When you're
working in
an ecosystem
day after day,
many animals
get kind of used to you.
They treat you
as they would a deer.
In other words,
they don't pay
much attention.
But Lisa Culp
found this yellowthroat
to be following her around.
Was it trying
to be friendly?
Lisa is a steward
to Somme's
important population
of the federal endangered
prairie white-fringed orchid.
You can see the orchid
in bloom
inside the cage here.
(For more on our efforts
to conserve this plant,
check out our blog
"Leave Nature Alone?"
from September 2012.)
For weeks,
the intrepid Lisa
has spent long hours
of slow, detailed work
in many of Somme's
yellowthroat territories,
caging, pollinating,
and monitoring
this extremely rare plant.
In all this time,
no yellowthroat
has talked to her,
followed her,
and stuck with her
as did the little character
shown in these photos.
What's with this bird?
The yellowthroat
is a warbler that is
seen and heard daily
in all three
of the Somme preserves.
It's easiest to find
by listening for its song "Witchity Witchity Witchity Witchity Witch!"
It sings off and on
all day long,
most often in the early morning.
When you hear that song,
watch for movement
in the vegetation
and train your binoculars
on the first thing that moves.
Look for the
bright yellow throat,
of course,
topped off by a black mask
with a gray highlight above it. Note the thin, pointed bill.
It's busy and curious,
though normally
a bit nervous and shy.
One rewarding angle
of yellowthroat watching
is that it forages
among the rare prairie
and savanna wildflowers
that we have come
to learn and love.
As it hops and flits
from plant to plant,
once you've learned to
recognize them at a glance,
the bird puts its little spotlight
on species after species.
Here it's on
a bud-covered stem
of "gayfeather"
or "marsh blazing star."
In a couple of weeks
this stalk will be a magic wand
of brilliant pink-purple.
The yellowthroat treats it
as just a landing pad
and opportunity to find
bugs to eat.
Here's "the bandit"
(a pet name for the
masked yellowthroat)
in the middle of
a wild quinine plant.
Like the blazing star,
wild quinine was absent
from most of Somme
before we started gathering
and broadcasting
its seed.
One time we found a big and beautiful moth that hung out on this flower. We wondered
if it was specially adapted to it. We never saw it again.
It is fun and a challenge
to learn to recognize
all these rare flowers and seeds, and their animals
and to be good stewards of them - to restore their diversity
and health.
We are inspired
to think about the discoveries we haven't made yet -
to imagine we'll find
that moth again some time,
and photograph it, and study -
and who knows what surprises we'll uncover?
Here the bandit perches
on a dried stalk
of saw-toothed sunflower.
The dead stalk reminds us
of last year.
Ripening seeds
remind us of next year.
Each element
that the yellowthroat spotlights
reminds us of another facet
of the complexity that we find
so compelling
about this intimacy
with our ecosystem.
In many of Lisa's photos,
the bandit is balling her out.
Does this guy follow Lisa
because his babies are nearby?
It's likely.
Many birds chirp
for all they're worth
when a big mammal
comes near nest or babies.
This time of year,
the chicks may be scattered
over quite a distance.
But each one deserves
to be protected.
He is bold in defense
of his babies.
Here he balls out Lisa
from the stalk
of the rough blazing star.
This species blooms much later
than "gayfeather."
By then
the un-masked
and subtly-colored
female yellowthroat
and her masked male partner
will likely be working
on their second
nest and family.
Yellowthroats
feed the chicks
for a longer time
than most warblers.
They'll likely
still be feeding
and protecting
the next generation
when they start
to migrate toward
the Caribbean islands
or Central America in fall.
Here's a clue.
When they ball you out
with a bill full of food,
they're definitely wanting
to feed their babies.
"Get out of here," he chirps.
"I want to feed the kids,
but I sure don't want
to show you where they are.
Go! Scat!" he says,
as best he can.
When he comes this close,
it feels like he's being friendly. But it may be
the opposite.
In her note that accompanied these great photos, Lisa wrote, "I didn't follow him ... he followed me." I know the feeling. We enjoy their presence so much that it's hard to say good-bye, though both the bird and I are relieved when an encounter like this ends.
Finally,
Lisa's work
moved her away,
and the bandit
stayed behind.
What a pleasure,
to be able to share
these sweet intimacies
with the blogosphere.
Thank you,
computer geniuses.
Thank you, America.
Thank you,
Forest Preserve District
of Cook County.
Thank you, Lisa,
for capturing
all this richness.
Thank you, little bandit.
And thanks
to everyone who
comments on this blog,
or passes it along to others,
or just appreciates it.
It's nice to share with you.
5 comments:
It is so beautiful! The bird is cute, the story is wonderful....
I read it with a big smile. Each of your stories and photos are so appreciated by me, Lisa and Steve! Thank you for sharing this and educating me about a lot of things. :)
Thanks, Lisa, for sharing your photos! They're beautiful!
Stephen, this blog post was sublime! The writing was customarily entertaining and educational, but in this post the naming of your gratitudes generated a kind of 360-degree spirituality, connecting all with all.
The timing of this post couldn't be more perfect as the yellowthroat that has called our backyard home for the last two seasons was perched right outside the laundry room yesterday, singing his little heart out. I know that it seems to be a strange habitat for this little guy but something has brought him here- and kept him here- for two years. These photos and text are magnificent and, with permission, I'd like to post the link to IBET. I think it would be a big hit!
Judy,
Yes, by all means, feel free to post on IBET. That would be a great group to read it. IBET participants might also be interested in "The Evil of Cowbirds," "Love Among the Nuthatches," and other "bird blogs" here.
Stephen
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