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Monday, August 30, 2010

It's nice being on holidays. No pressure. Enjoying the day.

I wanted to capture what it was like to drive down my favourite road on the way to St. George.

Thinking ahead to those cold barren days in January when a glimpse of summer is a great pick-me-up.

Sheffield Road is the quintessential country road bordered by fields, farms and fantastic birding all year round.

I'm not too sure why, except that it's about 25 kilometres northwest of the edge of the Niagara Escarpment and about 15 kilometres south of Highway 401. There are rarely strong winds or stormy weather in the area, just calm and shelter on its gentle hills and wide vistas. Fairchild's Creek provides a continuous source of clean running water and fat juicy insects for much of the year.

Today's heavy humidity instigated a late summer bugfest for a multitude of birds puttiing on fat ahead of a long journey south.

A Kestrel sat on the hydro wire beside a small flock of starlings. My favourite stand of trees sheltered a Yellow Warbler, Chickadees and Nuthatches, along with a Baltimore Oriole pair.

This was the female. She came over to check out my feeble oriole whistle imitation.

A group of chattering House Wrens darted back and forth in some tangled bushes. The loudest one checked me out then jumped into the open.

Pink feet and bits of fuzz. A baby.

"Whit. Whit." I could hear the quiet but persistent calls of a Least Flycatcher.

It popped up at the top of a dead tree to scope out the flying insects.

The aerial acrobatics were more impressive than the airshow at the Canadian National Exhibition.

I never drive down Sheffield Road without craning my neck to check out the young Bluebirds, my favourites. They have nested on the road every year for the last seven summers, delighting drivers by occasionally adorning roadside fenceposts.

This flock liked to perch at the back of a field. Bluebirds are shy at the best of times.

One came over to suss out my bizarre bird whistles, barely close enough to take a photo.

The deep blue colouration had all but disappeared in favour of a mottled brown fall moult.

No matter. Birds are beautiful and interesting all year round.

And I had the rest of the week to find out.

Birding and painting here I come.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

The Hullett Provincial Wildlife Area beside the Saugeen River was a stone's throw away from Clinton where my sister lived.

Decided to check out my sister's place and at the same time, a report of an Ibis at the marsh. It's always a happy day when birding and family obligations intersect.

The day started off great when a Peregrine Falcon swooped right over my car on Highway 7 at the Grand River in Kitchener.

It was the first time I had ever seen one flying free, not part of a local breeding program. Its long tapered shape and black bracketed cheek were unmistakable. Brownish plumage and streaky. A young one.

When I got to Hullet that morning, it was over-run with boardwalk construction, back-hoes, hunting dog training and a whole bunch of other disturbances.

No doubt in all that commotion, the Ibis had flown off in a hurry leaving only a feather or two floating in the air.

I would too if I had feathers.

A guy wearing camouflage told me that hunting season began in a couple of weeks.

If you come back, he said, make sure you wear a neon orange vest. And, the noise from all the shotguns blasting away was going to be pretty bad.

Yikes. Thank goodness shotguns were noisy, I thought. Hopefully the birds would clue in too and stay the heck away.

I came back later that night and managed to get a half hour before dusk when the place was deserted.

It all looked placid enough.

But beneath the serene facade was a frenzied murderous throng just waiting to attack. And no, not humans this time.

Mosquitoes like I'd never seen before. They were so mean they actually pushed aside fabric to get their noses into skin, violently shaking their bodies with the effort.

Man did they hurt. I left my scope standing in the path and ran back to the car to spray away with Off!

Were those critters ever surprised when I returned. No whine, just a stunned silence and the dejected droop of masses of tiny little wings.

Heh heh heh.

I didn't see the Ibis but there sure was a lot going on. A Great Blue Heron probed the swamp. Wood ducks and teal paddled about. A raccoon ventured into the shallow water.

A deer waded in and had a late day snack of who-knows-what.

Overhead there were Kingfishers chattering, more herons flapping away, and three or four Common Nighthawks dive-bombing for insects.

Moved pretty darn fast. The white wing splotches though were a dead giveaway.

Lining the edge of the wetland were sprigs of delicate white flowers coming out of the reeds.

Not sure what they were but they were lovely.

All in all the long drive to Clinton was worth it.

If I returned to Hullett though it would have to be planned around hunting season. Bird slaughtering season.

Oh dear. Why do we humans so like killing and destruction?

That is the eternal question.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

There were more great things at the Mitchell sewage lagoons besides phenomenal birds.

Great butterflies like this Orange Sulphur.

And this Eastern Black Swallowtail.

The thistles, Queen Anne's Lace, and the Goldenrod were drawing in droves of Goldfinches and sparrows too.

Pat spied a tall purple wildflower blooming in a rubble-filled section of the field. What's THAT? she said.

Liatrus, also called Blazing Star. Not sure which variant. Maybe liatrus gorgeousci.

Kidding.

A fabulous showy dragonfly posed for Pat and I at the side of the ponds.

Tramea lacerata. Black Saddlebags Dragonfly. He was so big we thought he was two dragonflies put together.

After the riches at the Mitchell lagoons, you'd think we'd head home after a good afternoon's birding.

But birding fever had set in.

The Grand Bend sewage lagoons were only an hour away. And after that, the Port Franks Conservation Area.

Then the tow path beside the Ausable River in Grand Bend where we saw some choice early fall migrants. A Yellow, a Palm, a Black-throated Blue warbler.

Or was that a Blackburnian. Or a Magnolia.

Argh, fall plumages were so darn frustrating.

There were flycatchers and wide-eyed young Wood Ducks and Teal and Black-bellied Plovers.

And maybe, just maybe, a pair of Dickcissels. Or maybe they were Yellow-headed Blackbirds.

As you might tell, we were getting pretty tired.

Birders' blur had set in.

All in all it had been a fabulous excursion for Pat and I and one of our best birding outings ever.

We had thistles in our socks, dirt on our faces and we smelled like manure. But we sure were happy.

Now if only all those little Peeps would just leave our heads, we could get some proper sleep.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

There were more varieties of shorebirds at the Mitchell sewage lagoons than I'd ever seen anywhere.

Their favourite foods were the thousands of worms and leeches decomposing the manure-y water just below the sludge surface.

On the top left was a Pectoral Sandpiper with a golden brown colour that stopped abruptly mid-belly. He wasn't as big as the Greater Yellowlegs at the far right.

The beak of a ubiquitously-named Greater Yellowlegs was significantly longer than its head, compared to a Lesser Yellowlegs with a beak about the same size as its head. The Lesser which was two inches smaller, had a head / neck shape like a bowling pin.

In the foreground was a Least Sandpiper. It's the smallest Peep, golden brown and a good inch smaller than the seven-inch Baird's Sandpipers above and to the right behind him.

The more greyish Bairds had some serious chevroning on their wings that made them stand out.

There were more Bairds hanging around in a little group.

Another big clue with Bairds — their wings extended beyond their tails. Only they and White Rumped Sandpipers shared this feature.

Here's a Lesser Yellowlegs.

There were also tons of Semi-palmated sandpipers, like greyish Leasts. And a few Semi-palmated Plovers.

The plover was in the foreground and a Yellowlegs, not sure which kind, was in the back.

Plovers have short stubby beaks and short legs. The Semi-palmated Plover had a complete neck-ring and a black patch around its eye.

Pat was checking out the lagoons further down when her eagle eye spotted this usually painfully-shy chicken-like little water bird.

A Sora, on the right. Checking out a Killdeer coming too close to its favourite feeding grounds.

I loved this Killdeer in flight.

Fabulous colouration.

All the birders were going nuts over this little speedy Gonzalez of a waterbird, zipping all over the place before your camera could get a bead on him.

A young Red-necked Phalarope, mainly a sea bird and a rare inland migrant.

He was quite the optimistic little contortionist.

Just missed a grasshopper that blew over his head. You can see the hopper in the water beside him.

The highlight for me were two big shorebirds that normally hung out in the Prairie wetlands south of the tundra. They were on their way to the coastal edges of California, Mexico and Florida.

Marbled Godwits. Eighteen inches of beautifully mottled golden brown plumage. Long upturned bills with a bright pink base.

A thrill and a lifer for me.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Pat and I had reserved the day for a special all-day marathon of shorebird birding at some choice local sewage lagoons.

As Pat put it, it was sure to be stinky but birdy.

We headed out past Stratford to the West Perth sewage lagoons in Mitchell.

Not much to look at from the edge.

It was humid and getting hotter by the minute. Workers were spraying sewage sludge into a holding pond. Upwind.

Whew. One thing was for sure. We were all going to need a good bath when it was all over.

Sewage lagoons are funny places. You always start off needing to leave as soon as possible. But when you get into it, you always end up wanting to stay even longer.

At first there are only rather dull-looking tiny birds dotting the water and land.

Who could care less about them? They all look grey. And the same.

Well ahem. Pull out a scope.

How cool is that? A Kildeer in the upper left corner, a Lesser Yellowlegs in the lower right and Least Sandpipers everywhere else.

Perspective was everything in life.

Well it's getting late. There's a whole lot more to this story, but I'm going to bed.

The old bones are creaking and groaning.

See you tomorrow.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

I saw Sweetie the tame chipmunk this spring for a few days but after that, nothing.

She had been looking pretty old and scrawny. Her coat was thin and she had a lot of scars from a life full of battles.

This summer I wasn't sure whether she had passed away or just shifted her loyalty to some other sunflower seed-rich neighbour.

Wait, there were no other sunflower seed-rich neighbours where I lived. Around me, there were only were all nature haters

The last few weeks I noticed a younger-looking chipmunk had installed itself in the backyard.

Female too. And a nice thick coat of fur. Was a rejuvenated Sweetie coming back to her favourite haunt? I shouldn't lie to myself. Chipmunks live only a few years.

Sigh.

The new girl acted the same but more hesitant. She was bigger too.

I wonder if she was the youngster who Sweetie had chased out of the backyard in spring.

It might even have been her own little one.

I decided to call her Baby.

She was quickly on her way to learning all of Sweetie's tricks.

The crawl-up-the-pantleg act. The display-yourself-on-the-screen-window appearance.

Here she begins to master the unexpected-jump-from-above.

Whenever she hears the back door open, she runs into view.

Startling but fun.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

I thought I saw a very rare native plant in the forest the other day. Not sure because I was jogging by at my usual blistering speed of two miles an hour.

My head was bobbing though. Hard to focus on small plants in the shade.

Came back yesterday and sure enough.

Turtleheads.

In the seven years I've been in Guelph, I've only seen them twice in the Hanlon Forest.

They like shady wet ground beside water, normally where deer come in to drink.

Spotted knapweed had erupted in the surrounding fields the last few days.

Honeybees love it.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Can you ever get too many pictures of hummingbirds?

I don't think so.

This one has claimed all the flowers and sugar feeders in my back yard. That's a fair bit of ground to cover.

Their back feathers remind me of shimmery scales.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Pat was wondering what kind of plant do you see on roadsides all brown and dead-looking?

Is that the way they're supposed to be?

Yup. Curly dock.

Friday, August 13, 2010

My cardinals are kind of messed up looking too.

At least this one still has a crest. Her mate lost his this year.

Those darn mites are torture for birds.

The transition from summer to fall plumage is hard on birds.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Caught a brief glimpse of a Ruby Throated Hummingbird that's been patronizing my sugar feeder this summer.

He was checking out a Blue Jay that had landed below him on the branch of the Beech tree.

No wonder.

Oh my. A summer moult can be pretty embarrassing.

Monday, August 9, 2010

The night time was as quiet as a summer pond. The rains had washed away the bustle of the city.

I stood in the yard and looked up at the sky, listening to the sound of peeps.

Muffled but searching.

The shorebirds were migrating.

Yesterday I saw a warbler pair darting about in the branches, wearing their moulting plumage like a veil.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

The last few days had been blessedly cooler in southern Ontario. The nights lovely for sleeping.

But the past week had been one of the most upsetting of my entire life. We all have times like that.

Thank goodness for the comfort of nature. A reassuring sameness and peace.

There were reports of a Scissor-tailed Flycatcher at Luther Marsh. What better way to solve all my problems than to run away.

Luther Marsh between Orangeville and Arthur is one of the province's unrecognized gems.

Acres and acres of protected habitat for birds, plants and animals.

On the way, scenic farms abound.

The roadsides were lined with tall stands of feathery Ironweed waving in the breeze.

When I got to the Marsh, a Northern Harrier made an appearance.

From a distance. Distinguishable by its white rump and V-shaped wingspread.

Added a new bird to my life list.

Then I added one more.

Black terns. A small tern of inland ponds and swamps.

Stark white Great Egrets flapped from one side of the marsh to the other.

Elegant as Wedgwood china.

Crowds of chattering birders and car after car lined the narrow road where the bird had been regularly sighted.

So much for peace and tranquility.

Some of the birders climbed into the high overgrown field and marsh and skulked around a grove of trees. Sure enough there it was, hiding from the melee.

I had about 12 seconds to take my best shot before the crowd surged forward. The poor thing fled in horror.

Taking my cue, I took off to explore the rest of Luther Marsh which was, happily, quite deserted.

What in the world were these strange sparrowish-looking birds flitting about just above the grass-tops? Striking colouration. I was stumped.

Bobolinks in moulting plumage. Thank goodness a kind fellow birder solved the mystery.

I trudged around the marsh with my binocs, camera and heavy scope on my shoulder. By the time I found a good spot, my shoulders were aching. And my face was blazing red from the sun.

My birder's intrepidness was getting a bit tattered.

This better be worth it, I muttered to myself.

It was.

How funny to see the three Great Blue Heron youngsters all standing at attention waiting for … well, nothing. They were just too gangly and big to fit into the nest any more.

I wondered where Mom and Dad were, seeing as how I was only about half a kilometre away.

They didn't seem very attentive. But another bird was.

An Osprey didn't take too kindly to a Great Egret sniffing around a nesting platform.

First she went after the Egret.

Then…

She came looking for me.

Yikes. That was a frightening stare. Especially at close range.

Flee for your life, I told myself.

The walk back to the car was pretty long. Took a few breaks.

Saw a green long thing whirring into the grass. Wha…?

A Katydid. Blending in perfectly with the grass and the goldenrod.

I was completely exhausted by the time I got home. I didn't mind.

My troubles had disappeared for a whole day.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Pat and I went to visit Abbey at her new home near Newmarket. Half the property is a ritzy spa, the other half is a great boarding facility for horses.

Abbey had the run of the fields and made new friends. She seemed happier than ever.

The view was great. And no more drills. No more complicated riding manoeuvres. Just luscious juicy grass, day after wonderful day.

Retirement heaven.

She was really happy to see Pat, especially when there was a good brushing involved.

I swear that horse was grinning from ear to ear.

In the meantime, there were some interesting things to check out on the property. Full of paths and trails and meadows.

Some fabulous butterflies.

Like this White Admiral. And an Eastern Black Swallowtail.

A Widow Skimmer Dragonfly took a rest nearby.

The birds were pretty good too. A moulty Indigo Bunting panted in the heat on a branch just above us.

An Acadian Flycatcher caught insects on the wing.

The fields were painted with strokes of gold, blue, green, pink and purple.

Wild Phlox filled out the palette.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Carol sent me a photo of my painting's new home. Regina Saskatchewan.

Another baby has fledged.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

A pleasant surprise.

The deer didn't eat every flower in my garden this year.

Maybe this rose will actually have a chance to climb.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

A visitor landed on my front stairs this morning.

A Cicada. One of the first signs of summer ending.

A bit ugly but welcome nevertheless.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Some days can be a luxury to have all to yourself.

Today I decided I would set off to find the Black Bellied Whistling Duck. Its normal range was the most southern parts of the United States and central America. To find one in Canada was most unusual.

Ontbird reports had it sighted at Milford, close to Picton.

Not quite sure where that was, but I thought maybe I could find it. Surely that was closer than flying to Mexico.

Drove and drove and drove. I couldn't resist another visit to Presqu'ile Provincial Park. The "almost an island."

Maybe I could replace some lost photos if I were lucky.

It was overcast, a hot and humid day. All over the path to the Owen Point lookouts were American Painted Ladies, flitting about.

No silly, not the people. The butterflies.

There were dozens of Pearly Crescentspots.

They were friendly and curious, landing on a shoulder or a hat if you stood still.

That was hard, mind you. The mosquitoes and biting flies were brutal.

The Viceroy butterflies were smaller and duskier than the Monarchs.

This one was doing some acrobatic things with its wings.

I sure wish I knew what these moths were. And these flowers.

Maybe some day I will.

I loved these knobby reeds by the boardwalk.

Horsetail reeds. Segmented. Topped with a bulbous flower like a chive.

I asked a distinguished bearded gentleman loaded down with a two-foot telephoto lense and binocs if it was worth going down the Owen Point trail to check for birds.

No birds there, he said impatiently.

Strange. I decided to not take his word for it but it meant I'd have to drag about 15 pounds of equipment for a couple of kilometres.

Sometimes I wished I wasn't so darn questioning.

When I got there, sure enough there was gold. Just had to stay still and look carefully.

It was a long walk though.

Semipalmated sandpipers on the beach at Lookout 5.

Gleaning bugs from the shore.

It's an interesting intersection of geography and bird habitat. A small island or two half a kilometre off-shore provides safe nesting habitat for Terns, Gulls, Blue Herons and Cormorants.

Their droppings wash in to shore and create thick mats of algae and bugs that in turn provide food for migrating shorebirds.

Messy but effective. I find the stinkier the sludge the better birds like it.

It's great that the park fences off beach areas for migrating birds and butterflies. The Michigan flyway.

A Brown Thrasher at Lookout 4 was the icing on the cake.

Played hide and seek in the gum trees.

It was getting late. Jumped in the car and drove and drove some more. Past most of Lake Ontario.

An hour and a half later I was in Picton, Prince Edward County.

Thousand Islands country. Agricultural, placid, with views around every corner that blew your mind.

The countryside was settled by United Empire Loyalists more than two centuries ago after the American Revolution.

Today there are lovely organic farms, a booming arts and crafts tourist trail and beautiful renovated board and batten homes.

Turning twisting country roads led to a pond outside Milford that was reported to be just the spot for a lost Black Bellied Whistling Duck.

There was nobody there but me and some ducks. It sure was picture-perfect. Not even other birders.

Mind you, the parking lot of a gourmet little bistro around the corner was jammed full of cars.

How the heck would I know if the BBWD was around though?

Suddenly a shrill loud whistling and flapping filled the air. Hello. My first clue.

He jumped into the pond, preening and gawking at me and swimming closer. Not shy, that's for sure.

He swam around with a flock of Mallards.

Hmm. He seemed pretty comfortable with that flock. Could it be that maybe those youngsters were his?

Mallards sometimes have offbeat mates, producing some pretty funny-looking babies.

Not so different from some people I know.

The drive back home was long.

All I could think about was how lovely the Prince Edward County area was. Agricultural. Peaceful. Lots of moneyed tourists.

Built-in customers for well-signed homes of artists and potters. Views to die for.

An artists' mecca.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Photographers' Curse had hit me the day before. I had accidentally erased the entire last half of my memory chip full of photos from Presqu'ile. The Crested Flycather. Owen's Point. The beach full of seagulls and shorebirds and the five Great Blue Herons all in a row.

Oh that was aggravating.

The best I could do was to zip over to Toronto again before Carol left for Regina, and re-shoot at least a few frames.

It sure was nice outside when I took this photo in her family's backyard garden in Toronto.

The garden was immaculate. And blooming like mad.

One of my paintings was taking a permanent trip to Regina.

Couldn't have gone to a nicer home.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Pat and I gave a helping hand at S.O.A.R. in Rockwood doing outdoor maintenance.

There were weeds as big as bushes. A five-foot tall mullein on the front lawn was in full bloom. It had to be two years old.

Mullein only blooms every two years.

We cut grass, trimmed edges, pulled weeds, and gave the grounds a spiffy new haircut.

Pat was an expert at juggling the electrical cord and the lawnmower.

I don't know about Pat but after four hours of cutting, chopping, trimming, slicing, mowing and wacking, I was beat. The next day every muscle in my entire body hurt.

We were sad when Judi told us our little nestling had died.

Stopped eating, she said, and just keeled over.

It had been a suffocatingly hot and humid week. Not an easy time for even the healthiest of birds.

Two of the baby swallows had passed away too.

In the meantime, a new robin had been brought in, a black and white warbler and three more swallows.

Nature is a busy place. And not patient with the weak.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

After 32 years, what better place to catch up with a friend from the past than the Brighton sewage lagoons.

Carol Brown and I spent a lot of hours working the courtesy desk, the shelves and the Recordak machines at Richview Public Library in Toronto when we were both high school students.

Oh yes, there were some wild times. Pointing the way downstairs to the children's department. Wiping down records in Audio-Visual. Shelving oversized books in the cursed tightly jammed 640 section — homes, cooking and interior design. Many an awkward book went to the bottom of the cart to be the next page's problem on shelving duty.

Of course, while I did this sort of thing, Carol never did. She doggedly put away every single oversized book on her cart, returning it empty at the end of her shift.

When I saw her, I knew she hadn't changed a bit. Still as thorough, detailed and persistent as ever.

Filled with stories about sightseeing in Africa, birding in Hawaii and doing field research in the Northwest Territories. Mosquitoes that were just plain mean.

The mosquitoes at the Brighton sewage lagoons maybe weren't as mean, but they sure were buggers. Before we ventured in, we doused ourselves with Deep Woods Off!. The heavy artillery.

We were so busy gabbing, we almost missed this writhing mass of necks, fuzziness and feathers.

A Mute Swan and five cygnets in a preening frenzy.

They snapped out of it when they saw us gawking.

That was better. Much more dignified.

A peristent cackling and laughing noise emanated from the reeds.

There was more than one Moorhen. And lots of chicks too. They wove through the grasses and skittered over the lagoons hiding from view.

The duckweed was so thick it was like a carpet. A platform for turtles, frogs, butterflies and dragonflies.

Ducks galore.

Green Winged Teal. And Wigeons. They motored across the water like little speedboats.

When they stopped freaking out, they actually looked like this.

Managed to find the Short Billed Dowitcher.

Fred Helleiner, the local birding authority, had given me a heads-up over the phone the night before.

It was hotter than Hades when we saw a Sharp Shinned Hawk on a reconnaissance flight overhead.

Probably searching out small victims separated from their mothers.

It was a dangerous world.

There were some plants that didn't frequent my neck of the woods.

Purple Gerardia.

Purple Loosestrife.

Not as invasive as all the experts had feared.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Spent a good part of the day at S.O.A.R., getting to know the resident patients.

Two groups of barn swallows which had fallen out of their nests, a flicker without a tail, a ravenous baby robin, a goldfinch with a hurt wing, and a crow that would not fly away.

And doing chores, of course. Cage cleaning, feeding, dish washing, bleaching, sorting.

I'll be back in a couple hours, Judi said. Feed the swallows every 45 minutes and the robin every half hour.

Okay.

As I heard Judi's car pull out of the driveway, I peeked into the back room.

Where the heck WERE those darn barn swallow chicks? Not two minutes ago they were all perched on the side of their plastic box, huddling and cheaping.

Well now they were definitely AWOL.

My feet were glued to where I was standing as I scanned the walls, ceiling, tables, cages — and the floor.

Nothing. Dead silence even. Goodness.

Where the heck did those little nippers go?

I carefully put one foot in front of the other and tiptoed around the room.

Okay. On the floor, behind the flight cage, not making a single sound.

I fed them meal worms lying flat out on the floor. That was interesting. Hard on the elbows though.

When Judy got back we scooped the swallow chicks back up to their box and told them to stay there if they wanted to get fed properly.

Thankfully they listened. The power of meal worms.

Turned out the it was a baby red-winged blackbird with a broken foot. I helped Judy attach a splint fashioned from medical tape and the stiff wire of a paper clip.

It will take at least 10 days to heal, she said.

Poor little thing. Hopefully on the mend now.

If you want to help out S.O.A.R., visit its upcoming Open House on Saturday, Sept. 11.

Call 519-856-4510.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Pat called, all excited.

She was going to S.O.A.R. — Songbirds Only Avian Rehabilitation — in Rockwood. She had a sparrow that had been injured by a cat.

Would I like to come along?

Didn't need to ask twice.

Judi Drake was quick and efficient, turning over the little guy with a firm but gentle hand. Pat and I watched from the sidelines.

She carefully manoeuvred an antibiotic-filled syringe into his beak then placed him in a cage.

He dragged one wing out to the side. Obviously hurting.

He's a Savannah Sparrow, she said. Not too common.

Judi Drake has run S.O.A.R. for more than 17 years, strictly on her own with the help of volunteers.

She needed cash donations for supplies like bleach, medicine and food, and help with cage cleaning, dish washing and general maintenance.

We'll help, Pat and I chimed in at the same time.

We emptied our pockets of all the change we had, wishing we carried around more cash.

People use only credit and debit cards these days. I never have more than twenty dollars on me.

Some day dollar bills in any denomination will be collector items.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Sunny and hot, weather made to order for butterflies and dragonflies.

It took forever to walk the long path through the forest trying to catch everything on film.

An impossible task. But I got a slice.

Dragonflies — order Odonata — rattled through the fields like miniature fighter bombers.

This flashy looking creature is a male Whitetail.

His mate is a bit less showy but I'm sure very attractive in her own way.

To the right guy.

This one had a great name.

Ruby Meadowhawk. Evoking visions of deadly precision sniper attacks.

Who could out-bling the male Twelve Spotted Skimmer?

The meadow wildflowers were glorious, painting the fields in strokes of purple, yellow, gold, blue, white and pink.

The butterflies were going nuts. Cabbage, Sulphur, Red Admiral and Monarch butterflies — Order Lepidoptera — were everywhere.

Last year the cool wet summer scared away most butterflies.

A Wood Nymph came out of the forest for some thistle nectar.

I sure wish I knew what this moth was.

Helmet-headed Sphinx moth?? Kidding. Just made that up.

Our rainy June had been a blessing for plants everywhere. The tansy was over four feet tall at the side of the path.

Square Stemmed Monkey Flowers, wetland residents, are rarely seen in the Hanlon Creek forest but here it was.

In the woods, Ebony Jewelwing Damselflies flitted around the streams, delicately alighting upon overhanging branches.

Here's a male and female — she's the one with the dot — for comparison.

Their shadows are great.

I always look forward to seeing the little minnows in the creek that springs out of the ground at the edge of the forest.

One of those guys was pretty big for a minnow. Maybe he was a Brook Trout.

I was dragging my feet by the time I got home. Half a day had gone by in the fields and woods.

Sure wish I had the energy to spend the whole day.

Friday, July 9, 2010

A rainy then overcast day was the perfect time to check out the Toronto Outdoor Art Exhibition at Nathan Phillips Square.

It was two hours in stop and go traffic but once you were there, it was a breeze.

It's the highlight of my year.

The artists, glassmakers and potters are jury-selected and come from all over Ontario and even Quebec.

I bought wonderful hand-thrown porcelain luncheon plates made by Marney McDiarmid from Kingston.

One had a feather. I couldn't walk away from that, could I?

Each one is unique. A different feel for every fourth lunch.

They stack slightly wobbly. I love that.

I chatted with a few favourite artists. I always learn something. And each one made me feel a bit better about my own art, filled with doubt and hesitation.

I had always admired the deftly-composed nostaligic paintings of Marjolyn Van Der Hart.

Travelling Lady, collaged paper and acrylic paint, 2010                  

Reproduced with permission from the artist

She was very generous with her time and thoughts when we spoke.

Elizabeth Lennie was another fabulous artist at the TOAE.

She was an expert at figure work, portraying diving, swimming and water sports with a sure hand and brilliant economy of effort.

August 2, oil on canvas, 2010                         (Sold)

Reproduced with permission from the artist

Made you want to jump right into the water with those boys.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

I made a special point of visiting the Alma Gallery in downtown Guelph today, eager to see their latest exhibit.

The Alma Gallery was a promising new storefront space that opened its doors a year or so ago with quality work and a high-end appeal. Kicked things up a notch in Guelph.

When I got there, the doors were locked and the space was for rent.

Disappointing.

Another sign of the times.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

It was just too darn hot to be home. The A/C just couldn't keep up to 43° in the blazing hot sun.

Spent the day checking out fine art galleries in Oakville and Mississauga.

It's a good idea to keep up with other artists' work. Inspiration often lay somewhere between duplication and one-upmanship but once in a while something special stood out.

The galleries were devoid of customers and curators had lots of time to chat.

The recession was still affecting business, they complained. People just weren't buying the way they used to.

Privately I wondered if it maybe was because of the schlock so many of them were selling. Garish formulaic furniture-store style canvases with four-figure price tags.

Yikes.

Out of five galleries and about 100 artists, the only two paintings I liked both had the same sort of elements of layering, texture and stenciling.

There was nothing out there with a true modern edge. Nothing that made you stop and think.

Inspiration seemed to have evaporated in the heat.

But maybe schlock was the only art that sold these days.

Other galleries with maybe more esoteric standards hadn't been quite so lucky. Three on my list had out-of-business signs in their front windows.

Monday, July 5, 2010

It wasn't just a heat wave. It was a heat tsunami.

32° for the second day in a row, 43° with the humidity.

Was this Canada or the Sudan?

Since Pat and I were dedicated to being intrepid birders in all sorts of weather, we trouped over to Curry Tract to see what we could see. Pat was cheerful as always. I was anxious as always.

We began to wilt as soon as we stepped out of the air conditioned car. It wasn't just oppressive. It was suffocating.

And the bugs. Yow. Despite long pants and slathering on the Skintastic, the mosquitoes got me in quite a few tender spots. Man were they vicious.

Pat wore shorts and went for the heavy chemicals with Off! At the end of the day, I was in agony; she was unscathed. No fair.

Going through Badenoch we checked on the Ospreys that had nested at the ball park two years in a row. We saw three little heads poking up. Scared Mom away when we stepped out of the car to take pictures.

Sorry Mom.

It was a mystery how those chicks put up with the sun blazing down on them all summer long.

Dad was nearby too.

Ruffling and preening on a nearby hydro pole. Nonchalant.

Like all Dads.

Curry Tract was simply stuffed with baby birds. You couldn't not hear the sound of high-pitched crying, squealing or squeaking.

The lovely flutey calls of Wood Thrushes and Veeries echoed in the woods. We even heard the chatter of a Cuckoo.

No Baltimore Orioles or Rose-breasted Grosbeaks. Their chicks had probably all fledged and now it was time for a vacation.

It was a different story with the smaller birds like warblers and finches. I suspect some may have been on second batches.

Parents were busy being manic food-getting machines, to-ing and fro-ing with bugs and berries.

There were tons of them everywhere. Orange, red, purple, green.

I sure wish I knew what this weird looking berry was.

Pat and I helped ourselves to the raspberries.

So sweet.

Pat had her chick-squealing sensors on high alert. She honed in on a cute little ball of fluff attempting to be a Redstart.

That thing didn't even have a tail yet. No wonder Dad was so worried.

Speaking of insufficient tails, further down the trail there was another commotion.

A baby Eastern Kingbird crying for food in the sumacs. Mom and Dad watched anxiously from the hydro tower and chewed us out for being too close.

The highlight of the day for me was seeing a funny little bird with a black head. Junco-ish.

Pat was down the trail a bit, checking out a chestnut sided warbler. All I could do was point and squeal and jump up and down like a crazy person.

A Mourning Warbler. A lifer for me.

This adorable Ruby Throated Hummingbird watched us from a dead branch overlooking the area.

Dead branches and hummingbirds go together like Kingbirds on hydro wires.

It was the height of the wildflower bloom. Bird's-foot trefoil, cinquefoil, hickory, vetch, daisies, black-eyed Susans, mullein, buttercup, yarrow, bindweed, Dutchman's breeches, thistle, self heal.

Viper's Bugloss.

Named for its resemblance to a viper. Apparently.

Lots of butterflies everywhere. Most wouldn't sit still.

Except for this raggedy Northern Pearly Eye.

Thankfully, we made it out of Curry's Tract without keeling over from heat stroke.

A big glass of ice cold Aberfoyle water at Pat's house never tasted so good.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Wasn't supposed to be pouring rain this afternoon but it was a torrential downpour by the time Pat and I arrived at Rattray Marsh in Mississauga.

The good thing: there was lots of parking in the rather small parking area.

No noise, hardly any people. The weekend hoards had not yet descended. Perfect timing.

A few cheerful Asian and South American families were setting up tents and tables and barbecues in the park, right in the middle of the deluge.

Their food was smelling darn good. Fried chicken, garlic, ginger, marinated vegetables. We wondered if they'd notice us joining the family lineup. Probably. Too bad.

Pat and I donned our heavy duty rain gear and headed out to the edge of Lake Ontario.

There were birds calling out from the lake, something like: "Eaerrrrrrr. Eh eh eh eh eheheheheh. Eaerrrrrrr. Eh eh eh eh eh."

Pairs of red-necked grebes were having calling contests. They even got up on their legs, chests out, wings flapping, and had exhibition competitions.

Thankfully the rains abated and the sky brightened up. Ninety-nine per cent humidity though.

Felt sorry for this scruffy young gull. Not sure whether he was just sodden or suffering from a bad case of ticks.

Probably both. Had a limp too.

He followed along, even when we walked up the trail.

Pat took this photo of Scruffy and I. He picked up some fat juicy worms on the trail.

At least one little guy was totally loving the weather. Just sitting and basking.

Didn't budge a bit when I got down in front of him to take his picture.

Nice nubs.

The pathways and boardwalks were manicured and lovely, many opening on to some lovely languid Clarkson neighbourhoods.

Not too many mosquitoes, considering we were in the middle of a huge wetland. Too much rain even for them.

Pat and I dried off a bit along the boardwalk.

We had a hard time keeping the rain drops off our lenses. But it sure was a quiet peaceful lovely spot.

Tons of birds too. A couple of warblers, a Baltimore oriole, a Flicker, a Spotted Sandpiper, Eastern Kingbirds, a Catbird, Wood Ducks, vireos, a Pewee, and a pair of Cardinals and their two chicks.

Pat heard baby bird squeaks coming from a nest right beside the boardwalk.

Red Winged Blackbirds. The male and the female were both feeding the nestlings. Both good parents.

Didn't dive bomb us. Hardly paid much attention to us at all as a matter of fact.

Must be used to the stream of people.

The marsh itself was beautiful, houses overlooking from afar.

We took a little side trail out to the beach, not sure what we would find.

I loved the stones.

Perfect skippers.

We walked back along the beach and the stones almost did us in.

It took a lot of effort to walk on stones without twisting an ankle. We were both staggering and limping by the time we got to the car.

It sure was worth it though.