I managed to snag about 30 minutes beside my beloved Tohickon Creek earlier today. I love to sit there and write whenever I have a chance. But some days I just end up sitting and staring at the water as it flows and tumbles around and over the rocks. Today, while I was staring at the page as opposed to the milieu, I glanced up and noticed swirls and ripples in the water where it’s usually quite calm. Leaning forward, I gained the first of my two creek sightings today.
The first creatures I saw were these two deer. They must have descended the rocky forested hillside and crossed the one lane road just behind my car. When I leaned forward to see whether the ripples were being caused by something above or below the water, I saw these two tromping and splashing through the creek.
I took a little video of them, but I don’t feel like posting it on YouTube. So the still I took of them once they got to the other side will have to suffice. They looked to me like they were just past fawn-age, teenagers perhaps – and they were certainly acting the part – playfully clattering their way to the other side. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world.
Spotted Sandpiper
The other one of my two creek sightings today was what I am guessing was a Spotted Sandpiper. It’s the best identification I can come up with. It definitely reminded me of the sandpipers I used to see running along the beach up on Cape Cod, when I was a kid.
But I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sandpiper around here before.
Nevertheless, from my Peterson’s app, it looks like it’s at least a possibility. They apparently do tend to enjoy hanging out in environments such as creeks. But it seems to be getting a bit late in the season.
I’m a little frustrated that I couldn’t zoom in on it any better than I did. It is tough to see its markings. The way it ran along the rocks and into the shallow parts of the water did remind me, was reminiscent of what I believe were Lesser Sandpipers (at the Cape).
I’m grateful to have experienced these visitors today. I feel lucky to have shared some precious moments with all three of them.
I never cease to be amazed by the messages, guidance, and insight I receive from Mother Earth and her many children. Case in point: as I’ve mentioned recently, I’ve been indulging my feathered friends by religiously filling my peanut coil every day – in fact, sometimes twice a day, lately. There are some furred visitors who are also indulging (squirrels, opossums, raccoons), but other than the squirrels, the rest sneak around under cover of darkness! What I totally didn’t expect to learn about, however, was Grackle medicine.
I’ve seen grackles at our feeders every year. They didn’t tend to congregate at our feeders in any great numbers, and I never found them to be so remarkable that I considered them to be messengers of any sort. I can’t say I ever thought much about them other than to be slightly creeped out by their cold, yellow eyes that always seem to stare vacantly.
But this year is different.
Move Over Blue Jays
You may recall that Blue Jay seemed to be vying for my attention several weeks ago, leaving me feathers in many different venues and congregating at my feeders – especially the peanut coil. They seemed to be seeking my attention, so I did my best to follow up and listen to what they had to say to me.
Well, I must report that the blue jays and I are continuing to have a dynamic relationship, and they are quite demonstrative in their displeasure when I fail to refill the peanut coil fast enough. They’re also nudges. And I’m the first to admit – I respond to nudging (usually). Ok, sometimes.
Since around the beginning of April or so, more and more grackles started showing up in our yard. I’ve been watching them cultivate remarkable skills at peanut extraction. And they don’t seem to be bothered by my presence in the least. For the past two weeks or so, as I’ve noticed their numbers increasing, I’ve had the fleeting thought that I should ‘look them up.’ But I admit, as soon as I walked into the house, I’d forget the grackles completely.
Why? Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps the upset of watching a pandemic spread across the world and take hold in our country with a vengeance. The stress of watching a virus that’s highly contagious and can easily be spread by asymptomatic carriers first be ignored by our government, then politicized. And then the horror of witnessing a man’s life callously snuffed out at the knee of a police officer, setting off a cultural upheaval over the systemic racism in our country and the scourge of police brutality. A pandemic within a pandemic. Yeah, I forgot to research Grackle for too many days.
But I digress.
Messengers?
Just yesterday, I again remarked to Karl that I think there’s something up with the grackles. I’d just watched one ever so carefully remove a peanut from the coil, take flight, dodge branches of bushes and trees, veer along our neighbor’s driveway, hang a right over our road and fly all the way past three more houses to an intersection. It would appear we’re feeding a massive population of grackles, including ones that don’t even live adjacent to our home. Clearly the grackle population is making a point to congregate at our house.
When a jillion of anything start to show up in my environment, I pay attention. Eventually. And yes, I’ll admit it – grackles are not a bird I would ordinarily wax poetic over. Did I mention their creepy yellow eyes? And they’re not particularly colorful, either, though I seem to recall them in others years having some striking iridescence on their shoulders. But the ones around here lately have definitely been non-descript. So I’ve been a bird snob. There. I admit it.
But they persisted, I’ll give them that. Not only did they keep showing up, but their numbers started increasing. And they were irritating, truth be told, with their harsh chuck chuck vocalization and, as described in Peterson’s Field Guide, “split rasping note” that, to my ear sounds like a scree!. Just this past week, I wondered aloud to Karl whether Grackle would even be covered in any of my books. Part of me thought they were surely too mundane to have their own entry. (I told you, I’ve been being a jerk of a bird snob. It’s a wonder they even deigned to continue vying for my attention.)
Let my resistance be an object lesson. Never underestimate the power of Mother Earth to simply wow us with her insight and guidance.
