Just now I had a White breasted Nuthatch visiting on the porch railing near the garden wall where I have placed sunflower heads to dry. My guess is that he was curious about the new additions. His little chirps sounded like he was excited about something! The jays have returned and I think they are intimidating the Nuthatch family, so I may put up another feeder closer to the house.
 
White breasted Nuthatches are easy to identify. They  are larger than the other nuthatches with a sharply defined white face, a narrow dark crown, and a very long bill. With a short broad tail they are mostly gray and white in color.
 
All summer long I have had them feasting at my bird tree with its squirrel proof feeder. I never tire of watching these spritely little characters climb up and down the branches to take a seed or two before disappearing into the greenery. This year I was fortunate to have witnessed the nuthatches raise a family of four little nuthatches in a tree not very far from the bird tree. This is not a large tree although it has a generous canopy and I will be curious to see where the nest is located when the leaves fall. Most sources say that they nest in tree cavities… so I will have to wait to see. All summer the little ones flew between the nest tree and the bird tree – all day long!
 
 When the babies first fledged it took them awhile to figure out how to land on the edges of the feeder. I am delighted to see that the whole family is still here, especially since it is mid September and seeds and grasses of all kinds are available for these little birds to feast upon. Apparently their preference for sunflower seeds has kept them around.
 
Soon, I hope, it will be cool enough to put out suet. As a bird watcher I am a lover of suet and fat because it draws some of my favorite little birds – nuthatches, chickadees, and woodpeckers in for a feast even during the fall. I would like if possible to keep this nuthatch family with me all winter. I love watching them carry away seeds to hide in crevices of trees.
 
White-breasted Nuthatches forage up, down, and sideways over tree trunks and around large branches, which is why it is easy to lose time watching these little birds. They are small aerial acrobats turning upside down with ease to peck suet over their heads. In fact climbing upside down is a distinctive trait of this species. They often start high in trees and move down them head first, pausing to crane their necks up and back, toward the horizontal, for a look around. They probe into bark crevices or chip away at wood to find food. When they find large nuts and seeds, they jam them into the bark and hammer them open. White-breasted Nuthatches often store seeds and insects one at a time, and somewhat haphazardly, under loose bark on their territory. They typically hide the food by covering it with a piece of bark, lichen, moss, or snow depending on where they live. According to the literature they live in pairs year round and chase other nuthatches from their territory. Does this include their offspring? I am curious to see if the family will eventually disperse. Agitated birds fan their tails, flick their wings, or raise their feathers. A bird backing down from a confrontation typically raises its bill and tail, and droops its wings.
 
White-breasted Nuthatches are birds who prefer mature woods, and they’re more often found in deciduous than coniferous forests. They also inhabit woodland edges and in open areas with large trees like the area around my house. They can also be found in parks, wooded suburbs, and yards.
 
During the warmer months they supplement their seed and nut diet with insects, including weevil larvae, wood-boring beetle larvae, other beetles, tree hoppers, scale, ants, gall fly larvae, caterpillars, stinkbugs, and click beetles, as well as spiders. What I didn’t know was that they also eat corn.
 
Their song is distinctive; soft whistling notes with a single pitch. Some sources indicate that their calls vary region by region. What I know from personal experience is that the white breasted nuthatches in Maine sound exactly like the ones in New Mexico.
 
Audubon considers this species climate threatened.
 
It’s important to recognize that drawing these little birds to our feeders helps protect the trees that are infested with damaging insects, so next time you see a White -breasted Nuthatch remember to say thank you for the trees! 

Yesterday morning around 10:30 AM I looked into what had been an empty toad hole that had been dug into the ground on my drip line only to see that someone had filled the tunnel in. Last night I checked the deep depression around dusk and the earth was moving! Returning from an evening dog walk ‘my’ giant Western toad was emerging just before dark. Almost immediately she rounded the corner and disappeared into the vining nasturtium patch...
 
Early last June, I had constructed a rock pool to invite a toad to make a home here in my front yard. Although birds and lizards liked the oasis I never glimpsed a toad until August 29th, a day I will never forget.
 
It was around 2 PM and 92 degrees when I spied a giant Western toad sitting in the middle of my driveway. Stunned, I went over to investigate. In three long hops the female (females are larger than males) landed on the only ground that was moist, irrigated, and had ample space for a toad of her size – she was 5 1/2 inches long and almost as wide. Immediately she dug herself into the still moist soil scattering a few seedlings as she began to disappear before my very anxious eyes. I knew that Western toads couldn’t survive in 92 degree heat and wondered who had frightened her so badly that she ended up exposed to the merciless sun. When she was about two thirds submerged, she just stopped, seemingly, in exhaustion. At this point I intervened and gently poured about six cups of water around her. Her amber eyes peered into mine; I’m quite certain she knew I was trying to help. Next I cut Russian olive and cottonwood leaves to cover her head, and finally placed a big piece of cottonwood bark over the entire spot to keep her cool. That night when I went out to check on her she was gone.
 
The most amazing part of this story for me is that it was obvious that my toad knew exactly where to go to get out of the sun as fast as she could. The spot she chose was the only place in this whole area that was not root bound with perennials. It gradually dawned on me that this toad had probably been living here all summer, and I had just made her acquaintance!
 
I was thrilled because the one thing I miss the most about the Northeast is living with an abundance of toads and frogs in a rich riparian woodland. Over a period of thirty years I have probably raised thousands of peepers, wood frogs, and American toads from eggs that I collected each spring, even after building an ‘almost vernal pool’ to provide more inviting territory beside my brook. This shallow depression, about 100 feet in length is fed by a natural spring, and everyone including a Great Blue heron loved it!
 
When I first moved down by the river in Abiquiu I was sure that I would see and hear toads and frogs in the spring, but I was wrong. In two years I have heard only one toad call. This spring I looked forward to the summer rains that would bring out the amphibians I waited for with child-like anticipation… but this monsoon season has brought so little rain that there were no puddles that lasted long enough for mating to occur or eggs to be laid. By now I also had learned from direct observation that the river’s damming process made it nearly impossible for amphibians to rely on these unstable waters for places to breed because during the summer the river rises and falls constantly.
 
When my giant Western toad made her astonishing appearance I immediately dove into some extensive research on this toad who is the western version of the America toad that I am so familiar with. I was devastated to learn that according to a number of academic sources this animal is already extinct in the only area in which the Western toad once thrived in New Mexico, the Rio Grande and its tributaries in Rio Arriba county.
 
The welcome appearance of my toad indicates that as yet the species is still extant, but probably not for long. Toads and frogs have been under siege since the early 70’s when ecologists and naturalists first starting writing about their diminishing numbers, something that I intuited from direct observation before beginning to read about these ‘canaries in the coal mine.’ All amphibians as adults breathe through their skin and environmental toxins were already polluting our air and water as Rachel Carson tried to inform us in her ground - breaking book “Silent Spring.”
 
As Carson, and later, many others predicted, and were ridiculed (I know I was) environmental disaster is now reality - today we are living the consequences of not paying attention to these warnings about the health of our planet.
 
At this point there is little left to do except to accept what is. For me the loss of toads and frogs is deeply personal and heartbreaking because I have loved them all my life.
 
The one antidote to this despair is to take the deepest pleasure out of having a toad living in my yard now and this I am doing on a daily basis. I am heartened whenever I am fortunate enough to get a glimpse of Toad because I know by her size that she has lived a long time (toads live in the wild for ten or twelve years). I don’t know if this toad will continue to use her burrow in my seedlings but just knowing that she seems to be healthy and thriving is a gift that I will treasure for the rest of my days.
 

The other morning I was out watering when a raven landed on the compost heap and began “talking” to me. Naturally I replied. This raven wasn’t “quorking” but making other curious and complex sounds while staring directly into my eyes and the further we got into conversation the more fascinated/puzzled I became. S/he used so many vocalizations in response to whatever I was saying that I couldn’t keep track of them. This raven pointed his beak directly at me while speaking. Our mutual exchange ended when the raven flew off to join his mate, leaving me astonished. What had we been talking about? I would have given anything to have a tape of that dialogue! One curious note: ever since that conversation these same two ravens acknowledge me with a quork whenever they fly over the house.
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For anyone seriously interested in ravens I highly recommend Bernard Heinrich’s book “The Mind of the Raven.” This biologist has probably studied ravens more extensively than anyone on the planet. He believes they are the brightest avians of all. As a naturalist, and therefore a generalist, I have to say that I believe that all birds are equally intelligent, albeit in different ways, but Corvids including jays and crows do seem to have a curious edge in terms of problem solving.

There are three species of ravens but in this article I will be talking about Corvus corax, the common raven, which is geographically and ecologically one of the most widespread naturally occurring birds in the world. The raven is distributed throughout major portions of North America, Europe, Asia, and North Africa, and in all terrestrial biomes except tropical rain forests. The typical adult common raven, the largest of the three, measures about two feet from the tip of its bill to the tip of its tail and is a luminous coal black.

Highly gregarious, adaptable and resourceful, ravens roost and feed in pairs, or scattered flocks, sometimes numbering hundreds (or thousands) depending on the area. Typically, they migrate only short distances with a change of seasons or variability of food sources. They may welcome newcomers, inviting them to dine. They may “mob” a would-be predator or intruder to protect each other or nestlings/ fledglings. The young birds may play games including having a tug of war. For fun, they may also drop and catch objects in midflight or snitch and cache shiny and inedible objects in secret places or yank the tail of a would be predator.   

Opportunistic and omnivorous, the ravens and crows feed primarily on the most abundant food source available. This could include a broad range of insects, arachnids (e.g. spiders, scorpions), reptiles, small birds, small mammals, pilfered eggs, grains and fruits as well as carrion and human refuse.

Throughout the year, the birds spend substantial time resting, preening, sunning and peering around at their surroundings. They may bathe in shallow waters, sprinklers and snow, preening extensively afterwards. Most fascinating to me is that ravens may post themselves near an ant bed, allowing the insects to crawl through their feathers, leaving a blanket of formic acid to protect them—a natural pesticide that eliminates parasites – and then they pick the ants off and eat them!

In the spring, when breeding season arrives, raven pairs mate and bond for the year and perhaps for life. During courtship, the birds may preen each other’s head feathers and gently clasp each other’s bills. They may engage in acrobatic flight, showing off, trying to impress a prospective partner. After mating, a pair turns to homemaking, which often becomes a family affair, with two or three “helpers” – often progeny from the previous season’s hatch – contributing to the raising of the young.

Typically, the birds build their nest on a solid platform such as the fork of a tree, or sometimes, in the case of the common raven, on a ledge or crack in a cliff face.

After she finishes her nest, the female lays five or six generally oval-shaped greenish-colored eggs over a period of several days. While she takes primary responsibility for incubating her eggs, the male guards the nest from predators, feeds the female on her nest, and may even incubate the eggs for brief periods.

After hatching the youngsters develop the ability to take care of themselves, but stay in the vicinity of the nest still begging their parents and the helpers for food. After a couple of months, they may leave to join other adolescents, but some may return the following year to serve their turn as helpers in raising their parents’ next brood.

The next time you see a raven strike up a conversation and see what happens. Observing these birds as they go about their business of making a living is so much fun!
 

Every time my little dogs and I walked into Owl canyon last winter and spring, one or both dogs would step on a tumbleweed spine. Some days I was extracting these little monsters from my dogs’ feet a dozen times or more, while they held up a tormented paw with a pitiful look. No matter how carefully I scanned the arroyo for tumbleweed I just couldn’t avoid them.
 
After moving into this adobe house, I began the process of land reclamation casting wildflower seeds that I had collected last year, and began watering the disturbed and barren earth – a normal consequence of building a new house. I also removed every tumbleweed skeleton in sight from the bare ground – a massive undertaking – with the hope that I could stem the tumbleweed tide. To my horror the first seeds that sprouted were tumbleweeds! That was almost three months ago, and today I daily fry uprooted tumbleweeds on hot stones   while ruefully accepting the inevitable – I will be weeding tumbleweeds indefinitely!
 
In this process I have developed a begrudging respect for this plant that is a true survivor! It loves wastelands and I am amazed by the plants’ tenacity and determination to reproduce. When the plant is young it is quite pretty with its purple stems and lacy stems shaped like a rosette, but I learned the hard way that if I broke the plant from its root, two days later I would be pulling two or three thick rooted tumbleweeds where originally there had been one!
 
I am not naïve enough to believe that I will ever be able to eradicate this plant, but my intention is to persevere because around the house I want my dogs to be able to run around without prickers in their feet.
 
"Tumbleweed," "Russian thistle" and "wind witch" are common names for this plant. (“Wind witch” annoys me. I am tired of women being attached to plants that are considered dangerous or are considered pests. The war on women – especially old women - never ends.)  Russian thistle alludes to its Eurasian origin. Scientific names for tumbleweed begin with the Latin word Salsola in reference to the plant’s salt tolerance.

Virtually everyone recognizes a mature Russian thistle, which looks like the skeleton of a normal shrub. Plants may be as small as a soccer ball or as large as a Volkswagen beetle! One flew over the Trailercita last spring that boggled my mind – a gigantic beach ball! The seedling and juvenile plant’s bright green, succulent, grass-like shoots have tiny green flowers each one accompanied by a pair of spiny bracts. Mice, bighorn sheep, and pronghorn eat the tender shoots. I personally have never seen tumbleweed nibbled on by anything.

As they roll down a desert road, tumbleweeds disperse seeds. Seeds are unusual in that they lack any protective coat or stored food reserves. Instead, each seed is a coiled, embryonic plant wrapped in a thin membrane. To survive winter without a warm coat, the plant does not germinate until warm weather arrives. When moisture falls, it quickly sends up two needle-like leaves and begins to shoot skyward. By autumn the plant has reached maximum size, flowered and begun to dry out. A specialized layer of cells in the stem facilitates the easy break between plant and root, and the journey begins anew.

Like many weeds, Russian thistle exploited the destruction of native ecosystems and continues to do so today. When farmers removed prairie grasses, they created a perfect environment, smooth and flat, for a plant that could roll across the landscape dispersing seeds. Unfortunately herbicides are used to control the spread of tumbleweeds by disrupting the maturation process of the plant. Recently the U.S. Agricultural Research Service announced the discovery of two promising fungal pathogens that infect and kill tumbleweeds. Not surprisingly, the fungi were uncovered in infected Russian thistle plants growing on the Eurasian steppes — the original home of tumbleweeds.

​Tumbleweeds were first reported in the United States in the 1800’s apparently transported in flax seed imported by Ukrainian farmers. Within two decades the plant had tumbled into a dozen states, and by 1900, tumbleweed had reached the Pacific Coast. Tumbleweeds have never stopped spreading. Nearly every state in the U.S. is now home to Russian thistle, as well as several newer GIANT tumbleweed species that arrived as immigrants from around the world. Tumbleweeds grow everywhere from Canada to South Africa!

Each winter after the plants die, the brittle bushy parts snap off at the roots and blow away, dispersing seeds wherever they tumble - about 250,000 per plant – a mindboggling statistic for anyone, like me, who wants to keep these intrepid survivors under control!

This morning I watched aghast as Mr. Rufous hit the window and fell to the ground. Rushing out to give him sugar water, I was so relieved to see him recover his wits and fly towards his cottonwood bower on his own. A very close call.
 
Rufous, an iridescent coppery jewel arrived here on June 22 and his mate – just as beautiful in her less dramatic emerald and rust attire, came with him. My other resident hummingbirds (black chin, and broadtail) all seemed to be cooperating as they visited my two feeders. I wondered how Rufous and his wife would fit in so I have been keeping a sharp eye on hummingbird cooperation dynamics. Five weeks have gone by since their arrival, and this couple is staying to raise a family.
 
It is true that this pugnacious little hummingbird can throw a wrench into cooperation but I have been pleasantly surprised to see this male and female sipping nectar with other birds sitting on neighboring perches. Could it be that the broadtail and black chin social dynamic has rubbed off on Mr. and Mrs. Rufous? I have no way of knowing but it does seem that they are more willing to compromise than most others I have known. Some days, of course, Mr. Rufous hovers above the feeders and making sudden aggressive dives scaring the others away with his high pitched squeaks and buzzing - but only for a few moments. Usually he lets the others return to share quite companionably. Mrs. Rufous seems very cooperative and she has taken to visiting the nastursiums, scarlet runner beans, fiery salvia, deep rose and scarlet penstemon and the pot that holds my bee, butterfly, and hummingbird friendly wildflower mixture that Iren gave me last spring.
 
Apparently, the territories that the male and female rufous hummingbirds “defend” are somewhat different. Males hover over the primary food source(s) while the females extend their ranges further afield choosing less dense wildflower meadows. But this year, except for my little pot garden there are few wildflowers beyond the fence where I do not water, so choices, at least here, are limited. And Mrs. Rufous does not hog these flowers.
 
Rufous hummingbirds are small with a short tail with mighty flight skills that allow them to travel 2000 miles from Mexico to as far north as Alaska for breeding in the western states. This migration can take place from as early as May to August in New Mexico, and some stop along the way to raise their families. They follow the wildflower season throughout the rocky mountain area. During their long migrations, they make a clockwise circuit of western North America each year moving up the Pacific Coast in late winter and spring, reaching Washington and British Columbia by May. As early as July they may start south again, traveling down the chain of the Rocky Mountains.

The adult male has a slender bill, white breast, a rusty face, flanks and tail with a startlingly beautiful orange-red throat patch or gorget. Some males have some green on back and/or crown. The female has green, white, some iridescent orange and a dark tail with white tips. The female is slightly larger than the male and has longer wings.

As many of us know they feed on nectar from flowers using a long extendable tongue or capture insects on the wing. These birds require frequent feeding while active during the day and go into a state of torpor at night to conserve energy. Because of their small size, they are vulnerable to insect-eating birds and animals.
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Most breeding habitats are open areas, mountainsides and forest edges in western North America and the Pacific Northwest. The female builds a nest in a tree or shrub and raises her brood of two chicks alone. The offspring are ready for flight in about three weeks.
 
Surveys show continuing declines in rufous numbers during recent decades. Because they rely on finding the right conditions in so many different habitats at just the right seasons during the year, this hummingbird is especially vulnerable to the effects of climate change.
 
These iridescent "flower birds," were considered gifts from the gods by Indigenous peoples. In Peru and other South American countries, naturalists have cataloged over three hundred species, and it is believed that not all have been discovered yet.

The rain forests of South America were probably where hummingbirds first evolved (co-evolved) with flowers.

I like to imagine that hummingbirds once sipped the life-giving nectar, leaving behind a pollinated forest before flying away, their burnished colors shimmering in a primal world of sunlight…

The other day my friend Sabra regaled me with spadefoot toad stories that caught my hair on fire. Toads and frogs need water to thrive and the lack of rain has left me feeling paralyzed and obsessed at the same time over a thirst driven desert, and missing my liminal amphibious friends dearly. Listening to her talking about the toad holes in her garden - Sabra literally waters these round depressions every night until resident toads pop their heads out of the hole with their tongues sticking out! One year someone had made a sort of trench in the arroyo below Sabra’s house and it filled with water. One night they heard such a racket, that she thought a truck was stuck, and ran down the canyon and discovered that the toads were singing!  These stories of hers made me realize that I feel exactly like a toad myself. I am starved for water from the sky.
 
Every morning before I walk down to the river at dawn I turn on the sprinkler in front of the house to water the chamisa to keep one area green, but also to create a bathing area for the hummingbirds and other birds who take early morning baths under the spray. Everyone needs water…and I keep hoping that a toad or two might find this temporary early morning oasis at some point and move in. So far, no toads…my guess is that I would need a more permanent source of water, not to mention less heat (because most toads cannot survive temperatures above 86 degrees) to have some visit.
 
Last year I heard one western toad and found one dead on the road, run over by a car. She was probably on her way to meet her croaking male suitor. No toad eggs appeared in Iren’s little pond, so my guess is that this female was the only other toad in the area.
 
After Sabra told me about the spadefoots I immediately looked them up wondering if they also live down here by the river. Listening to the spadefoot’s call so I could recognize it, I was surprised at how different the calls of spadefoot sounded from the others – a weird grating sound.
 
I also learned that the spadefoot is found in all of New Mexico’s 33 counties but I was not able to determine precisely where they prefer to live (Sabra lives on the Mesa). Some sources say they burrow near ponds and low areas but obviously they also like Mesas if they have a water source like Sabra does. When I learned that they were nocturnal, secretive, and totally dependent upon rain I realized I might have one in my area and not know it? I needed to learn that call.
 
Distinguished by eyes with vertical pupils (other toads have horizontal pupils) that sit close to the top of their heads and small, hard, wedge-shaped structures on hind legs used for digging into moist soil, spadefoot toads vary in color (between gray, brown or dusky green). They are approximately 1.5 to 3.5 inches in length and when threatened they emit an odor said to smell like roasted peanuts. These toads can survive temperatures above 98 degrees, unlike most other toads.
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The amazing thing about spadefoots is that they spend most of the year underground in cocoons formed from layers of shed skin. This shedding of skins helps keep the toad from 'drying out' or dehydrating, and they stay alive in a state of ‘suspended animation’ called estivation. Some burrow three feet down in the ground. When summer rains fill low areas with water they emerge to feed for the year on insects  (termites, ants, beetles and spiders but not worms as Sabra feared) and to breed. The males do the calling. Breeding takes place in temporary pools. Around a thousand eggs are laid in large masses and often hatch in as little as 48 hours. The tadpoles are forced to metamorphose in 7 – 13 days, the fastest developing of all toads. If the tadpoles hatch, little toadlets will eat frantically (they are omnivorous too) and burrow into the ground to wait for the next downpour. With this drought I can’t imagine water remaining above ground long enough for tadpoles to survive, even if we do have rainfall. The earth is so parched.

It does not surprise me that most of the seven species of spadefoots are under threat of extinction, especially with global warming. Most sources say they are not ‘true toads’ because they do not have warty skin and they have teeth!

Talk about living on the edge – wow – the fact that these amphibians have survived at all is a source of mind-bending amazement to me.

Sara Wright

​Every morning when I go out to water my potted plants and the remnants of the chamisa bushes that were sacrificed during the process of building I meet the lizards. I have two kinds - sagebrush lizards and the desert grassland whiptails. Both of these reptiles appear to enjoy my company as much as I enjoy theirs, or perhaps they are just waiting for the water to start flowing.
 
This morning when I planted a few coyote gourd seeds in a hole that I had recently dug a whiptail lizard emerged like magic from somewhere under the house delicately positioning himself at the edge of the water logged hole for a drink. In the early morning light his stripes shimmered in the sun. The annoying thing is that I never have a camera with me to capture these morning antics, but I look forward with anticipation to seeing these lizards scurrying about every day.
 
Desert grassland whiptails are very long and slim, with a thin tail that is longer than their body length. The most distinct identifying feature of these lizards are the six yellow lines – some very bright - that run the length of their bodies. The rest of the whiptails bodies, around here at least, tend to be olive or brown. Their tails are faded blue or gray. Curiously, an adolescent's tail is a very bright and vibrant blue so I am always on the look out for the young ones. Whiptail bodies are lined with small coarse scales, which gradually get larger towards their tails. The scales on their bellies are larger and smoother.

Desert grassland whiptails are found in the deserts of southern to central Arizona and along the Rio Grande River in New Mexico. They are also found in the deserts of northern Mexico. A. uniparens is commonly found in low valleys, grasslands, and slight slopes. Some have argued that the species' range is expanding due to overgrazing.  They are scarce in developed areas, especially where homeowners keep livestock.

One amazing fact is that all desert grassland whiptail lizards are female! Strangely, researchers note that a kind of pseudo-copulation occurs which promotes fertilization during ovulation. The lizards reproduce by parthenogenesis, but offspring do not necessarily have the same chromosomes as their mother. This is because the lizards start off with twice the amount of chromosomes as would be found in sexually reproducing individuals. Diversity is maintained by combining sister chromatids which have the same origin but different functions.  

Whiptails eat spiders, termites, ants of all kinds, beetles, and short-horned grasshoppers. These food habits make them very appealing to gardeners like me who don’t use any toxic chemicals to prevent insect infestations. Whiptails are constantly in motion! They often run upright on their hind legs, giving them the appearance of miniature dinosaurs! They also swivel their heads frequently from side to side, taste the air with slender forked tongues, and use their pointed snouts to probe the ground as they forage.
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Their speed, and agility help them outmaneuver predators such as thrashers, roadrunners and snakes. One of my Chihuahuas, Lucy, is fascinated by them and always tries to chase them into the cottonwood leaves! Did you know that these lizards can sprint up to fifteen miles per hour (as fast as a roadrunner)? Whiptail lizards can also escape capture by sacrificing their tails (when grasped, their tail breaks easily along a fracture plane in the vertebrae). The disembodied tail wriggles violently, which startles and distracts the predator while the lizard dashes to safety.

Whiptails are wily creatures, beautiful to look at, and fun to watch. They do seem to enjoy scurrying around my feet as I water. I always talk to them, and when I do they watch me and listen with apparent curiosity. In my opinion, paying close attention to these little characters will bring joy into your day!

Night Song
Sara Wright
For the last three nights I have been awakened by a bird singing at around 3AM. The first and second nights I heard three short cheeps and a strange buzzing call. These calls were repeated a number of times. Last night the bird that heard made three soft calls a number of times. No buzzing. Mystified by the night song occurring just outside my window I finally did a bit of research on the sounds of birds made by the nightjar family because although these calls were different, I am familiar with the species in general – especially the whippoorwill.

After listening to bird recordings I was sure the buzzing sound was part of the mating dance of the male whose wings made the sound.

The common nighthawk (Chordeiles minor) is a medium-sized crepuscular/nocturnal bird, part of the nightjar family. Typically dark grey, black and brown, these birds display cryptic coloration and are intricately patterned. This bird is almost impossible to spot during the day. On a moonlit night the nightjars that I have seen fly erratically. The most remarkable feature of this insectivore is its small beak that seems a bit at odds with its full rounded and somewhat squat body. The common nighthawk does not travel frequently on the ground, instead preferring to perch horizontally, parallel to branches, on posts, on the ground or on a roof. It has very short legs! There is apparently some variability in territorial size. I have never seen more than one pair in an area at once.

 The most conspicuous vocalization is the nasal high pitched call most frequently heard during crepuscular flight. Peak vocalizations are reported 30 to 45 minutes after sunset according to most sources. No source mentioned 3 AM calls!

 In defense of their nests, the females make a rasping sound, and males clap their wings together. Males will also perform dives against fledglings, females and intruders such as humans or raccoons.

Frequent flyers, the long-winged common nighthawk hunts on the wing for extended periods at high altitudes or in open areas. Flying insects are its preferred food source. The hunt ends shortly after dusk turns to night, and resumes before dawn. Needless to say I have been on alert hoping to see a nighthawk in flight. For me the easiest way to identify them is by their size – they are medium sized birds (about 8 inches in length) and their v shaped wings.

Vision is presumed to be the main detection sense. The average flight speed of common nighthawks is about 15 miles an hour.

The nighthawk breeds during the period of mid-March to early October. It most commonly has only one clutch per season. The bird is assumed to breed every year and is monogamous.

Courting and mate selection occur partially in flight. The male dives and booms in an effort to garner female attention; the female may be in flight herself or stationary on the ground. The three calls I heard were located just outside my window.

Females choose the nest site and are the primary incubators of two eggs for about 18 days. The female will leave the nest unattended during the evening in order to feed. The male will roost in a neighboring tree; he guards the nest by diving, hissing, wing-beating or booming at the site, and feeds his mate while she sits on the eggs. Later he helps feed his chicks. In the face of predation, common nighthawks do not abandon the nest easily; instead they likely rely on their cryptic coloration to camouflage themselves. In a month the fledglings will be independent.

Because of their nesting habits these birds are easy prey for raccoons who covet their eggs. Dogs, coyotes, owls and foxes are other predators.

During migration, common nighthawks may travel 2,500 – 4500 thousand miles, migrating by day or night in loose flocks (that could number in the thousands) between breeding grounds throughout the US and the birds’ wintering range in South America.

Their populations are in decline for the usual reasons – loss of habitat, pesticides etc.

During warm summer nights I watch them fly by my porch after insects, and have never tired of the sight.