for Mother's Day, I put out the peppers, two types of basil I had bought at the local Agway and the pot of coleus I kept over the winter. All are enclosed in a wire cage, of course, because we still have plenty of deer. 

What we didn't have were migrating birds. By the time I took the feeders in for the summer, the migration radar I look at showed the strong winds out of the north and northeast that brought the cold and rain had detoured the birds coming up on the southerly  winds into the midwest. Then, many of them hung a right and flew over the mid-Atlantic region where I live and, eventually, into New England and beyond. 

Columbine, behind the deer netting. 
(Margo D. Beller)

Once we returned from New Hampshire (where we didn't have much in the way of warblers except for the pine, one of the earliest migrants) the heat came at us - midsummer heat in May with strong thunderstorms. The weeds started to grow in the front walkway and in the garden beds. If I wanted to walk it had to be early. One such weekday morning I went to Greystone as the sun was hitting a tree near the back path where I walk. It was filled with calling birds. I had a few such mornings, when I could force myself out of bed at first light so I would have time before work. 

The day after I should have put up the wren box, a house wren appeared at the water dish when we happened to be sitting on the porch, and then it flew off. The box went up (my husband spotting me as I went up the ladder at the dogwood tree) but no bird has come. Same with the hummingbirds - nothing, despite my feeder and the pink flowers of the geranium and coral bells in back, the red azeleas in front and the purple columbine everywhere. (Usually I start seeing hummers in June but I start putting sugar water out in May because, as they say, you never know.)   

By the time we took our annual trip to Old Mine Road to listen for the territorial calls of breeding birds (in the ridges near the Delaware Water Gap) I knew migration was just about over. This was the point when I started doing garden chores, including using my edger around the ornamental grass garden and lugging soil and mulch to the area behind the porch where the heavy rains had eroded the dirt and left it muddy when I'd go out with the feeders. Now, no more mud (but no more feeders either, until maybe Labor Day).

Lenten rose 2022 (Margo D. Beller)

There have been birds around my yard, singing as I have worked or sat on my porch - red-eyed vireo, titmouse, chickadee, cedar waxwings, various woodpeckers and what I call the Big Four of robin, catbird, cardinal and song sparrow. (The juncos and white-throated sparrows are long gone.) There has also been a mockingbird that does a very good imitation of a Carolina wren, so good that when a real wren was singing I had to listen hard to make sure of it. We even had some warblers passing through including an orange-crowned that spent the day calling from a neighbor's bush, a Nashville (my 100th yard bird) whose large eye ring makes identification simple and a few blackpolls, whose call I associate with the end of migration (this bird has one of the longest migration routes).

Peonies, again behind deer netting.
(Margo D. Beller)

The snowdrops, crocus and glory of the snow started the growing season. Then the daffodils, which did very well this year, as did the azaleas, the irises and the hyacinth. The columbines in front and back decided to flower, the peony finally opened its big, red flowers and the rhododendron is tall and healthy with pink flowers that bloomed as the azaleas were fading. As usual, I was relieved when the sedums, the coneflower, the rose of Sharon and the liriope started growing again and now the peppers (including one I bought to hedge my bets) are showing signs of life.

There were also some surprises. For the first time in many years, a blue iris appeared in one of my garden plots, in the same spot as last time. I still don't know where it came from but I welcome it. I also discovered a jack in the pulpit under my hedge among the usual weeds - this is one plant I am not touching as I yank out the others. One sunny day I found a garter snake in one plot, and I am hoping it sticks around to keep down the chipmunks. The Lenten rose, which at one point I thought had been killed by the cold, bloomed profusely and only now those flowers have faded and been covered by large, green leaves. 

Another surprise: Last year there were three milkweed plants that suddenly appeared near the lilacs. This year there are eight. I am hoping that this year they bloom and help the endangered monarch butterfly population.

The area behind the porch where 
I put down heavy buckets
of soil and mulch.
(Margo D. Beller)

There have also been weeds, of course. One early morning I took out the lopper to get at the ones I could not reach because of the deer netting. The bigger ones I could reach over and pull out. I could easily identify ragweed and garlic mustard but another one looked like it could be a wild sunflower. However, when it is in the wrong bed it is still a weed. I found more of them in other areas and pulled them out, except for one in a place where it doesn't threaten anything so I can leave it and see what it becomes. 

The weeds made me despair, as usual, but this year I've decided to put down sheets of black garden fabric (weed block) to kill those near the compost pile (which finally got turned and the rich soil removed), in an area erroneously known as the "dead area" but is anything but. We now have someone to cut and edge our lawn regularly, and that not only makes the grass look better while keeping down the ubiquitous ground ivy but it makes me determined to do something with those areas not mowed.

Also sprouting: fences. Neighbors on either side of me decided to put in solid, white, vinyl privacy fences. To do that, one neighbor cut down the bush that worked very well as a privacy fence and also fed the local deer. (I can only wish I had a fence to block the goings-on of the neighbor along the long side of my yard, who hacked down the forsythia and other plants that had obscured our yards a few years ago.)

The fence replacing the bush: vinyl on 3 sides, wood in back.
The wood has since been painted white.
(Margo D. Beller)

This need for privacy comes out of the violent times we live in, and perhaps the lingering coronavirus. The younger people now living on my street want to keep their families contained and thus "safe" from the outside world. They do not seek me out; nor do I seek them out. I keep to myself. I try to be friendly but I frankly do not understand a lot of what is considered "modern" nowadays, and perhaps that showed. When my cancer treatment was at its worse during the summer I stayed indoors and the weeds ran rampant, including along our front walkway. This year, I am well enough to regularly spray my walkways with a cocktail of vinegar and salt - easy to make and not lethal to birds while it kills the weeds. 

There is much more that needs to be done - gutter cleaning, power washing, cutting back some overgrown trees - but not today. For today, at least, I can enjoy the early coolness (before the expected July-like heat) and the quiet (before the inevitable suburban cookout gatherings) that come with a work holiday. 

 

The Early Birder

When it is hot and steamy, as it has been in my part of New Jersey this week, it is imperative to get out in the cooler early morning if you want to do anything, in my case look for birds.

Baltimore oriole, Old Mine Road, 2020 (RE Berg-Andersson)

It was easier for me to do that in early May when the migrants were passing through, providing me with hope of finding birds I hadn't seen for a while or at all. At that point there were cold mornings and the leaves hadn't come out completely, making it easier for me to see anything moving in the trees.

Now, however, we are in June. The birds are sitting on eggs or raising families and keeping quiet. The leaves are out fully and to find birds I have to listen hard. It is more humid and the bugs are hungry.

There are more people birding now, according to the New York Times, which has published a number of articles recently by some experts telling city people now stuck at home because of the coronavirus about the birds they've been hearing and seeing. I have mixed feelings about all those potential new birders out in the field. On one hand, more noisy people in my way. On the other, maybe they'll keep their dogs leashed in natural areas and their children quiet and respectful. 

That was my hope at 10 a.m. on June 1 when a tired MH and I started our drive down Old Mine Road from its northern end in Sussex County, NJ, our first big road trip since the pandemic began. (It takes an hour to get there from our house and two hours for MH to get himself fully awake and ready to roll.)

Old Mine Road is an Important Birding Area because a large number of different types of birds come into this northern, elevated corner of the state to breed. Some of them are birds that are hard to find, including the threatened cerulean warbler, a sky blue and white bird with a buzzy call. A lot of birds call their territorial songs along this old mining road where there are abandoned structures (perfect nesting sites for wrens and phoebes), remnants of old villages and some private homes not part of the surrounding federal Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area. The road was once much longer but now one end is at Route 206 in Sussex County, just before a toll bridge into Pennsylvania. The southern part of the road, in Warren County, goes through Worthington State Forest and ends near the last exit on Interstate 80 in New Jersey.

We come here once a year, the earlier the better to hear the bird chorus. We could not come here in mid-May because when the governor allowed state parks to reopen the crowds of housebound people yearning to get out were intense. So we waited until June 1, when I had taken some time off, the weather was relatively cool and dry and, I hoped, there'd be fewer people out on a weekday.

Redtail hawk over Old Mine Road, 2020
(RE Berg-Andersson)

It is frustrating, thrilling and ultimately tiring for me to be driving this road slowly and listening hard. Many of the birds are loud and easy to hear and identify - American redstart, ovenbird, red-eyed vireo. Some require me to stop and get out of the car to listen - the yellow-throated vireo or the scarlet tanager or the weesy-weesy call of the black and white warbler. We heard hooded warbler and Baltimore oriole, indigo bunting and Carolina wren. Many of the birds I find at home were also here, near the cleared land of former settlements - robins, catbirds, house wrens, chipping and song sparrows. I was amazed we ultimately heard or saw 50 types of birds.

But it could've been more, and that is frustrating. Some areas we were not going to hike into. Some birds are too quiet to hear from a moving car. Some stretches of the road had cars doing the 35 mph speed limit (or higher) while I was doing 20, forcing me to speed up to find a place where I could safely pull over. As time went on the birds went quiet as the car traffic increased. I never did hear a cerulean (although according to various bird reports from that day there could've been as many as five along the road).

This year's house wren, as close as I could get with my phone, 2020 (Margo D. Beller)

We spent five hours on the road. Once we got into the state park section the road condition deteriorated and going the mandatory 15 mph was not hard to do, unless you wanted to break an axle (which many drivers apparently wanted to do). This part of the road is where more birders tend to be, walking the road or in cars pulled off to the side. I was surprised to find the southernmost parking lot, where we'd planned to switch positions for the drive home, was jammed with cars. (It was even worse at the nearby visitor center lot at the Delaware Water Gap.) I was glad we had started from the other end but, as usual, I wished we could've started far earlier in the morning. The early birder gets the birds.

Now that it's hotter, I go out early but generally I am staying closer to home. It took longer than usual for a house wren pair to set up housekeeping in my nest box but one has finally come and the male is singing steadily in the apple tree, which is already filled with developing fruit.