Drama queens on the loose

This morning, a little mini-crow drama took place in front of the cabin. Crows are, among many other things, drama queens. Like my Baby Dog, their self-appointed task is to announce to the world anything that seems to them to be Out of Place or Wrong. In and of itself, this isn’t a bad thing, but the way they carry out this task leaves something to be desired, at least by human standards.

The problem is that minor infractions of the forest are capital offenses in their eyes. In human terms, crows would sentence a trespasser or a jay-walker to death. They over-react. And so, they become a bit like the boy who cried wolf. After a while, they are simply ignored, which I imagine only heightens their outrage.

So this morning, when I heard one of the local crows fussing, I paid no attention. In a bit, crow #1 was joined by crow #2 and then crow #3. Eventually, I don’t know how many crows showed up, but there was no shortage. By now I suspected that juvenile Red-tailed Hawk, who is a favorite target, or perhaps one of the Great Horned Owls was nearby. So I went to investigate. I didn’t see anything. The crows continued to fuss and scold.

And then I saw him. The neighbor’s cat, an old, fat and neutered male that I believe is at least slightly deaf, was stretched out and asleep underneath some undergrowth, apparently having missed his owner’s evening call to return inside. The crows were outraged. The cat was asleep (at first I thought it was dead) and unaware of the excitement it was causing. Eventually the cat heard me approach and woke up, blinking and stretching. The crows followed him all the way home. The cat ignored them.

This cat hasn’t hunted in years, if at all. The crows didn’t care about that. As far as they were concerned the cat was as dangerous as a hunting and healthy bobcat. I could hear them following the cat as it headed back up the hill to its house and breakfast.

Early morning crow

Living in the forest in late March and early April is a quiet time and one that I enjoy and look forward to every year. For a few weeks, if I am lucky, there is this lull that seems to take hold, if only briefly.

Winter is over, the big parka put away for another year. Being outside is easier again. The snow cover is gone, and even though I only had a few inches of it this year, a few inches is all that’s needed to make foot travel a bit complicated.

Spring is not yet here. At least, the full blown part of spring isn’t here yet. The majority of the migrating birds have not yet arrived. New growth hasn’t started yet. In fact, the nights are still fairly deep into the 20’s, though the days tend more and more towards 50F.

In the mornings, I hear a few robins sing, but the loud dawn "Hallelujah" chorus with many species is still weeks away. In this particular spring, rain hasn’t yet added its notes to the quiet around me. The winds of winter that made even a normal winter temperature feel frigid have calmed.

This morning the forest is still, the birds quiet. It’s like the forest is at that point between the inhale and the exhale of breath. Even the crows are quiet. They are not still, and move from perch to ground and back again. Watchful and alert but waiting, perhaps, for something else to make the first sound.

Morning Light with Crows

The days are slowly lengthening here, just a minute a day right now. Even so it is now light enough when I leave for work in the mornings that it is no longer dead dark or even so dark that the landscape is entirely in chiaroscuro. On clear mornings, like this morning, I can see some colors, though they are still muted. And this morning I even saw some birds.

A family of crows were up, haunting the upper parking lot at Roundtop. Seeing any bird again during the work week after what feels like months where it is too dark before and after work to see anything is cause enough for me to celebrate. This family of 7 were scavenging for bits of food dropped by skiers—the odd French fry, a piece of hot dog bun. They were also outraged by my presence, perhaps already used to having the parking lot to themselves in the mornings. I was almost mobbed by them when I got out of my car to snap today's photo. When I finally retreated, a few still followed the car, one or two on each side of me, as though they wanted to make certain that I was leaving them to their goodies without taking any for myself.

Two Crows

Crows are about the only bird that Dog and I see on our morning walks anymore. That’s because crows are feel their job is to awaken early and report back to the rest of the forest on anything that’s changed since dusk. They take their job very seriously, and there’s always some crime or change that needs to be broadcast to the rest of the forest. These two were very suspicious of Dog and me. You can just see their displeasure.

August is not a good month for birding at the cabin. January and February are the only other months where I see fewer species of birds. This August I saw exactly the same number of species (34) that I did in 2006. Okay, so there’s a slight chance I might see a new species tonight or tomorrow before the month ends, but I’m not banking on it.

Some of the summer residents are still in residence. I saw one of the local pewees out of the forest and sitting on a wire at the bottom of my lane last night. This bird was singing outside of its summer breeding territory, if only by some yards. As pewees are nearly found inside the forest canopy, I had to wonder if this one’s unusual singing location was somehow a precursor of its trip south, as though it was checking with the other local pewees to see if it was time to pack the bags yet. Or perhaps once breeding is over, pewee territories simply don’t matter anymore. I don’t know the answer.

Swallows are in short supply, and I think the kingbirds have left the mountain already. I’m starting to think the towhees are gone or going, too, as it’s now been three days since I’ve heard them call or sing. I have heard them every day since their arrival in April, and three days of silence is unprecedented.

Note: I am going to participate in the first International Rock-Flipping Day on September 2, though my results aren't going to be posted until the next day. IR-FD was thought up by Dave Bonta of Via Negativa. The idea is to flip over one or more rocks on September 2 and draw, photograph and/or write about what you find underneath. Please remember to replace your rocks and return them to their natural state when you are done.