I have developed a fascination and a deep respect for the Great Tailed Grackle as a result of making regular visits to Walmart. I began feeding these birds bread crumbs this winter because I like them so much and because I wanted to observe these clever characters hopping about dodging automobiles and people who apparently don’t have much use for them. Some always hang out on the roof with the fake owls that were put there to scare them.
 
I wonder how many people have actually looked at the Great Tailed Grackle because both sexes are quite stunning. The male is glossy black with an ecclesiastical purple iridescence. He has a long, keel-shaped tail, massive bill and yellow eyes. The female is about half the size of the male and looks as if she’s been dipped in brown oil; she has a smaller keel shaped tail. The visual characteristic that stands out the most to me is the brilliance of those bright yellow eyes. These birds radiate intelligence!

And, in fact, studies that have been done on these birds reveal that they are adept at problem solving (even from a human point of view).

For example, the Grackles problem-solving power was tested by posing glass cylinders full of water with bits of food floating just outside the birds reach. To grab the morsels, the birds had to drop in pebbles to raise the water levels. After a number of trials most of the Grackles figured out that dropping pebbles into the water raised the water level so they could feed. They also learned that it was usually more efficient to use heavy pebbles to reach the snack, but if provided with too large stones the birds turned back to small pebbles to reach their goal.

Another test done had even more dramatic results. Silver and gold tubes of food were presented to the grackles but only the gold tubes had peanuts and bread in them. The Grackles immediately chose the gold tubes, but when the food was placed in silver tubes the birds instantly chose them. These tests reveal not only problem solving ability but also the birds’ flexibility in terms of learning.

Its important to note that Grackles outperformed three species in the crow family (Corvids).
This desert-adapted bird doesn’t need much beyond food, trees, water, and its own wits for survival. Once confined to Central America, the species began moving north 200 years ago, and now covers an immense region from northwestern Venezuela up to southern Canada. In 1900, the northern limits of its range barely extended into Texas; by the end of the century it had nested in at least 14 states and was reported in 21 states and 3 Canadian provinces. This explosive growth occurred mainly after 1960 and coincided with human-induced habitat changes such as irrigation and urbanization.

Where people have gone, Great-tailed Grackles have followed: you can find them in both agricultural and urban settings from sea level to 7,500 feet that provide open foraging areas, a water source, and trees or hedgerows. In rural areas, look for grackles pecking for seeds in feedlots, farmyards, and newly planted fields, and following tractors to feed on flying insects and exposed worms. In town, grackles forage in parks, neighborhood lawns, and at dumps. More natural habitats include chaparral and second-growth forest.

Great-tailed Grackles are loud, social birds that can form flocks numbering in the tens of thousands. Each morning small groups disperse to feed in open fields and urban areas, often foraging with cowbirds and other blackbirds, then return to roosting sites at dusk. This evening routine includes a nonstop cacophony of whistles, squeals, and rattles as birds settle in for the night.

As near as I can tell Grackles forage almost anywhere and will eat almost anything. What this says to me is that these kinds of birds have learned to co – habit with humans in very ingenious ways that must include being able to deal with pesticides.

During the last month (March) I have noted that there are fewer Grackles hanging around the parking lot. One reason for this absence may be that during the day some birds are moving into more rural areas to feed. In addition to country foraging and prior to actual nesting, both males and females begin to collect material for the nest site about four weeks before actual breeding begins in April.

Nesting occurs in colonies of a few to thousands, with the nests often placed close together. The actual nest construction is done after this period of “gathering,” which although not mentioned in any of the sources I consulted, must be related to the mating process.  The females choose the nest site, and often “borrow” nest-building materials from other females. The nest is made of grass, twigs, reeds, and mud and is woven by the female in about 5 days in a tree, shrub, or hidden in marshland vegetation placed anywhere from 3 to 30 feet off the ground or water. Nest size varies from four inches across to 13 inches deep.

The female will lay 4 to 7 eggs that are pale greenish brown with blotches. The young are ready to fledge in a month. Mother is responsible for brooding and feeding. During this period some male Grackles may guard the nest while the female forages. In contrast some others may pair with a second female during this time leaving the female to manage on her own.

Curiously, fewer male than female nestlings survive. Adult male survival may also be lower than adult female survival, which would result in a female-biased adult sex ratio.

Although there is considerable overlap in the distribution of the three species, the Common Grackle occurs throughout the eastern United States and Canada, the Great-tailed Grackle is found in the Midwest and south/western United States, and the Boat-tailed Grackle is confined to Florida and coastal areas of the Gulf states and the eastern United States.

The Grackle is protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, which as far as I can tell, means practically nothing. People routinely haze, shoot, or use pesticides to eliminate these birds but their numbers continue to increase. In this time of great uncertainty due to Climate Change and continued overuse of lethal pesticides I can’t help but feel reassured that some non – human species will survive, and whenever I spend time with the Walmart birds I feel flickers of hope rising. I am already looking forward to seeing the Great Tailed Grackles once again flooding the Walmart parking in Espanola by the middle of May.

We are approaching the spring equinox, historically one of my favorite times of year. The wheel is turning as the sun’s light grows more brilliant and the sunrise occurs further to the northeast. The night sky is sparkling with cracked stars. Venus shines low in the east… The other notable change is that here anyway, a pair of White - winged doves are starting to sing at dawn. I can also hear other dove songs in the distance. When the couple retires to the Russian olive after feasting on cracked corn, Lily b, my African (European) Collared dove peers out at them. The melodious “who who who hoooh” sound or one of its variations (depending on the species) is music to our ears.
 
My love affair with doves began when I was a child. I used to draw and paint stylized white doves on scraps of paper after watching them flutter to the ground to feed outside my grandmother’s window. As an adult I often had a hundred (Mourning) doves feeding on seed that I scattered outside my back door. At a Jungian conference in Assisi, Italy in the 80’s I was serenaded from dawn to dusk by thousands of doves and pigeons including pure white doves.
 
When my father died suddenly, soon after one of these trips, a white dove appeared with the Mourning doves and stayed around for exactly one day before disappearing as mysteriously as s/he came. That same night my father’s brother, my uncle, bit into a tiny stone dove that was hidden in his pasta; that white dove - stone remains on his son’s mantelpiece to this day. I didn’t know until recently that the white dove is a Ring neck dove mutation.
 
The spring after my father’s death I acquired a dove of my own, an African collared dove who is closely related to the European Collared/Ring neck and White winged doves who live around here. Lily b has been a free flying house bird for 28 years. He has traveled back and forth across country a few times in the back of the car always without a cage. He has also made a number of excursions into the wild but he always returns by his own volition. He has also survived three mates, two of which lived a normal life span of 8-10 years like our wild doves do here…
 
Like me, Lily b does a lot of bird watching. He spends most mornings these days perched on a basket or windowsill peering out at the White winged doves. The White winged doves do not favor Lily’s company as he discovered while flying around outdoors one morning early last summer. He had been enjoying a sun bath on the open porch before making a brief foray into the trees. Undaunted, Lily continues to converse with his avian relatives with great enthusiasm. Lily b is a very democratic bird!
 
White winged Doves live in dense, thorny forests, streamside woodlands, deserts full of cactus and, more recently, urban and suburban areas of the southern U.S. They tend to breed in the interiors of forests rather than near the edges. White-winged doves now breed as far north as Oklahoma so the species is moving northward and the breeding range extends south to Panama and east to Cuba. Wherever they range White winged doves prefer places where nesting habitat is interspersed with feeding habitat, like grain fields or desert cactus communities. In the winter, White-winged doves are found throughout most of their breeding range as well as in the southeastern United States, and some individuals wander widely across the continent.
The White-Winged dove eats mostly grains and other agricultural crops like wheat, sunflower, milo, corn, and safflower. They also eat fruits and large seeds and seem predisposed toward large seeds perhaps because of their large bills.
​
 In some desert areas this dove often feeds on the fruits of cactus, and visits their flowers for nectar. White winged doves are important pollinators of the giant saguaro cactus, a fact that fascinates me because I don’t think of doves as pollinators. They also commonly feed above ground level on berries and raised bird feeders although they won’t feed on my porch; I have to throw corn over the railing. Like many birds, these doves consume small stones and sand to help with digestion. They also eat snails as a protein source and bone fragments for calcium.

Males choose the nesting territory while the females select the specific nest site, preferring a protected tree branch located in the shade. They gravitate towards woodlands, particularly along streams. Around here during the summer they prefer the Cottonwoods.

The male gathers twigs and brings them to the female, who constructs the nest over a couple of days. Made mostly of sticks, the nest also may have weeds, grasses or mosses arranged in a flimsy bowl about 4 inches across. Doves in general are very casual nest builders and nests rarely survive one season. Although the rule is that two white eggs are laid and gestated for about three weeks these doves may have a couple of broods a year.

White winged Doves walk along tree branches and on the ground; they fly in a swift and straight path. Courting and nesting males will occasionally strike bills and slap wings with each other, but they mostly defend their perches and nests by using an aggressive call or flailing their wings and tail. Males perform courtship flights, spiraling up into the sky and then back to the branch they started from in a stiff-winged glide. They also bow, puff up their necks, or fan their tails to entice females to mate; White winged Doves are monogamous. When a predator comes to call they may feign a broken wing to lead the intruder away.

 By far the most dangerous predator to these doves is man and in this part of the Southwest White winged doves were hunted almost to extinction. Today their overall populations are still declining because of habitat loss.

I was surprised to read that most of those nesting in the Southwest move south in fall because we seem to have a stable, though modest year round population, perhaps because we feed our birds or, more likely, because of Climate Change. Migration, when it occurs, is early in both seasons, most birds arriving by March and leaving in September.
Each year I am on alert for the first coos from the local population of doves because for me they usher one of nature’s certainties, namely that spring is on the way even if snow or silver frost covers the grasses in the field. The flutter of dove wings and melodious cooing creates a symphony I wouldn’t want to live without. Lily b and I find a deep pleasure in each moment that these birds grace our yard.

We know from fossilized records that the Sandhill Cranes are one of oldest birds in the world, and have been in their present form for 10, 30, or 60 million years (depending on the source). They have apparently maintained a family and community structure that allows them to live together peacefully and migrate by the thousands along Nebraska’s central flyway twice a year.
Sandhill Cranes mate for life, and in the spring the adults engage in a complex “dance” with one another. During mating, pairs vocalize in a behavior known as "unison calling." They throw their heads back and unleash a passionate duet—an extended litany of coordinated song. Cranes also dance, run, leap high in the air and otherwise cavort around—not only during mating, but all year long (Even young birds dance and throw sticks and grasses into the air while jumping around enthusiastically).

In their northern habitat, the female lays two eggs a year in thick protected areas at the edge of reed filled marshes. Before nesting these birds “paint” their gray feathers with dull brown reeds and mud to reduce the possibility of being seen by a predator. Born a couple of days a part, the second chick rarely survives. The remaing fuzzy youngster that might make it through the first year stays with its parents for about three years before reaching sexual maturity and striking out on its own, but even then the adult stays within the parameters of its extended family, and it is these families that comprise the flocks of cranes that we see flying together. During migration, a multitude of these families travel together by the hundreds or thousands. There are no leaders and often it is possible to observe what looks like an unorganized random flock (but isn’t) or diagonal thread made up of cranes flying (up to thousands of feet) above the ground.
 
In every watery roosting place there are a few cranes that remain awake all night alerting their relatives to would be predators, and in fact I have been awakened during the night by crane warning cries that sound quite frantic and are higher pitched than normal. I think it’s significant that these very ancient birds have survived so long in their present form. Could it be because they understand the value of living in community, perhaps acting as models for humans who, for the most part, seem to have forgotten what genuine community might consist of? 
 
Most recently these birds have been a presence in my life since last November when they first arrived, I believed for a brief stopover, before moving south to places like the Bosque del Apache to spend the winter.
 
When I first came to New Mexico almost three years ago I was astonished and bewildered by their haunting collective cries even when I couldn’t see them which was most of the time during the same fall month…
 
This year the cranes not only stopped by but many decided to spend the winter here much to my great joy, perhaps a result of Climate Change which is shifting their migration patterns and created conditions like the extreme drought that dramatically lowered the level of Red Willow River over this last year.
 
My hypothesis is that the resulting shallow riffles (one of which just happens to be below my house) provided many cranes with the safety they needed to roost there all winter long. For three precious months I listened with awe and wonder to pre-dawn crane murmuring and on sunny mornings watched huge flocks of cranes take to the air with their haunting br-rilling cries. Every night I stood outside to listen to that same contented collective murmuring just before dark as the cranes settled in for the night.
 
When they are all talking to one another during the day (cranes need to be in constant contact with each other/family members) it is hard to distinguish one voice from another because listening to the whole is a symphonic masterpiece. But this winter I slowly learned to identity various cries by listening carefully to smaller groups as they took to the sky. The highest pitched voices belong to the youngsters, the lowest and most full-bodied calls come from the males, and the females speak in tongues from the middle.
 
Sandhill Cranes are omnivores and feed in wet meadows or in shallow marshes where plants grow out of the water during the warmer seasons. They prefer a diet of seeds and cultivated grains but also include berries, tubers, crayfish, frogs, small mammals, worms and insects. In the field next to me I think they fed on wild sunflower seeds and native grasses.
 
As previously mentioned Climate Change is shifting migration patterns. Some groups are now spending their entire lives in one place like Florida (these are endangered), others are no longer migrating further south than Tennessee, although they also fly north in the spring. It is unusual to have Cranes living in Northern New Mexico, although I understand from local fishermen that a few have occasionally remained here throughout the winter. I recently learned that Sandhill Cranes have even been observed in parts of Maine.
 
Their normal migration routes take them from Mexico as far northwest as (eastern) Siberia, into the Canadian Shield and Alaska to breed with one major stopover in Nebraska at the Platte River where 600,000 cranes meet to rest themselves for a month before making the last leg of their arduous and dangerous seasonal journey (another group that settles further northeast makes a stop in Mississippi). In the fall all northern populations will make the trip south for the winter because of inclement weather and lack of food, stopping again to rest and feed at the same places.

​New Mexico and Texas have the dubious distinction of being the first states to legalize Crane slaughter and now every state along their central flyway except Nebraska engages in spring and fall hunting. We can thank the state Fish and Wildlife organizations for “managing” the crane population by issuing licenses to kill these magnificent birds to bring in even more money when these organizations are already extremely well supported financially by the NRA and our taxpayer dollars. A Caveat to those that don’t know: All State Fish and Wildlife agencies, that purport to support wildlife have a deadly hidden agenda: to kill birds and animals at their discretion.
 
Although at present these birds appear to be maintaining a stable population the low survival rate of even one chick a year alerts us to the fact that uncertain survival rates and delayed reproduction factor into the difficulties inherent in crane conservation, and to that we must now add Climate Change – the ultimate unknown. It is prudent to recall that by conservative estimates we have already lost 50 percent of our non – human species.
 
When I first began to hear the Cranes I never imagined that I would start to see them or watch them make gracious descents into a neighboring field at all times of the day, every day for months. Watching them cup their six - foot wings, drop their long legs and spread their tails as they parachuted to the ground is a gift that I have never taken for granted. A solitary musical rolling rill, a haunting cry that raises the hair on my arms is a sound that now lives on in my mind and body.
 
Spring migration has begun and the largest aggregations of cranes are moving north. Some days the bowl of blue sky feels too empty, but some small flocks are still visible especially during the early morning and again at dusk. I noted the sudden loss of the largest flocks just before this last full moon and wondered if these birds also migrated at night. Further research confirmed that Sandhill Cranes sometimes do migrate after dark during the week before and after full moons.
 
A few days ago the Core of Engineers opened the dam raising the river - the protected riffles below my house disappeared, so during this last week in February I am without the morning joy of listening to nearby pre-dawn murmuring, but can still see and hear some Cranes flying by.  According to my friend Barbara R. some flocks are still at the Bosque del Apache, so hopefully we will be hearing their haunting cries as these last Cranes fly northward. It isn’t until April that all Sandhills reach the Platte River …
 
Pueblo people say that humans were once Cranes who lived in the clouds… they came to earth and danced for joy in the rain… Cranes also watched over ceremonies and remain a part of some Indigenous rituals today.  Additionally, Sandhills act as Guardians for the People easing transitions from life to death and beyond….
 
Cranes are Elders in every sense of the word, ancient relatives and they continue on, some adapting, others following scripts or patterns that stretch back to antiquity. The way they live, migrating out of seasonal necessity, returning to home - places, celebrating through community and song in life and death is a way of being that embodies flowing like a river… And for that, their magnificent beauty and inherent wisdom, I thank them.

​

Late in December I noticed one morning that my suet was covered with tiny little light gray birds that I had never seen before. About thirty clustered together almost like the way bats do. High pitched chirps, peeps, and chattering filled the air. All plumages of these little birds are similar; They have gray caps, blue-gray upper-parts, and white or buff colored under - parts.
 
I continued to be regaled by these little birds for about two months. They are now disappearing either because they are migrating elsewhere or in part because at least one hundred noisy evening grosbeaks have taken over the porch.
 
The Pygmy Nuthatch (Sitta pygmaea) is a tiny roundish songbird less than four inches long. They range from British Columbia, south through various ‘discontinuous’ parts of the northwest, Sierra Nevada range, southern Rockies and down to Mexico.

Pygmy nuthatches are amazing acrobats, clambering through the cottonwood branches; less often they creep along limbs or the trunk like bigger nuthatches. I can literally watch them for hours.

They are supposed to live almost exclusively in long-needled pine forests and are particularly closely associated with ponderosa pines. Their normal forest habitat includes stands of older, large trees, pines, oak, aspen maple and fir so what were they doing here? Since they depend upon cavities in old trees (snags) for roosting and nesting, Pygmy Nuthatches are most abundant in forests that have escaped heavy logging and snag removal. They range up to 10,000 feet in the California mountains, and even higher in Mexico.

Pygmy Nuthatches eat insects, other invertebrates and seeds. Here, besides the suet cakes they loved (a fact that this writer never found in print) they also feasted on both sunflower and mixed seeds.

During the breeding season they eat mostly arthropods—including beetles, wasps, ants, bugs, caterpillars, and spiders—by probing cracks, scaling off loose bark, and gleaning from needle clusters and cones. Pygmy Nuthatches cache seeds year-round by hammering them into crevices or under flakes of bark on the tree, saving them for later.

The male appears to take the lead in choosing a woodpecker hole or natural cavity as a nest site, usually in the trunk of a ponderosa pine or other long-needled pine, but sometimes in other species. Pygmy Nuthatches nest in live trees, dead trees, dead parts of live trees, and nest boxes.

Pygmy Nuthatches can excavate their own cavities, but often they just enlarge and adapt existing ones, creating irregular holes about 5–10 inches deep and 1–6 inches across. Both the male and the female, sometimes assisted by their offspring from previous years, help dig out the nest cavity and bring lining materials. In the bottom of the hole they build a nest cup of bark shreds, fine moss, grass, plant down, fur, wool, snakeskin, cocoons, and often feathers. They may also stuff similar materials in crevices within the cavity, helping to weatherproof the nest. The pair keeps lining the nest during egg-laying during which time 5 -9 eggs are laid. The nestlings fledge in about a month.

Pygmy Nuthatches are cooperative breeders: about one third of breeding pairs get help raising their young from 1–3 male relatives. These are often the breeding pair’s own sons from previous years; they help defend the nest and feed incubating females and chicks. To deter squirrels, Pygmy Nuthatches may sway threateningly from side to side or even cover the entrance with their bodies to make it less visible. In winter, multiple family groups join up to form large, chattering, highly social flocks that range over a foraging territory. These flocks also forage with other species including warblers, chickadees, bushtits, kinglets, woodpeckers, and juncos. This is exactly what happened here. In cold weather they seek out well-insulated cavities to spend the night. Pairs roost together and juveniles roost with their parents as part of larger groups.

Sometimes more than 150 individuals sleep in a single tree, stacked up in squares, triangles, diamonds, oblongs, or tiers of birds. They use controlled hypothermia to withstand cold winter nights, a strategy which no other North American bird species uses in combination with group-roosting in cavities. At dusk every evening I could see what looked like hundreds gathered in the single closest cottonwood tree to the porch. They always arrived to feed at dawn.

Because Pygmy Nuthatches have a tendency to move around in large groups it makes them difficult to count as I learned trying to figure out how many of these delightful little birds I had on my porch at one time. I put out two extra suet cakes to keep them happy!

Throughout the twentieth century, logging, grazing, and fire suppression converted many ponderosa pine forests into mosaics of differently aged trees and dense thickets. The Pygmy Nuthatch population has declined as a result, since the nuthatches rely on mature pines and standing dead trees for suitable nest sites and foraging habitat. No doubt the catastrophic decline of insect species has also taken a toll on these little birds. Forest managers could help Pygmy Nuthatches and a host of other birds that nest in cavities by allowing some dead trees to remain standing. People can help increase Pygmy Nuthatch abundance by installing nest boxes in disturbed forest, which can double the number of breeding pairs in an area. Though they’re useful for nesting during the breeding season, boxes are rarely used for year-round roosting.

Until this wild flock descended on me I had never even seen a Pygmy nuthatch before so I was particularly grateful to have them around for so long.
 

This morning I listened to great horned owls courting in the pre-dawn hours and the night before last I was awakened by a screech owl’s high pitched whinny. It’s also January, the month many owls are creating territorial space for breeding, so it’s no wonder that owls are on my mind.
 
The ‘who ho ho hoo hoo hoo’ courting call of the male – a sort of mild monochromatic whoohing - is a very pleasing sound while the haunting whinny of the female is impossible to mistake. The latter, the female’s call, awakened me in the middle of the night two nights ago, but I never heard a male respond. I give thanks every single day for living so close to water because owls are drawn to wetlands for hunting and I have a penchant for all owls.
 
My friend Andrew who lives in El Rito had a remarkable experience with a couple of western screech owls. In his own words, returning to his unfinished house after having been away all winter he writes,
 
 “The evening I got in, I set the mattress down on the floor of the kitchen and went to sleep.  I woke up and looked up at the beams and there they were!!  Two gorgeous creatures staring down at me.” 
 
The two little screech owls were perched on the rafters above him. Oh, I would have given anything to see what he saw! Although they left after his return, he can still hear them calling.
 
Eastern and Western screech owls are different but very similar species that overlap in the Rio Grande valley. They both have white undersides streaked with black (a cinnamon colored variation exists in the eastern species). Both have identical   ear tufts and black circles around their yellow eyes. Sometimes the tufts are raised and at other times they are barely visible. The females are larger than the males. Eastern and western screech owls are usually told apart by their bill color that is greenish gray for the eastern type and gray to black for the western owls.

The two owls also have slightly different calls with the western species sounding a bit more like a wail (though personally I cannot make a distinction between the two). To stay in contact, screech-owls use a short "double trill" call; when agitated, they make a barking sound. Another interesting vocalization occurs when Screech-Owls snap their bills when approached closely by a potential predator, or someone like me who is on the watch for owls all the time. Nestlings begin making this noise when they are about 8 days old. It is most definitely a defensive call.
 
Screech-Owls live mainly in forested habitats, especially in bands of deciduous trees along wetlands and canyons. Common trees include cottonwood, aspen, and other poplars, alder, water birch, oak, and maple. It is also possible to find Screech owls in suburbs, parks coastal areas, and in mountains up to about 6,000 feet in elevation (Andrew lives at 7000 feet).

Screech-Owls are carnivores. They eat mostly small mammals, though they also feast on birds, fish, amphibians, and invertebrates including scorpions. Their diet can vary tremendously from place to place and from season to season. Mammal prey includes pocket mice, deer-mice, grasshopper mice, shrews, wood -rats, kangaroo rats, as well as bats and rabbits. Invertebrates include insects, crayfish, worms, slugs, snails, and whip scorpions.

Like most owls Screech owls are sit-and-wait predators, perching inconspicuously on tree branches peering around for a meal. They also sometimes sit above creeks and rivers watching for crayfish to emerge from the shallows. They snatch invertebrates from foliage and catch flying insects in midair. They prey on bats leaving a roost.

Like many small owls (8 inches in length), Screech owls nest in tree cavities excavated by woodpeckers. They may also use naturally occurring cavities, such as those formed where branches have broken off a trunk. Occasionally, they nest in holes or crevices in cliffs and banks. Wherever the location, the male owl finds a suitable home, then calls or leads the female to it, sometimes by carrying an enticing prey item. A pair may use the same cavity for several years in a row.

The day after the November election I was walking down the road and was dumbfounded to find a solitary wing and talon of an owl that had not been there 10 minutes earlier. Because the Saw Whet was the first of the road - killed owls I found thirty years ago, I recognized the wing pattern immediately. A single talon remained with the wing. Some avian predator had perhaps dropped the owl and then devoured most of it in the brief time since I had passed by. Distressed, I gathered up the wing and talon and brought it home, spreading out the beautiful little feathers into a fan and tacked it to the wall as a way to honor all owls. Saw-whet owls are native to this continent and one of the smallest owl species in North America.

With the huge decline in bird species – a conservative estimate is that we have lost half of all our birds globally – it is not surprising that the Saw Whets have not escaped the ravages of Climate Change. They are listed as a “vulnerable” species, one notch down from endangered. Why is it that we don’t notice the diminishing of all species of birds unless we are especially attached to one? As a naturalist who can’t help but note the loss of so many non - human friends and feels such grief on a daily basis, I can’t wrap my mind around other people’s apparent indifference.

Because it is January and most owls are beginning courtship this is the time to begin listening for owl calls. A couple of weeks ago I heard the triple hoo down by the water and was delighted. This is the first time I have heard the Saw Whet owl in many years. These little owls used to be quite common but are disappearing from all their ranges as previously mentioned. Habitat loss is the most common reason given, but I suspect Climate Change may be affecting the populations as well. They prefer forested areas so raging southwest fires, so called “controlled burning” and extensive logging have destroyed many of the places where Saw Whets breed. Curiously, these owls can be found across southern Canada and the northern and western United States, as well as in Mexico but the pattern of their migration is unknown. They seem to prefer mature forest with an open under story for foraging, deciduous trees for nesting, dense conifers for roosting, and like having a river or stream nearby. Saw Whets winter in dense forest throughout their breeding range and across most of the United States. Normally they do not breed in the far southern states although New Mexico is home to some.

The Saw Whet owl has very sophisticated hearing due to having vertically asymmetrical ears and ear openings that are also a different shape. Because sound reaches the ears at a different time and is of different intensity, the Saw-Whet owl can very precisely localize its prey and can hunt by hearing alone.

Saw-whet Owls eat mostly small mammals, hunting them at night from a low perch along the forest edge. The most common prey are deer mice, shrews, moles, voles, crayfish and frogs and the young of larger animals. They also eat beetles, grasshoppers, moths, and other insects (the ubiquitous irresponsible use of pesticides is another reason they are disappearing). This tiny owl with yellow eyes and a catlike face is a fierce hunter who will save part of its prey for a second meal, and if it freezes, will use its incubation skills to defrost dinner! During migration, Saw Whets supplement their diet with birds.

Females probably choose the nest site, although males sometimes participate by perching in potential sites while giving their too-too-too call. Males provide nearly all of the food while females are incubating and brooding the young. Saw Whets prefer to nest in previously excavated holes - those of flickers or other woodpeckers provide wonderful homes. They gravitate to dead snags so please don’t cut yours down! They also use nest boxes, something my friend Barbara might consider.
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Saw-whets lay their 4 - 7 eggs on debris at the bottom of the cavity lined with woodchips, twigs, moss, grass, hair, and even small mammal bones. Nest holes may be 8–44 feet off the ground. The young fledge in about a month.

Some year-round resident males or pairs probably maintain territories throughout the year, but each year these owls apparently pair up with new mates (there is just so much we don’t know). Saw Whets are preyed on by larger raptors, including Eastern Screech-Owls, Spotted Owls, Great Horned Owls, Cooper’s Hawks, Broad-winged Hawks, and Peregrine Falcons. They roost during the day in thick conifers and are mobbed by crows, ravens and even flocks of songbirds. In my opinion, paying attention to all this commotion is probably the best way to discover where any owl is hiding.

If you are ever fortunate to meet a Saw Whet you are in for a treat because they are so cute! Because Saw Whets are strictly nocturnal they are seldom seen so it’s something of a mystery as to how I happened to come upon one during the day, even a dead one.  

My grandmother fed the crows every afternoon and I can remember their cries of anticipation as she walked out into the field with a pail full of scraps. After my grandmother’s death, it was many years before my mother began feeding her crows. But after she started she often remarked that she heard them say, “Oh here she comes!”  
 
Up until recently I didn’t know why my grandmother and mother had a penchant for crows – I wish I had asked. But my neighbor Rose in Maine has been feeding her crows for ten years, and a month ago when I learned that all of her crows had been shot by hunters on her own land, I was enraged by this injustice. Rose loved her crows; She was devastated.
 
First, I discussed the problem with Raven who was perched in a cottonwood tree outside my door. He listened intently to my plea for help while peering down at me with one beady eye.
 
Normally, I do not have crows around here so ten minutes later when a “murder of crows” appeared screaming over my head as I walked down to the river I knew the raven had passed on the message. I repeated the story to the screeching crows asking that they inform other crows in Rose’s neighborhood that she was in crow mourning. Would they consider asking others to visit her? I took their collective cries as a yes.
 
Returning to the house I was stunned to see another cluster of crows perched in one tree engaged in raucous conversation with at least 4 magpies that had joined them. The raven had been joined by its mate (A bevy of crows, two ravens and four magpies stayed around the house for 3 days).
 
Convinced that I had been heard, and that something would come of it, I immediately emailed Rose telling her not to give up, to keep leaving scraps outside, and to begin to “call” new crows into her yard. She was skeptical, but did as I asked. As a personal thank you I began to leave tasty tidbits for the crows, ravens, magpies around here. 
 
One week later Rose had seven new crows to feed, and as of this writing, crows continue to return! The skeptic will immediately counter the obvious with westernized logic: namely that the crows returned by coincidence, or because at my request, Rose continued to leave food out for them. There’s one major flaw in this thinking: Crows routinely demonstrate to researchers that once one of them has been killed the rest will avoid a favored feeding area for up to two years. “Something” intervened to reverse this normal crow behavior, allowing the crows to return, and I believe it had everything to do with interspecies communication.
 
Armed with the knowledge that birds and animals can communicate telepathically through space/time, I never doubted that help would come. If one understands as I do that telepathy is a biological survival strategy that allows animals to stay in touch when they are separated then it isn’t a stretch to believe that these crows communicated with their Maine relatives. (Please go to biologist/plant physicist/author Rupert Sheldrake’s site to learn more about the extensive research that has been done on telepathy in animals - https://www.sheldrake.org).
 


I think I just heard the cawing of a murder of crows…

As a young child I remember going to tree farms to choose the beloved Christmas tree of the year. The fragrant scent of balsam was the last gift the annual  tree gifted us with as her needles dried, turned brown and dropped. I always remember feeling so sad that the tree was left to die after lighting up the house with luminous white lights.
 
When I married and moved to Monhegan Island, ten miles off the cost of Maine, I cut down my own Christmas tree in the forest. Since we had no electricity the tree was festooned with candles and homemade ornaments – I can still recall how beautiful that first tree was, and after Christmas I couldn’t bare to throw it out so I made all kinds of bird treats and placed them on the tree outdoors, a tradition I continued until the day came when I couldn’t stand to cut one more tree to the ground…
 
At this point the first live tree, the Norfolk Island Pine, came to live with us. With a profound sense of relief flooding me, my new friend also became our Christmas tree, a tree that lived on long after the season ended. I didn’t miss the scent of balsam because I continued to go into the forest every year to tip boughs for at least three wreaths – one for outdoors, the other two to use in the house (proper tipping actually encourages new growth). I was astonished and delighted by the tree’s beautiful weeping branches and straight trunk, although I was a bit astounded at how fast she grew. I loved that tree and was also so grateful because she had solved the problem of tree slaughter for me.
 
When I first began celebrating the winter solstice after my children were in late adolescence, the tree complied quite happily. I still had my grandmother’s miniature white lights that always stayed cool when lit, so every year she continued to light up the night … I now understood because of my academic study of world mythology, that for me, this indoor tree embodied so much more than the season’s turning – She was the “Tree of Life.” No wonder I had such difficulty chopping down and throwing out trees, year after year.
 
When I moved from the coast to the western mountains of Maine that tree went with me. She was getting too big for me to lift, and I had to get help re –potting her. In the summer she loved being outdoors, although the first year I gave her a sunburn by accident. I discovered she preferred the north side of the house.
 
Divorced, with absentee adult children I continued to drape her with lights for each winter solstice until the year my grandmother’s lights stopped working. After that I stopped because I was afraid the new hot lights would stress the pine and burn her needles. Instead I placed small animals and birds amongst tree branches and hung crystals from her boughs.
 
Most exciting to me this year is that my Norfolk Island Pine (who is actually a small forest of trees that friend Iren gave me) has chosen to sprout new growth in the fall instead of last spring/summer. I can’t get over this lush winter growth spurt because like all trees the pine normally rests in low winter light. I have never had this happen before. The edges of my tree’s fronds are deep emerald green and bushy green sprouts top each tree in the miniature forest. My bond with her/them runs deep, like a great underground river of song. I mist her every morning, touch her fronds and talk to her. With long starry nights upon us I have ringed her base with lights as I celebrate the joy of loving all trees even as the trees outdoors slip into their winter sleep…
 
A few words about the natural history of this tree:

This morning in the eastern pre-dawn glow I watched the Sand hill Cranes drift out of the pale blue, curved bow shaped gray wings and long extended feet touching bare ground. I felt privileged once again to witness this most gracious of descents. Their haunting cries strike a note like no other, leaving wonder in their wake…
 
To begin this day with roses in the sky, the appearance of these birds, followed by a luminous sunrise was a gift that transported me back to the Bosque del Apache where I witnessed these birds as individuals and as huge flocks soaring over my head by the hundreds, their long graceful necks and heads, full bodies and great gray outstretched wings responding to some collective cue that determined their immediate direction.
 
What struck me forcibly was how these birds interact intimately, as individuals and as a group. My first moments at the Bosque were spent at one of the ponds where I was able to listen to individuals calling out to each other from at least four directions while being answered by those on the water, long before small groups appeared on the horizon to join the twelve in front of me. Their individual conversation is as astonishingly musical, and so constant that I am left marveling over what these exchanges might mean…
 
Collectively, these ancient (possibly 100 million year old) birds do not exhibit any particular flight pattern as they fly in pairs or groups from one feeding place to another on the sedge covered, cattail tipped, rust colored marshes, but then most will winter here until spring migration calls them home to the North…
 
The Snow geese were another matter entirely. Whenever they took flight they did so en masse and to see hundreds – even thousands of these birds circling in the air a number of times before deciding upon a direction – pure white feathers against an azure sky – was bewildering, almost beyond comprehension.
 
The “bird woman” in me has never had an experience that could compare with visiting this Refuge. I spent the entire time in a state of mind-body awe. The location is astonishing – great brown reptilian dragons stretched across the plains – a cobalt dome arced overhead - apparently endless marshlands mirrored deep sky. Add to this three hundred species of birds some of which were hiding in the reeds like the black crowned heron, bittern, killdeer, or the numerous species of ducks - pintails, shovelers, mallards, - that were bobbing up and down in the water. Some crowded together in the trees like the quail and white winged doves. Raptors like the Northern Harrier and Cooper’s hawk soared. A bald headed eagle flew across the marsh forcing an entire flock of geese into the air. Redwings fed at feeders placed outdoors at the visitor center. Mule Deer paused to gaze as they crossed the road… Coming here highlights the perception that bird/animal watching is one of the great miracles of life.
 
Before the trip I asked myself what was most important to me about this upcoming adventure into bird - land. I could answer this question with ease: Being fully present for the experience. Armed with the knowledge that my good camera and binoculars would interfere, I wisely left both behind. I took my IPhone to snap a few quick pictures.
 
In retrospect I am even more grateful than I could have imagined about making this choice because I carry the sight and sounds of this ‘Vision of the Bosque Birds’ in my body and mind on a level that allows me to return without effort to the Refuge, a place where time ceases to exist.
 
This morning the appearance of the Sand hill cranes was the trigger, but I note that almost any natural occurrence acts as a pathway to the all the birds at the Bosque - the willows that have turned deep rose with the first frost, the first bird song of the day, or the daily appearance of my beautiful suet loving flickers are a few examples.
 
In a very real sense some part of me found a home at the Bosque del Apache, and remains there with my avian friends; a woman with wings who takes to the air as a new dawn draws near…

When I moved into my house last June I immediately made friends with a few sagebrush lizards that were already living here. A mated pair lived on the south wall, two more moved in after the garden wall was built, though I was never sure they were a couple, and one male used the compost bin as his lair as soon as that structure was completed. A female appeared a few weeks later to join the wily compost lizard who had a steady supply of insects at his front door! After I dug my toad pool the compost couple could often be found basking on the stones until mid –morning when they returned outback to their fragrant rotting heap.
 
Every morning and evening when I went out to water the two that lived on the south wall joined me. I named these two the “house lizards” because unlike the others these two were always around and their interest in my behavior was unmistakable. I greeted them with great enthusiasm each day and often both would bow to the sound of my voice.
 
 Lizards court in May and June. Although I knew that bowing and shuddering were part of sagebrush lizard mating rituals, the literature states that only males used this device to attract a female. Both house lizards used this form of greeting to respond to me all summer until they finally disappeared for good about a week ago (end of October). The others used this gesture on occasion to acknowlege my inquiry into their well - being. Obviously, lizard bowing has more than one function.
 
 Sagebrush lizards are supposed to be very territorial, especially during mating season with the male having more than one partner but my observations indicate otherwise.
 
The sagebrush lizard is typically smaller than other lizards – about five inches or less in length. In appearance, sagebrush lizards are grey, brown or olive, with hints of blue or green. Females have white or yellow bellies, and males have distinctive cobalt blue patches on the abdomen and throat, although the throat patch can be absent. During the breeding season, males may develop orange breeding colors (mine did not). Young lizards look similar to adults, but lack the stunning iridescent blue markings.
 
The point I want to make is that it was very easy to distinguish each lizard by its distinct markings and within about two weeks I could identify all my lizards by sight. None of the six lizards had other mates and each pair occupied the same niche all summer until August when one of the garden wall lizards disappeared. None of these lizards seemed territorial unless the territory consisted of living on one particular wall, and the compost lizards moved from the front of the house to the back sometimes passing within inches of the house and garden wall lizards without ever being harassed.
 
 I knew that after mating 8 – 10 eggs would probably be deposited under nearby brush. These would hatch in approximately two months into baby lizards less than an inch long. I had high hopes for my house lizards, imagining a baby lizard clinging from my adobe wall around the beginning of September!
 
I couldn’t get over the discrepancy between the sheer numbers of very common whiptails that raced around the grassland around my feet and the very few sagebrush lizards that lived here until I read that sagebrush lizards were suffering a severe loss of habitat due to agriculture, intensive grazing, and oil developments in western states. Aerial spraying of insecticides has decimated many insect populations, including ants, beetles, grasshoppers, flies, butterflies and spiders. (To my absolute horror I discovered that ant poison had been deposited outside the south door before I moved in here but it was removed when I expressed how lethal this poison was for my dogs). As soon as I arrived I planted a hummingbird garden to attract bees and other insects and soon ants were scurrying about so I think the house lizards had plenty to eat.
​
During the intolerable heat the house lizards spent their time clinging to the wall under my vining nasturtium patch, the garden wall lizards hugged the underside of a big piece of rounded cottonwood, and the compost lizards simply disappeared down under. All would re- appear when I did late in the day. These lizards are strictly diurnal and do not migrate although they may travel to lay eggs or to seek shelter during the cold.

Lizards are not active during winter; they enter a state of dormancy called brumation, which is not the same as hibernation. With both, metabolic processes slow down, but with brumation the lizards alternate dormancy with activity. They need to drink water to avoid dehydration. Lizards build up a high level of glycogen (sugar) that can be used for muscle activity. They also need less oxygen to breathe and this is a good thing because some dig holes in mud where oxygen levels are lower. Others  hide underground in old burrows, in rock crevices,  or under leaves. I love knowing that my lizards will still be around even if I don’t see them.

On September 11th I noticed what looked like a weird bug on one of my southern screens. Imagine my joy when I went outdoors to investigate and discovered that what I was seeing was a baby lizard (about ¾ of an inch). Just below him, (I believe - no evidence for this parental relationship/concern in any literature anywhere but I don’t subscribe to coincidence) his proud parents basked on the windowsill. Most literature states that baby lizards immediately seek their own territory but this one did not. He and his parents continued to stay together until the adults finally disappeared about a week ago, the last adults to seek shelter. I am pretty sure they are hiding in my woodpile on the porch.

Baby lizard is still out and about as I write this story. Totally by accident I created a perfect winter lizard abode when I recently built my little half moon rock garden on the south wall.
After finding baby lizard in the house one morning and fearing mishap I placed him in the new half moon garden with a bowl of water and he has lived there ever since! A couple of days ago a new adolescent compost lizard that arrived late last month moved into the moon garden just after shedding his last skin so now there are two living in this protected rock lined space
I am already anticipating lizard emergence in the spring  wondering what new knowledge and insight I will gain as this enthusiastic naturalist observes and renews old friendships…