A "weedy" yard

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

A big patch of Common Blue Violet (Viola sororia) brightens my backyard. The white flowers sprinkled throughout are a form of this species known as the Confederate Violet (V. sororia forma priceana). I have encouraged violet proliferation by just not mowing them off while in flower, so they can set fruit. It's worked well and I've got scores of purple jots brightening the turf grass that remains. How this native violet could be considered a "weed" is beyond me (although a "weed" is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose). Moreover, spraying toxic chemicals to destroy them, in favor of a flawless emerald blanket of nonnative turf grass is crazy, in my opinion.

I made this shot of this Northern Flicker (Colaptes auratus) last April in one of my violet patches. I've seen these woodpeckers in the violets a few times, and I suspect they are hunting ants. Ants are major dispersers of violet seeds, and ants are a major part of a flicker's diet. If having a "weedy" violet-filled lawn means flickers, I'll take it.

This scene is even cooler than the violet explosion, to me. This area is the back half of the backyard (roughly one-quarter to one-third of ALL my remaining "yard"), and not so long ago it was all nonnative turf grass. About four or five years ago, I noticed clumps of a native sedge called Common Wood Sedge (Carex blanda) popping up back here. This is one of our more opportunistic native sedges (there are a few nonnative sedges) and I don't know how it got started here. It may be that I tracked back seeds of the sedge from one of my forays. No matter, it is there, and I adjusted the mowing regime to accommodate it. I just waited until the fruit (perigynia, in sedge-speak) were fully ripe, and then mowed it. The mower broadcast the hard, bony seeds (achenes, in sedge-speak) all over the place, and it worked. Now, 90+% of this part of the "lawn" is now native sedge. That's all I did.

In this shot, the sedge is in full flower. The tannish-brown spikes sticking up everywhere are the staminate (male) flowers. The pistillate (female) flowers are lower on the plant. The sedges only reach four or five inches in height. Unless I learn otherwise, there is no reason to routinely mow this area anymore. The sedge is the perfect height, in my opinion. I'll probably just mow it once annualy, late in the season. At least that's my plan for now. I'm also going to transplant some of the sedges to other parts of the lawn and hopefully get the entire backyard to become a blanket of Common Wood Sedge, interspersed with other various native flora.

While the sedge lawn may, to some eyes, look a bit coarser than the manicured nonnative turf grass that we've been programmed to plant, manage, and cherish, I think the sedge lawn is a vast improvement. Another benefit is that invertebrate life forms have spiked tremendously. The sedge forms a duff layer that seems to be far more conducive to animal life than that of sterile turf grass. One barometer of success is the sheer number of fireflies displaying in summer. Last year they had expanded to the point of dazzling. It was like a laser light show back there. Viewing them from a second-story window reveals that the displaying beetles stay almost entirely over my backyard, with little drift into the neighbors' yards (most of them manage for turf monocultures). Firefly larvae are ground dwellers and predatory, feeding on various small animal life. I would say that the sedge supports vastly more of a duff layer food web, thus the huge spike in fireflies.

If you'd like to shrink your lawn, experimenting with Carex blanda might be worth a try. I haven't researched where one might obtain it, but I think some native plant nurseries carry it. Try googling "Carex blanda nursery" or something like that, and you should find some sources.

Large-flowered Bellwort, and some plant photography thoughts

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

A Large-flowered Bellwort (Uvularia grandiflora), a personal favorite spring wildflower. This plant was long placed in the lily family (Liliaceae), but taxonomic splits in that family have led to the bellworts being placed in the Colchicaceae family, and apparently now it's been shifted to the Convallariaceae family. Wherever we humans decide to place it in our organizational schemes, this is a superb-looking plant.

Shauna and I made an epic trip to southern Ohio last Saturday and saw many species of spring wildflowers. We were mostly in Adams and Scioto counties, where the spring flora comes on significantly earlier than here in central Ohio. We were pleased to encounter many flowering specimens of this bellwort species at the Chalet Nivale Preserve. I find bellworts photographically irresistible and the specimen in the photo was in a particularly good spot for clean imagery, other than being hard to reach.

Shauna snapped this shot of your narrator making the image of the bellwort in the previous photo. It is not far from the base of the limestone cliff, right at my eye level.

While macro lenses are often standard fare for wildflower photography, I went off the reservation for this one. One, that slope was slippery, and scrabbling into position to shoot the bellwort with my 100mm macro lens would have awkward and probably hard on the other plants emerging around the bellwort. So, I bolted the Canon 400 DO II lens to my R5 and attached the rig to my big tripod (A Gitzo, with Wimberly head). While I normally use that tripod and the big lenses for birds and other wildlife, I discovered a long time ago that the big lenses can be superb for plant photography.

With no disturbance to the habitat, using this rig allowed me to get my lens at eye level to the subject. Even though the bellwort was too far for macro photography, I could frame fill it with this lens. As the subject is vertically oriented, I rotated the lens within its collar for a vertical perspective. The position that I liked best put me just inside the minimum focusing distance of the lens, which is about 11 feet. So, I slipped on a 25mm extension tube, and that problem was solved. FYI, in case you aren't familiar with them, extension tubes are just short hollow tubes (no glass) that fit between the camera body and lens. They create a bit more distance between lens and camera which reduces the minimum focus distance. I would highly recommend getting tubes with electronic connectors, so that they don't kill your ability to autofocus.

Once positioning the camera was accomplished, it was time to shoot. Another enormous asset of large prime telephoto lenses is the gorgeous creamy bokeh (background) that they create. Even though that cliff wall wasn't very far behind the subject, the 400 DO obliterated it into a grayish-brown blur. I helped that by shooting at f/5.6. In general, wider apertures are better, in my opinion, for floral subjects. Even though the 400 opens to f/4, I decided I liked the slightly increased depth of field by stopping down one stop. The shutter speed was 1/60, plenty fast enough. But shutter speed is largely irrelevant in plant photography. I have shot multiple second exposures and achieved tack sharp results of wildflowers. As there was a bit of wind this day, I chose to use a slightly higher ISO than normal and set that to 400 so that my shutter speeds could be a little faster than they would be at my preferred ISO of 100 or 200.

Another way to help freeze movement would be the use of a flash. For me, that's almost unheard of with plants. I think flash generally imparts a harshness to the subject and its environs that looks bad. I can assure you, that had I used flash on the bellwort pictured above, it would not look like that, and the look would be worse. I know there are ways to mute lighting from flashes, and I have all manner of diffusers. And corrections can be made later through editing. Nonetheless, flash-free images just look much better to my eye.

To further assist in removing possible movement caused by me, I had the camera's shutter on two-second delay. I also have the R5 set so that a touch of the rear viewing screen will instantly focus the camera on the spot that you touched and automatically start the two second delay. So, I just tap the bellwort's flower in my back screen, move away from the rig, and the camera focuses on the flower, the camera starts beeping and two seconds later it takes the photo. There's no way that I can accidentally bump or otherwise jostle the rig.

Great Horned Owlet, and a favored food

 

A young, and still quite fuzzy, Great Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus). It was one of two owlets fledged from a nest in a small west-central Ohio woodlot. The stick nest that they were born in looked like an old Red-shouldered Hawk nest to me - not very large, and in the crotch of a large maple about three-quarters the way up the tree. About half of the Great Horned Owl nests in this region utilize the abandoned stick platform nests of raptors and herons, and the other half use natural tree cavities.

The bird in the photo was not long out of the nest but can already make short flights. Its nestmate was in a nearby tree, but much higher up. The female owl was not far off, either.

An Eastern Cottontail poses in a violet patch in my backyard yesterday. At least three bunnies call my yard home, and this one is the largest. He's the size of a small cat.

Great Horned Owls prey heavily on rabbits. I'm sure that the young owl in my photo has dined on rabbit on numerous occasions. The male owl brings most if not all food to the juveniles, with the female pitching in if need be.

Cottontails breed prolifically and one pair can raise scores of kits over a year's time. Most will not make it to the size of the chap above, though. Rabbits are high on the menu for a raft of predators, not just owls.

Years ago, I was trolling a gravel lane in the wee hours in the middle of nowhere in Pike County, Ohio, conducting owl surveys for the Ohio Breeding Bird Atlas. Rounding a bend in the road - at very slow speeds, fortunately - I came across a Great Horned Owl sitting in the middle of the lane, freshly caught cottontail in its talons. The owl was not pleased with my appearance, and if looks could kill I would not be writing this. Its rabbit victim was so large that the owl could not get off the ground with it, so the burly owl physically dragged the bunny to a nearby embankment and hauled its prey up that. I then idled by at close range and on down the road, leaving the winged tiger to its rabbit steak.

An American Robin hunts worms

 

An American Robin (Turdus migratorius) with a just-captured earthworm. 

Last week, Shauna and I traveled to the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area on a whirlwind trip. I was to give a talk (moths) to the Garden Club of Allegheny County on Thursday, so we headed over bright and early on Wednesday to photography waterfalls around the Ohiopyle area.

Upon arriving at our cabin late that day after a photo outing, there was an American Robin on the lawn. Whoop de doo, you might think - robins are one of the most abundant and widespread birds in North America. That's one of their allures, to me. I can go to the wildest northern Michigan forest, midwestern prairie remnants, local parks, urban cityscapes, my back yard, and there they are. The big thrushes are nothing if not adaptable.

But robins are much more than adaptable. The robust caroling song is beautiful and a near ever-present sound of nature. They're showy, too - so much so, that if robins were rare, everyone would go ape over them. Their stout nests are remarkable architectural achievements: an adobe cup that dries to the hardness of a China bowl, and its neatly reinforced with grasses and other vegetation. And the color of the eggs spawned the name of a color: robin's-egg blue.

Anyway, as we took a moment to watch the robin, it suddenly lunged and caught a worm. Cool! Said I, then noted that photographing an American Robin in the act of snagging a worm was still on my bucket list. As there were several robins hunting the lawns, Shauna suggested that I go try and check that item off the list, so I did.

A male American Robin looks and listens for invertebrate prey in the grass. When one freezes, lowers its head and cocks it slightly, action is about to ensue. The robin is using its sensitive ears to listen for worms and other prey, as well as watching with keen eyes.

Bingo! The robin pounces! It has its head way down in the grasses and is about to come up with a favored prey item. I'm not sure the bird could even see the victim and may have divined its location entirely by ear.

PHOTO NOTES: I made all of these images with my Canon R5 and 400 DO II lens. It was coupled to the Canon 1.4xII extender, giving me 560mm of reach. That was plenty. Robins are fairly tame to begin with, and after a while this bird became used to me, and I was typically within 30-50 feet of it. I was shooting wide-open at f/5.6 (without the extender, the lens would be an f/4 of course). As robins in the midst of attacking prey can move with astonishing speed, I used a shutter speed of 1/2500. And, as almost always is best with animals, I was at or near ground level for these shots, to be on my subject's level. And the camera was on electronic shutter mode at 20 frames a second, to capture all of the action.

Unlike the worm in the first image, this one is a monster "nightcrawler". Here, the robin has just seized it and is working to tug the worm from the burrow. While such a task is fast and easy with a tiny worm, it is tougher when a big worm is involved. When under attack, the worm can bunch the powerful muscles that form rings down its body and plug itself into the burrow. Furthermore, worms are beset with rows of external setae - short stiff hairs - that can also help in holding it in place.

The robin tugs with all of its might. The bird is actually off of the ground and leaping/pulling backward. There were a few near extractions like this, and the worm would manage to tug itself further back into the hole. Then the robin would yank harder and in fairly short order it had won the battle.

The worm separates from the ground with great force, as if someone had let go of the other end of a Slinky. Its body coils sinuously as the pressure is instantly released, and the robin had it down the hatch shortly thereafter.

It should be noted that all of the large earthworms in this part of the world, insofar as I know, are not native. They are native to Europe and Asia and were brought over by accident in shipping material such as soils associated with nursery plants. It didn't take long for them to spread far and wide and increase enormously in abundance.

It didn't take long for the clever and adaptable American Robin to learn about worms and make them a large part of its diet.

Fox Sparrows in the yard, and an upcoming sparrow program

 

A handsome rusty-red Fox Sparrow (Passerella iliaca) in the author's Worthington (Ohio) yard on April 4 of last year.

I am fortunate to get Fox Sparrows in the yard nearly every year, but until this winter they have always been migrants and short-term visitors.

Not this year. Two Fox Sparrows have been here since last October, and I see them daily - at least when I'm here to see them - up until the present. In recent weeks, one of them has begun singing and what a song it is. A loud slurry whistled aria, as if the bird had been drinking. But is still largely holding together the notes that comprise its beautiful melody. I walked out at dawn to feed everyone the other morning, and it was like stepping into the boreal forest. The Fox Sparrow was singing, as was a White-throated Sparrow, and a Dark-eyed Junco. At least a dozen of each of the latter two species have also been around all winter.

On March 29, I am giving a photo-rich talk about the Sparrows of Ohio at the Creating Living Landscapes Conference, sponsored by the Midwest Native Plant Society. It's at the Bergamo Center in Dayton, and the event features a fine slate of speakers on a diversity of topics. For full details and registration info, GO HERE. We would love to see you there!

Greater White-fronted Goose

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

Eleven Greater White-fronted Geese (Anser albifrons), along with a Canada Goose (Branta canadensis) forage on a grassy bank of a small lake. About 60 other "speckle-bellies", in hunter slang, where present, along with several hundred Canada Geese, four Ross's Geese (Anser rossii), and two Cackling Geese (Branta hutchinsii).

On February 23, Shauna and I ran down to a nearby pond in southwestern Franklin County (Ohio) to marvel over a flock of about 70 "Speckle-bellies". She had never seen this western species of goose, which was formerly a rare migrant in Ohio, but is becoming much more common. North American populations of this tundra breeder are increasing at an estimated 5% annually, and there are about 5 million Speckle-bellies globally.

A Greater White-fronted Goose drops to the ice for a nap, along with four of its compadres. The air temperature was quite brisk, in the low 20's F. Ice and cold are nothing to the hardy speckle-bellies and these are spring migrants, pushing north on the edge of ice-out.

Map courtesy of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology's Birds of the World monographs. I am a longtime subscriber, and if you are a student of birds, you should be, too.

Greater White-fronted Geese breed in Arctic regions over much of the globe, and the orange areas represent the breeding range. The speckle-bellies in my images have a long way to go. While there is no way to know exactly where they're headed - Alaska? northern Hudson Bay?, Nunavut? - one thing is clear: they still have a long haul ahead. It is about 1,500 miles to the nearest local that they might nest.

Birds that breed in such northerly latitudes are no strangers to frosty temperatures and icy conditions.

A handsome bird indeed, a Greater White-fronted Goose holds up a foot, enabling us to admire its orange legs. They match its bill quite nicely. We also see why the "speckle-belly" nickname arose. The formal name Greater White-fronted Goose stems from the bold ivory ring around the base of the bill. As the name implies, there is a Lesser White-fronted Goose (Anser erythropus).  It is a Eurasian species of more limited and scattered distribution, and at the risk of stepping into the subjective waters of beauty and what constitutes it, an even showier bird than the Greater White-fronted Goose. It breeds as far east as eastern Siberia - you know, the land that Sarah Palin could see from her house - but there are only two North American records: Attu, Alaska in the Aleutian chain in 2004, and 2013 on St. Paul Island, Alaska, in the Bering Sea (three years after I was there, darn it).

As noted in the first paragraph, Greater White-fronted Geese have increased greatly, both as migrants through Ohio, and in the overall range. A number of factors might account for this, including wetland restoration and increased foraging habitat on wintering grounds, better protection and stronger game laws, and the adaptability of certain large goose species, of which this is one.

Lake Erie waterfowl

 

The iconic Marblehead Lighthouse, near the eastern end of the Marblehead Peninsula. It is one of the most visited spots on Lake Erie.

On February 18, I traveled to Gates Mills, near Cleveland, to speak to the Cleveland Garden Club. This wonderful group has been in existence for 112 years! My subject was moths/conservation gardening. The temperatures were hardly mothy, though, but we were indoors so who cares.

But after that morning talk, I headed an hour and a half west, to the spot in the image above. A very rare (for Ohio) Barrow's Goldeneye (Bucephala islandica) had been present, and it was off the lighthouse up until about an hour before I arrived. It never reappeared during my time, but I am not a big lister/chaser anymore and have seen hundreds if not thousands of Barrow's Goldeneyes elsewhere, both on the east coast, and Alaska. Seeing it in Ohio would have been nice, but c'est la vie.

As always, click the image to enlarge

I was at least as interested - probably more so - in seeing the scads of waterfowl of at least ten species that had congregated on this part of the lake. It was a bit frosty, as the temps hovered around 12 F, and it was a gusty day with wind chills below zero. After nearly four hours of standing along the shore, I felt a little icy.

Enduring the cold was more than worth it. Perhaps 5,000 ducks were in the general area. In this group, most of the birds are Canvasbacks (Aythya valisineria), but Bufflehead (Bucephala albeola), Common Goldeneye (Bucephala clangula), Redhead (Aythya americana), Greater Scaup (Aythya marila) and Lesser Scaup (A. affinis) can be seen.

A quintet of drake Redheads wings past, with a hen amongst them and scads of fowl in the background. The toughness of these birds is incredible. Freezing air, strong winds, and water right at the edge of icing up doesn't faze them. In fact, the scores of common goldeneye drakes were busily courting the hens. This behavior is a true harbinger of spring, and if you've not seen goldeneye courting, it is a treat. The amorous drake throws his head back till it touches his tail, while emitting a loud squeaky buzz. Sometimes he'll kick his bright orange feet/legs from the water. There might be a half-dozen guys doing their aquatic break dancing for one hen, the latter of which seems to studiously ignore them (but she's not).

It was interesting to watch the group dynamics. At times, big flocks of ducks would fly/paddle across the water, barely getting airborne, and move a few hundred yards or so. I assume they were trying to stay over schools of fish such as Emerald Shiners (Notropis atherinoides).

A drake Greater Scaup flies over a duck-filled section of Lake Erie. A hen of the same species floats just to his right, and a drake Canvasback dozes in the rear. In the upper lefthand corner is a hen Common Goldeneye. Many Greater and Lesser Scaup were present, and it was a great opportunity to observe their differences. At first, the two scaup are confusingly similar. In flight, the extent of white on the wings is a good field mark, illustrated by this drake in flight. The white wing stripe extends well out into the primary flight feathers, while on the Lesser Scaup the white stripe is limited to the secondary flight feathers - the wing stripe is much shorter and less conspicuous.

The much hardier and more northerly breeding Greater Scaup is in general much scarcer in Ohio, with large numbers only occurring on Lake Erie in winter. During migration, especially in spring, Lesser Scaup can be abundant, and over 100,000 can accumulate on Maumee Bay near Toledo.

It won't be long, and these birds will have pushed on north and west. This was the first truly cold winter that we've had in a few years, and winter waterfowling on Lake Erie was great.