Why is this bird following me?

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.