Rufous Hummingbird and other vagrant hummingbirds

 

An adult female Rufous Hummingbird (Selasphorus rufus) perches atop her favorite perch. This species, a rare visitor to Ohio, was visiting a feeder at a home only 10-15 minutes from my house. On November 23, Shauna and I ran down to have a gander at the little beauty.

The hosts, Dan and Sally Carlstrom, were exceptionally gracious in allowing visitors. Probably 150 or more birders visited, and nearly all saw the bird.

Ohio's first record of Rufous Hummingbird dates to August 15, 1985, when a male appeared at the feeders of Midge and Perry Van Sickle in Westerville. It remained for three days and was seen by over 100 people, your narrator included. As is the case with all first state records, the hummingbird generated great excitement, but at that time, none of us knew what was in store.

Since that inaugural Rufous Hummingbird, dozens of other records have been documented. While still a rarity, one or two appear most years. An exceptional year was 2003, when over a dozen birds were reported. Many Ohio extralimital hummingbirds have been banded and thoroughly documented by hummingbird bander Allen Chartier of Michigan, the bird in the photo included. Right now in Ohio, there is a Ruby-throated type (possibly Black-chinned, banding should resolve that tricky identification), another Rufous Hummingbird (or Allen's, also hopefully to be resolved by banding), and our second state record Mexican Violetear (visitation by the public is not possible for this one).

The 1985 Rufous Hummingbird was the first non-Ruby-throated Hummingbird (our only breeding species) recorded in Ohio. Since then, five other species have turned up, making for seven hummingbird species for the state, and there will likely be more additions to the list.

While the advent of hummingbird feeders is often implicated in this increase, I don't think that we know with certainty that that's the cause. It may be that there have always been out-of-range hummingbirds, and their propensity for visiting feeders just brought them to light. Also, the horticultural industry has managed to produce many plants with flowers that produce blooms late into the year, and this may be a contributing factor in the eastward wandering of western hummingbird species - which all of our vagrants (with one exception) are. The exception is the Mexican Violetear (Colibri thalassinus), a species of southern Mexico and Central and South America.

Wayward birds such as these are often termed vagrants. That's not a good word for them, in my opinion. "Vagrant" means someone/something without a home, that idly wanders about. That's not the case with these hummingbirds. They have well-defined breeding and wintering grounds, and their seasonality in both is also well-defined, as is their migration. Furthermore, a number of so-called vagrant birds, including some hummingbirds, have returned to their "vagrant" haunts year after year. While no one knows exactly where they go for the breeding season (most extralimital hummingbirds turn up in late fall/early winter), for all we know they return to the breeding grounds, find a mate, and nest.

I wonder if they might be better termed "scouts". Virtually all populations of animals, especially highly mobile birds, are constantly expanding/contracting their ranges for a variety of reasons. And the former - expansion - can only occur if scouts are exploring beyond the normal range, in search of new inhabitable lands.

Two cool plants: Creeping Phlox and Twisted Sedge

As I may have mentioned in previous posts, I've been laboring away to eliminate a backlog of un-curated photos. Some date back to 2016. Most come from the spring/summer seasons, when sometimes I would return from trips with scads of images, but immediately get sucked into all manner of activities upon return. So, some folders would go into a to-be-archived folder. Fortunately, there's only about 50-60 such folders, but it's still a lot of work. I do keep current on archival of most photos, fortunately. I'm particular about how images are labeled and archived. All of mine are tagged with metadata that at a minimum includes species name, scientific name, county, state, date, and often more specific site names. Sometimes other short notes as well.

Once the images are labeled, they go onto the Cloud (good to have a storage facility completely removed from base camp, I think) and on two hard drives (duplicity is good). Careful labeling helps me find things fast, no matter when they were taken, and I can drum up about any photo I'm looking for quickly. But it isn't just about me. Having detailed metadata associated with images could be useful in the distant future. Who knows how long our digital photos could hang around, but it could be centuries or more. Someone stumbling across my images in the year 2225 could have a treasure trove of well-documented photos at a time when the earth might be very different than it currently is.

Anyway, one of the fun elements of this photo curation is revisiting sites through the images. Here are a few plants from a trip to Hocking County, Ohio on April 28, 2017. I include them here in part because I think that both would make good, interesting plants for home landscaping. While I'd think some nurseries would sell Creeping Phlox, so that one probably is accessible, I doubt if any nurseries carry Twisted Sedge.

This streambank along a small creek in Hocking County, Ohio is covered with a dense stand of Twisted Sedge (Carex torta). The sedge is densely rhizomatous, and its cord-like roots bind the unstable soil. Twisted Sedge is a pioneer species of newly exposed banks and gravel bars in riparian habitats, usually smaller streams like the one in the image.

Sedges in the genus Carex offer quite the potential buffet for the adventurous gardener. In Ohio alone, there are over 180 species, and Carex is probably the most speciose genus in all of the eastern states. Unfortunately, the vast majority of them have not been brought into captivity, and most never will.

As always, click the photo to enlarge

Here's the flowering/fruiting culm of Twisted Sedge. It's quite ornate. The long, skinny terminal spike is comprised of the staminate (male) flowers. The three bristly lower spikelets are the pistillate (female) flowers, now mostly developed into fruit. In Carex-speak, the fruit are known as perigynia. And in this case, the perigynia are exceptionally striking. Their lime-green coloration is punctuated by rich chocolate-brown scales.

Twisted Sedge favors shady environs, which could be a further asset for the landowner having trouble finding interesting natives for such places. I hope to get some of this sedge next year, and experiment with it on my property. My hunch is it'll be pretty easy to successfully grow.

This photo was made in nearly the same spot as the Twisted Sedge above. Indeed, the grassy-looking clumps along the steam banks is that sedge. But this is also habitat for one of our showiest phloxes. And all phloxes are showy.

We move in on some Creeping Phlox (Phlox stolonifera). This image illustrates the common name. The plant sends out stolons (basically small rhizomes on the ground's surface) that creep about. A colony will often have relatively few flowering spikes relative to the number of leafy stolons.

It is no coincidence that this phlox and the Twisted Sedge have similar growth habits. Life along the stream means scouring floods. Because of their anchoring rhizomes and stolons, Creeping Phlox and Twisted Sedge can hold their ground.

The gorgeous flowers of Creeping Phlox, but are not the flowers of ALL phloxes gorgeous?

In addition to providing aesthetic beauty, the flowers lure Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, hummingbird clearwing moths in the genus Hemaris,  swallowtail butterflies, and all manner of other insects.

Creeping Phlox reaches the northern limits of its range in Hocking County, Ohio, where I made these shots. To the east of Ohio, in more mountainous areas, it extends all of the way north to southern Maine.

With its propensity for shady haunts, Creeping Phlox might also make an interesting native plant for tough-to-grow places.

Three special understory warblers

I recently ran across the following images while doing archival and curation of my photos. All of them were made at the same locations and on the same day, May 1, 2022. The site was a remote locale in the Monongahela National Forest of West Virginia.

A Hooded Warbler (Setophaga citrina) tees up in a fascicle of Great Rhododendron (Rhododendron maximum) leaves. This site was quite warbliferous and I photographed a few species at this very spot. One of them is the second most coveted species of eastern warbler, but it can't hold a candle to the Hooded Warbler in the looks department. Hooded Warblers certainly breed in and around rhododendrons but occur in a variety of woodland understory habitats.

A male Black-throated Blue Warbler (Setophaga caerulescens) peeks from a rhododendron snarl, a favored breeding habitat in the Appalachian Mountains. This one is near the southern limits of the species' breeding range, in southern West Virginia. He little resembles the plain brown female, and early on males and females were considered separate species. Eastern Hemlock trees (Tsuga canadensis) often co-occur with Great Rhododendron, and I think this warbler species is more connected to that tree rather than the rhododendrons. Next photo is of the most coveted warbler in this habitat, even if it is the drabbest.

Here's the third warbler of my Appalachian rhododendron thicket series. And the most coveted, the Swainson's Warbler (Limnothlypis swainsonii). By numbers, it's the second rarest eastern warbler. Only the Kirtland's warbler is fewer in number. About 140,000 Swainson's warblers are thought to still exist. As a point of comparison, the most abundant warbler, the yellow-rumped warbler, has around 170 million individuals. The monotypic Swainson's warbler (only species in the genus Limnothlypis) favors two distinct habitat types: rhododendron thickets, and cane breaks (Arundinaria gigantea).

Interestingly, an apparently unmated male spent much of last summer in Shawnee State Forest in Scioto County, Ohio. The site is not too terribly far from West Virginia nesting populations, but breeding has never been documented in Ohio. I made a visit to see it last June and was surprised to find the largest wild stand of giant cane I've seen in Ohio nearby. Coincidence? Maybe, but it'll be interesting to see if Swainson's warblers return to this locale. Note the bird's huge toes. All the better to forage on the ground, in dense leafy detritus.

Red-shouldered Hawk, in autumnal foliage

A gorgeous adult Red-shouldered Hawk hunts from the boughs of a fruit-laden sycamore tree. By moving my position a bit, I was able to get a solid wall of autumnally tinted foliage behind the bird.

Shauna and I made a run up the Olentangy River last Tuesday, November 4, seeking fall colors to photograph, along with anything else that might be reveal itself. Highbanks Metro Park was one of our stops, and I spotted the raptor perched atop a bat house in Highbank's "Big Meadow" down by the river. Eventually some walkers flushed the hawk, and it flew to this much more visually pleasing spot and we set about making photos.

Red-shouldered Hawks are often fairly tame, especially when in regular contact with people. This bird is one of the local breeding pairs, and as Highbanks gets over 1.3 million visitors annually, its sees lots of humanoids. This species ranks high among our showiest raptors, and I'll never miss an opportunity to work with Buteo lineatus.

PHOTO NOTE: Although our primary goal on this relatively brief outing was landscapes and fall color, photographically I was armed for bear. One never knows when something like this hawk might present itself. As always, at least for the past 5+ years, I was armed with the Canon R5, a truly amazing mirrorless camera. It's update, the R5 II, emerged last year, and I'd like to update to that, but that's yet to happen.

Anyways, when I saw the hawk, I parked some distance away, and Shauna moved in with her handheld Nikon Z8 and 150-600 lens. She got some awesome shots. It took me a bit longer to get in position, as I installed the Canon 800mm f/5.6 lens, and Canon's 1.4x teleconverter, making for a focal length of 1120mm. It's almost always better to work as far from animal subjects, especially birds, as possible - or at least stay far enough away to not bother them.

The 800mm can turn in mixed results with a teleconverter attached. It's more glass to shoot through, focus acquisition slows a bit, and achieving tack-sharp images can be difficult. I also have Canon's 2x teleconverter, which makes the 800mm a whopping 1600mm. That sounds good on paper, but in reality, it's very hard to get sharp, crisp images with the 2x, and you lose two stops, so f/11 is the lowest aperture one can shoot at. It's f/8 with the 1.4x. You'll want lots of light to attempt the 2x. But if the subject is close enough, especially larger subjects, the 1.4x/800 combo can produce nice images. I don't know exactly how far I was from this hawk, but it was distant enough that it paid me no mind. I was really hoping it's drop down and grab a gartersnake - it was warm enough for one to be moving about - and return with it to a convenient perch for snake/hawk pics. Red-shoulders eat lots of herps: amphibians and reptiles.

I made this image at f/8, 1/500 shutter speed, and ISO 1250. I used a tripod, of course - handholding the 11.5 pound R5/800 unit is tough, and the keeper rate will plummet without a tripod.
 

Why I disagree with those defending turf grasses

 

Drifts of native plants threaten to engulf the author's front yard/Jim McCormac

Why I disagree with those defending turf grasses

NATURE
Columbus Dispatch
November 2, 2025

A friend recently sent me a column entitled “Dispelling social media myths about gardening, pollinators and more.”

Myth-busting is always a step forward in our intellectual progress, whether said myth originates on social media, or anywhere else. The problem with this column, which is making the rounds, is that it perpetuates many falsehoods, rather than correct them. It essentially appears to be a defense of turf grass, and other biodiversity-reducing landscape activities.

Turf grass, sod, lawn — whatever you want to call it — is conspicuous and pervasive. An estimated 40-50 million acres of the stuff blankets America, and perhaps two million acres cover Ohio. It’s highly likely that most readers manage a lawnscape, as do I (but a much diminished one).
Lawn is typically a monoculture of one species, often bluegrass, fescue, or perhaps rye grass. They’re not species native to North America, hailing from Eurasia. These species are selected for traits such as shallow root systems and quick growth. They create a high-maintenance and utterly artificial ecosystem that supports little in the way of biodiversity.

For much of the growing season, turf grass requires weekly mowings. Such maintenance in the pursuit of superficial aesthetics uses an estimated 800 million gallons of gas annually in America, which is fed to mowers that emit much higher rates of pollution than cars do. The U.S. EPA estimates that 17 million gallons of gas are spilled annually in the pursuit of lawn mowing.

Worse yet, America’s lawns — which collectively blanket an area about the size of New York state — are doused with an estimated 2.4 million tons of fertilizer each year. Turf grass is the United States’ third largest crop, after corn and soybeans. Fertilizer usage pales compared to herbicides, fungicides and pesticides. About 80 million pounds of 2,4-D, malathion, azoxystrobin and all manner of other unpronounceable nasties are dumped on lawns each year. Most of them have deleterious — even fatal — effects on bees, birds, mammals, fish and other aquatic species. Furthermore, these toxins don’t just stay in your yard. Most of them have been detected in groundwater.

I noticed that the column did not mention any of the statistics cited above. The author did cite an expert who informs us that fireflies are not declining. This apparently is part of making a case that light pollution and turf grass has no impact on these charismatic flashers. In other words, don’t worry about leaving those nightlights on and turf grass is just fine for the bugs. That’s not the consensus among groups like The Xerces Society, which is devoted to the study and conservation of invertebrates. I wrote my column of July 20, on fireflies: “Fireflies are scarcer than a few decades ago.” The evidence leaves little doubt that “lightning bugs” are in a downward slide, and lawns and nightlights are part of the problem.

Elsewhere in the columm it is stated: “Many on social media suggest lawns are sterile and have no use.” Guilty as charged, and I do not know of a botanist, ecologist, entomologist or zoologist who wouldn’t feel like I do. And I know a lot of those types.

Biodiversity plummets in largely sterile monocultures of nonnative turf grass. Most of our native insects — the base layer of the food chain — are tightly tied to native flora. This makes sense, as those relationships were forged over very long time periods, far longer than the comparatively recent arrival of Europeans in America and the Old-World flora that they brought and continue to bring.

One insect group that does not flourish in turf grass are the so-called grass skipper butterflies. “Do you like skipper butterflies? Turfgrass is needed for many species of skippers as their larvae feed on insects in the turfgrass.” So states the column.

All grasses are not created equal, and the native grasses such as bluestems, redtop and rice cutgrasses far outshine turf grasses. Of the 16 species of grass skippers that regularly occur in Ohio, all of their caterpillars feed on native grasses (not “insects in the turfgrass”).

Moths are far more speciose than butterflies and vital to food chains, especially their caterpillars. Their diversity sinks to nearly nothing in turf grass meadows. A handful of species can endure the botanical desert, such as some armyworms, cutworms, grass-veneers and sod webworms. Lawns are effective at creating biological dead zones.

Those who wish to help wildlife and create a more environmentally friendly landscape should look to using native plants. There are over 1,800 native plants species in Ohio, and an ever-increasing number of them are finding their way into the nursery trade. As I and scores of others know from experience, adding native flora fosters fireflies, skipper butterflies and all manner of cool moths. Birds such as Carolina wrens, tufted titmice and migrant warblers benefit as a result.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at jimmccormac.blogspot.com.