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Alligator Detour

March 11, 2010 by Pat Bean

The big baby guarding the road. I estimated his length at about 12 feet, the smaller ones I passed at about six feet. ... Photo by Pat Bean

“The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time.” Abraham Lincoln

Yesterday was a first for me. While rain, sleet and snow have occasionally cut a hike short, I have never before been turned back by an alligator. This day I was.

I had  passed three smaller snoozing reptiles on the narrow dike trail around 40-Acre Lake at Texas’ Brazos Bend State Park before coming across the big guy. He had stationed himself facing the trail. I would have to pass within 10 feet of him to continue on. This was far less than the 30 feet distance a sign at the start of the trailed warned hikers to maintain when spotting alligators.

I was actually considering sneaking past him until he opened his eyes. One look at those dark orbs, which sit atop its head and act like a periscope when his body is submerged in the water, stopped me in mid-step. I backtracked past the smaller reptiles, one of which didn’t look so small at a second look, and detoured to do the Hoots Hollow trail.

I saw fewer birds here than I would have on the lake, but the peacefulness of hiking without having to fear losing a leg to the big guy soothed away any regrets. As Scarlett O’Hara said when not getting her way, “ … tomorrow’s another day.”

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Living Backwards: The Japanese Magnolia Tree

March 6, 2010 by Pat Bean

 

“No yesterdays are ever wasted for those who give themselves to today.” ~Brendan Francis

        I went away for a few days and came back to a tree full of pink and white blossoms. The small Japanese magnolia

Japanese Magnolia: A tree that blooms before it leafs ... Photo by Pat Bean

 tree in my son’s Texas Gulf Coast front yard has exploded into spring. This is a tree that blooms before it leafs, like a human who chooses to eat their chocolate torte before their liver and onions.

       I like it’s attitude. Always saving the best for last is not a good idea in my book of life.

       The Japanese magnolia, or tulip tree as it is sometimes called, is among the first harbingers of spring. Other trees here in Lake Jackson, well except for the evergreen live oak, are still lifeless, their naked branches serving as inviting perches for the chickadees, warblers, sparrows, waxwings, blue jays, robins, starlings, grackles, pileated woodpeckers, shrikes, cardinals and red-tailed and red-shouldered hawks that frequent my son’s neighborhood.  I enjoy their easily viewable presence these winter-morphing-into-spring days, knowing that soon they will be able to hide from my sight among leafy shadows.

         Each season, each day his its own specialness. A dandelion brightens a patch of clover in the park across the street. A cloudless blue sky beckons me to get out and take a walk. I leave the window above my head open at night and snuggle beneath the soft covers.  

       And today I smashed one of the fallen Japanese magnolia blossoms in my hand to get the full effect of its strong scent. It’s a woodsy aroma, sort of like moss growing alongside a small stream.

      It smells like spring is coming.

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My Grandmother’s Red Bird

February 21, 2010 by Pat Bean

Heroes take journeys, confront dragons and discover the treasure of their true self.”  — Carol Lynn Pearson

This pencil drawing of a northern cardinal once belonged to my grandmother and is the oldest thing I own. ... Photo of painting by Pat Bean

 

 I’m the opposite of a pack rat. I feel you either need to use something or get rid of it. No antique dealer is ever going to find a 150-year-old treasure in my attic – not that the RV I currently live in has one. 

As I look around my tiny living space, I do, however, fine one item from my childhood. It’s a small pencil drawing of a northern cardinal that belonged to my grandmother.  

I’m not sure how I ended up with it, but it has found its place in every home I’ve lived in since she died. And that includes the present wheeled one.  

I came to birding as a late-late bloomer, but I suspect that the seed for this passion might have had something to do with my grandmother’s wall-hanging red bird.  

I thought about her gift to me yesterday as I watched a handsome cardinal brighten an overcast blustery day with his scarlet feathers and happy song.  

What-cheer, what-cheer, what cheer, he sang. 

 Here was a treasure not hidden away in an attic, but proclaiming his worth to all who would look and listen. I was cheered.

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Live Oak Trees: Ever Green Guardians of Winter

February 17, 2010 by Pat Bean

 “All theory, dear friend, is gray, but the golden, tree of life springs ever green.”  —  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe                                                                         

Gnarly live oaks chase away winter bleakness ... Photo by Pat Bean

Winters spent in Lake Jackson, Texas, a small town 30 miles south of Galveston, are always green. I attributed this oddity to its Gulf Coast semi-tropical location. A drought this past summer, disabused me of this notion. Lawns, at least those not watered illegally in the middle of the night during mandated water rationing, were brown. A greenness, however, still abundantly sprinkled the landscape.

 Above the brown grass, mixed in with the winter barreness of pecan, ash and maple trees andguarding the landscape stand an abundance of southern live oaks, many dripping with moss.  This is the same species of tree that gave the USS Constitution, America’s oldest commissioned ship, it’s nickname “Old Ironsides.” Cannonballs bounced off this ship’s live oak hull.

In addition to their strength, live oaks join the pines in being ever green. A huge one of these trees dominates the backyard at my son’s house, and several keep the park across the street inviting during the cold days.  I find these trees a comforting sight, as I suspect do the birds that nestle in its branches.

 Live oaks live about 200 years, although a few 400-year-old specimens have been documented. They’re not neat, up and down straight trees. They come in twisted shapes, surviving whatever catastrophy nature throws their ways. Their trunks are often twisted, as are the winding branches that race to outstrip in width the height of the tree. Often they win.

 It’s not an easy tree to hug. I know. I’ve tried it.

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A Couple of Dove Imports

February 11, 2010 by Pat Bean

                            “All human beings are interconnected, one with all other elements in creation.” – Henry Reed

Eurasian collarded dove ... Photo by Arpingstone

African collared dove ... Photo by Coen Elemans, Wageningen University, Netherlands

It was with interest that I read a comment on Birdtalk this morning about two African collared doves sighted in Logan, Utah. It brought to memory my search in the 1990s for the Eurasian collared dove after the first ones were spotted in Utah, where I was then living.

After a year’s search, I found my first Eurasian collared dove in Colorado. Today I see them in Texas on just about every bird-watching outing.

The Eurasian collared dove was accidentally introduced into the Bahamas in the mid-1970s and by the 1980s had spread to the North American mainland. It is larger and stockier than the mourning dove, and concerns have been raised about how this introduced species is affecting our native doves.

The African collared doves spotted in Logan were once known as ringed turtle-doves and are a look-alike cousin of the Eurasian collared dove. They are most likely released or escaped cage birds. It’s a growing phenomenon, one birders like myself believe will eventually lead to a North American population of African collared doves. Is that a good or bad thing. I don’t know.

Do you?

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The Pileated and the Red-Tailed

January 30, 2010 by Pat Bean

I heard a loud squawking outside my RV and went out, binoculars in hand, to investigate.

Pileated Woodpecker ... Photo courtesy Wikimedia

 It didn’t take me long to find the source, a pileated woodpecker. It was clinging well above my head to the side of a tall, winter-barren tree. This smaller look-alike version of the sought-after ivory-billed woodpecker was a frequent sight near my son’s home in Lake Jackson, Texas, but getting such a close look at one still stirred this birder’s heart.

As I watched, the woodpecker’s squawk went from a loud kuk-kuk-kuk to a KUTCH-KUTCH-KUTCH-KUTCH-KUTCH screech that harassed the eardrums. Through my binoculars, I noted what could only be described as a glare on its red-topped, long-billed face.

Following the direction of the bird’s gaze with my binoculars, I spotted the source of the agitation. It was a handsome red-tailed hawk occupying the same tree. After a minute or so more, the hawk conceded defeat, spreading its broad wings to the air and flashing a rusty red tail as it escaped the woodpecker’s cacophony.

The pileated hesitated only a few seconds before taking off in the same direction.

 While I may never know the thrill of sighting an ivory-billed, a bird that was once thought extinct and which some birders now believe they’ve seen (and I believe them), I felt honored to have shared a few minutes with its cousin in such a lively tableau.

Life is good.

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Writing Contest

January 30, 2010 by Pat Bean

If you have written a  book and are looking for an agent, you might be interested in checking out this blog.  www.guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog. It details rules of upcoming contests involving the first 200 words of your project. Check it out.

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The Luck of the Hammerkop

January 24, 2010 by Pat Bean

 

Hammerkop

While the zebras are striking, it was the hammerkop at my feet that got my attention. - Photo by Pat Bean, Tanzania, 2007

The trio of zebras drinking from the Tarangire River in Tanzania tickled my senses with their black and white carnival appearance. But it took the strange wading bird at their feet to elicit an outcry of “Look!” to my friend, Kim, who at the time was focused on a trio of elephants on our side of the river.

 The largest of these three elephants later engage us in a stare off from directly in front of our vehicle. It had ALL my attention then. -- Photo by Pat Bean, August, 2007, Tanzania It was early enough on in our shared African safari that she hadn’t yet muttered her angst against my constant bird watching. That would come later. Actually it was more my jumping around in the Land Rover for a better look, which jiggled her camera, that disturbed her most – especially when it was three generations of elephants, a tree-climbing lion or a rare leopard that had claimed her attention.

Now that’s not to say I didn’t enjoy watching these large mammals, or that she didn’t enjoy birds. We’d enjoyed many pleasant bird outings together back in the states. It was just that faced with choices, her deeper passion went one way and mine the other.

Kim gave the hammerkop I had pointed out a quick look and went back to her elephants while I studied the bird, one that had been high on my wish list of things to see while in Africa. Its elongated head reminded me of a hammerhead shark. In fact, hammerkop is the Dutch word for hammerhead.

This brown bird with the quirky profile is a member of the stork family. Killing one, according to superstition, is supposed to bring bad luck. I wondered if just seeing one would bring good luck.

I guess it did. Kim and I survived our different passions and are still the best of friends.

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The Bird Not Seen

January 19, 2010 by Pat Bean

A neotropic cormorant and its reflection in Alligator Lake at Estero Llano Grande State Park in Weslaco, Texas ... Photo by Pat Bean

While I didn’t get the green kingfisher I was hoping for during my walk to Alligator Lake at Estereo Llano Grande State Park in Weslaco, Texas, I saw 136 birds this past weekend. Seven of these were lifers, birds I was seeing for the very first time.

One of these new birds was the rose-throated becard, which is rare in the valley. The Texas Ornithological Society group I birded with the first day of the organized field trips looked in vain for this becard. I found it the next day when I birded alone with my son and grandson.

On the third day of the field trips, I met up with a woman who had birded with me the first day, so of course I told her about seeing the becard. She said that was OK, because not seeing it meant she had an excuse to return again to the Rio Grande Valley.

Her attitude is a familiar one with the birders I know. One doesn’t even have to see a bird to have a good time. Just walking with Mother Nature is its own reward. One of these days I’m going to finally see the green kingfisher, which is not rare at all here in the valley.

Thankfully there will still be over 400 North American birds not yet on my life list, and thousands of others around the world still waiting to be seen.

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A Vireo, A Refuge and A Compromise

January 12, 2010 by Pat Bean

                                                                                                           

San Bernal National Wildlife Refuge: Invitation to commune with Mother Nature ... Photos by Pat Bean

Reflections ... Photo by Pat Bean

Reflections

Bone-chilling 25-degree temperature, which Texas’ Gulf Coast wind and humidity dropped to a real 12 degrees, had been keeping me confined to my tiny RV for days. So it was with a delirious sense of freedom that today’s 50 degrees of warmth found me at San Bernard National Wildlife Refuge. I had come with my son, Lewis, my daughter-in-law, Karen, and my grandson, Scott, for a few hours of birding.

We had barely arrived before spying a small warbler at the entrance to Bobcat Woods. I got excited when I thought it might be a Bell’s vireo, a bird I didn’t yet have on my life list. But it was a white-eyed vireo. The grayish head and yellow markings around the eye, like spectacles, confirmed the identification.

Shrugging off my disappointment, I gave myself to the joy of watching THIS bird. It stayed around long enough that we abandoned it before it abandoned us. I was the last to leave its presence. When I’m birding with a group, I usually distance myself from the others, either going ahead because I want a chance to see a bird before it’s startled away, or straggling behind because I need time alone with Mother Nature.

I was the straggler today.

Besides the birds – over 50 species in three hours time – I found myself marveling at the twisted limbs of live oak trees whose branches were often wider than their trunks, the delicious green of palms and short winter grasses that added color to the marsh’s seasonal grayness, reflective landscapes and clouds in pools of water that lined the boardwalk, and dripping screens of mysterious moss.

While the others made their way past the boardwalk to the reservoir, I stopped to watch butter butts (yellow-rumped warblers) play at the edge of a stream and then to study and identify a winter wren, which closely resembles a house wren. When I looked up, I could see my family waving at me to hurry and catch up.

I did, as fast as I could. But the Bell’s vireo they had been watching was no longer in sight. Of course I was disappointed. Even so, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss a moment of the time I spent in companionship with the refuge. It’s comforting mood this day had chased winter from my soul.

 Besides, said the Pollyanna who lives within me, a Bell’s vireo is still out there and eagerly waiting to make my acquaintance.

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