november mornings

PHOTO POST

On frosty November mornings I go to the beach.

Raspberry & Juniper

Breakwater

It’s never crowded, though I’m seldom the first to arrive.

So Inclined

Still Life with Coffee II

These days, I have a new bionic eye to play with: my very first cell phone. This is the first photo post I’ve done using a cell phone camera, and it’s fun to see what this device can do (as well as what it can’t do very well).

Group of seven

Past the pebbles

Before the sun pokes above the water, stones begin to blush.

Quiet Turbulence

Submergence

Stones catch rays

By the time the sun is up my last sips of coffee are cold and it’s time to wander back home.

Shining sands

November sunrise

Reflected sunrise

sailing through June

PHOTO POST

Things grow fast in June – especially this June in this corner of this province of Ontario. With an abundance of both rain and sunshine, the reeds in the marsh, the grasses in meadows, and the birds and bugs raced into summer at a gallop.

OK, “gallop” isn’t quite the right word for the march of snails but they too seemed to thrive.

A convocation of snails

Many birds were feeding hungry nestlings and then fledglings by early June, including a Song Sparrow who flittered to and from a nest of insects.

A Song Sparrow’s breakfast

Grackles aren’t particularly known as marsh birds but one seemed quite possessive of this little niche.

Window into the marsh

A Spotted Sandpiper was extracting juicy meals from the soft mud on the shadowed creek bank.

Spotted Sandpiper hunts in the shadows

Several of the month’s many thundershowers blew in right around nightfall.

Storm at dusk

A Great Blue Heron looks resplendent in the early morning sunshine – or any other time of day.

Sentry

Ducks have seemed scarce – this Mallard hen was ushering the only bunch of ducklings I’ve seen in Bowmanville Marsh this year.

Ten ducks in a row

The few times I’ve seen goslings they have not been on the marsh. Perhaps that’s because there were three pairs of Mute Swans (known for aggressively claiming a lot of territory) nesting here this year, and they may have decided there just wasn’t room for any other dabbling birds.

This pair was teaching young cygnets that good things to eat can be found underwater, but you may need to reach deep into the mud.

Dive deep one

Dive deep two

Dive deep three

It’s a hard trick to master when your neck is still barely longer than your beak – but the cygnets practice by grabbing pieces of vegetation their parents have torn loose.

Do cygnets wear sheepskin?

Do cygnets wear sheepskin? (2)

By the time the crew leaves their nest on a sunny morning, the mud from the previous day’s work has been washed away.

Sailing through June

Photo at top of post: Swans and Stripes

m is for mayapple

PHOTO POST

Each May I keep watch for my favourite woodland flowers, especially the mysterious Mayapple.

In frequent pilgrimages to the woods, I see Squill showing their colours, and spiders starting the summer with feasts of midges.

Lavender Squill

Forest Web

Then one day the Mayapples are shooting up out the ground, fully formed.

Mayapples at the foot of a stump

Within a few days the above-ground part of the plant has unfurled. Those that will blossom and then bear fruit have two leaves and one flower bud, visible as soon as the unfurling begins.

Mayapple after rain

I’m surprised to see a snail has climbed to the top of a Mayapple. But a closer look reveals no one is home in that beautiful shell. The empty shell was simply lifted from its winter resting place as a Mayapple emerged from directly underneath.

Snail at the summit

Over the next two weeks I visit the woods several times, eager to find the Mayapples in full blossom.

On dewy mornings, short grasses along the way have gone to seed and are happily soaking up moisture.

Jewelled grass

In the shade near Mayapple patches, Wood Geranium flowers bloom in shafts of sunlight that streak through the spotty springtime forest canopy.

Wood Geranium

A small branch at my feet, long since fallen away from a tree, is growing beautiful arcs of fungi.

Arc of fungi

At last, when I get down low and gaze through the dim light near the forest floor, I see white flowers.

Forest Canopies

Beneath the tall tree trunks are Mayapple leaves, beneath those are Mayapple blossoms, a few inches lower are Trillium blooms, lower still are Trillium leaves, and lower still, you’re getting close to the forest floor.

When you get close enough to a Mayapple blossom you are treated to a strangely rich scent, a foretaste of the delicious fruit that will soon form. If you’re lucky, the squirrels might leave one or two ripe fruits for you to taste in late July or early August. (You don’t want to cheat by grabbing an unripe fruit, which is poisonous along with all other parts of the Mayapple plant.) And if you don’t manage to sample the fruit, just getting a sniff of the flower is a worthy consolation prize.

Mayapple blossom

the line between winter and spring

PHOTO POST

If you added up all the days, we only had about three good weeks of winter this year – but a fair bit of that came near the end of March.

On Winter’s Shore

Downy Woodpecker waits out the squall

Cardinal Four

So spring was not in any great rush to settle in.

Late winter spectacle

Living on the north shore of a big cold lake, we can expect chilly days even when the sun is bright. Only a few plants send up tender shoots in March or early April. That’s why it’s so welcome to see colourful lichens all through the winter.

Pixie Cup Lichen on Gooseberry twig

On the  beach, vivid red and green spears of dune grass are an early indication of the changing season.

The line between winter and spring

Daffodils sent up a flurry of green during March and started to bloom in early April.

Daffodil Garden

On a calm sunny afternoon in mid-April, the water beckoned and it was time to launch a kayak.

Light Rings

The water in the marsh is still cold. It must have felt really good for these turtles to soak up the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

Painted Turtle X Two

Though most of the vegetation in the marsh is still dormant, many birds are now pairing up and picking nest sites.

A question of balance

Those birds who dress up in special colours for springtime are now at their most glorious.

Wood Ducks at the far end of the marsh

Wood Duck Drake

We’ll soon be straddling the line between spring and summer; that’s when we’ll know that we’ve truly crossed the line between winter and spring.

Close Company

At top of post – From Winter to Spring.

cloudy with sunny breaks

PHOTO POST

A long stretch of warm but gloomy weather finally made room for a week of old-fashioned winter, with brisk winds, the odd sunny day, and even some ice buildup on the shoreline.

Lightshower II

Lightshower

How cold did it get? Cold enough on Saturday that there was only one person fishing at the breakwater – but not cold enough for him to keep his gloves on.

Fishing at the edge

The cold weather was a delight to some of us, providing the kinds of sights we may only see for a few days a year.

Construction

Construction II

Waterline

We knew it wouldn’t last, of course. By Sunday night a warm wind picked up from the southwest, and by Monday morning the waves had chopped much of the shore ice into slush.

Splash at sunrise

By afternoon we were treated to a typical lakeshore squall, with warm fluffy snowflakes whipped along in a biting wet wind.

What Great Teeth

The snow drifted along with the sand, moving across the beach and straight into the harbour channel.

Heritage Winter

A storm like this might put you in mind of seeking shelter in a forest. If you’re small of stature, though – an ermine, perhaps, or a rabbit – quiet pathways through the lakeshore marsh are an even better place to get in out of the wind.

Shelter among the reeds

Photo at top of post: Cloudy with sunny breaks (full-size version here)

 

going the distance

PHOTO POST

In September many migratory species head south from these shores. Not all of them have feathers.

The birds that nest here, but spend winters in warmer climates, cross paths with those which nest further north and only stop here in passing.

Autumn is sweet, with many opportunities to see and hear these beautiful friends before the quiet winter. Autumn is scary, too, with growing uncertainty whether each species will find safe travel to a winter haven, safe travel north again in the spring, and a safe place to nest and raise young next year.

Killdeer beside still waters

The elegant Yellowlegs, which often spends a few weeks around here in the fall, is one of my favourite visitors. In recent days a pair of Yellowlegs worked a mudflat favoured by Killdeers. On a single high-pitched signal they all took off in the same instant, circled around, and then landed together on a nearby mudflat. (I believe the bird pictured below is a Lesser Yellowlegs and not its larger cousin the Greater Yellowlegs.)

Dance of the Yellowlegs

A juvenile Green Heron landed beside the shorebirds but was after larger prey than insects, and it soon moved on.

Sharp left

Lurking in the shadows nearby, a furtive Swamp Sparrow briefly crossed a bare rocky patch.

Swamp Sparrow on the rocks

As the sun set a juvenile Sora cautiously stepped out from reedy cover.

Sora at sunset

On the migratory flightpaths, birds are joined by smaller and more delicate creatures.

Saddlebags

If I am correct that the above picture shows a Black Saddlebags, it is one of a dozen dragonfly species that conduct a multi-generational annual round trip from north to south and back.

The Green Darner, below, famously migrates to the southern US states, Mexico, or Caribbean islands.

Green Darner on Burning Bush

A tall clump of pink aster in our yard has been particularly attractive lately to migrating butterflies.

Pink Aster Sky

Monarch on pink aster

For weeks we have had many monarch sightings every day. All of them continued to move west, likely heading around Lake Ontario before flying south to Mexico.

On a couple of afternoons, though, the monarchs were joined by a smaller butterfly with similar colours.

American Painted Lady on pink aster, 1

This appears to be the American Painted Lady, part of a family known for migrations on and between several continents.

American Painted Lady on pink aster, 2

May all our winged relations, with or without feathers, find safe passage into a new season.

close encounters

PHOTO POST

A severe restriction can sometimes be a blessing in disguise – at least when it comes to noticing beautiful sights.

Deep Well (squash blossom)

So it was for much of this summer, as eye trouble encouraged me to focus on small things, close at hand.

Where does the bee stop and the flower begin?

With my better eye out of order (temporarily, I hope), and strict doctor’s orders to avoid physical exercise throughout recovery from retinal surgery, I tried to make the most of reduced vision.

Hanging on Pink

With my particular type of myopia, I can see well when focusing on fine detail at very close range. Thus I spent more time than usual gazing intently at flowers in our own yard – and if I stayed motionless for a while, a pollinator often landed right in front of my eye.

Heat Wave

Day Lily Reflects the Sun

Cranesbill Geranium Spire

These photos were taken in our back yard over the past two months, as cool and dewy summer mornings finally gave way to a real summer heat wave once September had arrived.

Hoverfly on Sylphium

Wasp on Porcelain Vine

Since I like flowers, and I also like to eat, I’m happy to admire a wide variety of pollinators going about their rounds.

Crystal Ball

Wet Pigment

Many insects, of course, are in precipitous decline. In this locale that certainly seems to apply to dragonflies. I was pleased to spot this Green Darner resting on the still-wet grass on a chilly morning – and especially pleased that it took to the air once the sun had warmed it and given it strength.

I gazed at this dragonfly through my one good eye, while it gazed back with its thousands.

Dragonfly at rest, 1

Truly a sight for sore eyes.

Dragonfly at rest, 2

 

in the weeds

PHOTO POST

Most of the summer slipped by and I didn’t get out to the marsh … but at least I saw a Bittern.

Over the past two weeks I’ve made several excursions, hoping to see a few of the sandpipers that like to run along from lily pad to lily pad. Or a beaver, plying the placid waters while chewing on fresh greens. Or dragonflies, or … well, the marsh often has surprises.

Wapato flower

One of my first discoveries was the flowers of the Wapato, which I hadn’t noticed before.

The more obvious white flowers, scattered across the marsh’s surface, are lily pad flowers. In late August, the flowers and lily pads are home to countless tiny insects, which attract the bigger insects that eat them, which attract birds and fish fingerlings and frogs and turtles.

Circle Segments

Still Life with Painted Turtle

Refracted Reflection

As I’d hoped, telltale motion along the lily pads alerted me to Spotted Sandpipers darting about and gobbling insects.

Spotted Web

In addition to the adults, several juveniles – still without their spots – were out hunting on their own. (If the bird in the photo below is not a juvenile Spotted Sandpiper, I’m grateful to anyone who can let me know the correct ID; just send me a note through the Contact link.)

Spotless One

Then an odd motionless shape protruding from the lily pads caught my eye. Zooming in, I saw it was a juvenile Least Bittern.

The smallest of the heron family, the Least Bittern is zealously secretive and usually stays hidden in the reeds. I’m not positive I’ve ever seen an adult, but the juveniles seem to be less cautious and I see one every year or two.

Step by Step

I watched quietly for an hour while dear Bittern fed from floating platforms. A step here, a step there, an occasional jab, and down the gullet went a dragonfly or a minnow.

Step One

Step Two

In one moment the Least Bittern appears stout and stocky. The next moment, it is clear that most of its body is just a storage compartment for the feathered slinky that is its neck.

Zap

At Least I Saw a Bittern

It was encouraging to learn that somewhere nearby, a pair of Bitterns had nested and fledged a young one this summer.

Could there have been a better way to spend a Sunday morning than watching a Least Bittern explore the marsh?

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Heron (III)

Photo at top of page: Poised Pose (click here for full-size view)

ruffled feathers

PHOTO POST

Where have the Herons gone?

Through the month of May I wondered: isn’t the marsh looking and sounding kind of empty?

As I make my local rounds I’m often achingly aware that many bird species are in decline, across the continent and around the world. This year, there has been the added danger of avian flu reducing bird populations.

But from a limited perspective in one neighbourhood, it’s hard to know if yearly changes in activity amount to a trend.

In early May a good crowd of mergansers swam along the lakeshore each calm morning, but soon enough they departed for points north.

Triangle

A Grackle cuts a striking figure on a piece of driftwood at the water’s edge, inflating to maximum girth and belting out a one-note croak.

Crooner

From the marsh the songs of Marsh Wrens ring out from the hiding places in the reeds. In our yard we were treated to a similar huge call from a tiny House Wren.

Between the lines

A solo Trumpeter Swan made several appearances through May, though I’ve seen no sign of a mating pair recently.

Swimming into the sun

Trumpeter Swan Portrait

Looking through a local lens, that’s what matters, really. Will this Trumpeter stay healthy, find a mate, eventually raise one or two or three healthy Trumpeter cygnets?

And will the pair of Killdeer on a nearby mudflat, and another pair on a rocky stretch of beach, keep their nestlings safe through the danger season, successfully luring potential predators with their beautiful diversionary tactics?

Killdeer on mudflat

Semaphore. A Killdeer has the right colours for effective camouflage. It can also use these colours to wave a bright flag, grabbing attention and leading a predator away from a nest.

Will the Spotted Sandpiper, the Gallinule and the Sora and the Virginia Rail, the Green Heron and the Black-Crowned Night Heron, return to safe nesting sites in these marshes year after year?

Steppingstone for Spotted Sandpiper

(For many birds, of course, the “local” neighbourhood extends to the Gulf of Mexico coast, or the jungles of Central America, or Patagonia. If they don’t find safe places all the way along their annual migrations, they won’t be able to return here for another summer. And each time they do return, it’s a blessed miracle.)

Through most of May, the open waters of the marsh were home to very few ducks, and not many geese either. The minnows were jumping, though, frogs were singing, and carp were splashing.

Just when I thought the Herons had gone far away this season, a turtle offered a clue.

Looking Up

I looked up high, and to my surprise six Great Blue Herons circled far above the marsh.

Six Herons Circling

Just a few days later Herons appeared on perches to the north in the marsh, and more often to the south along a lakeshore breakwater.

Where the marsh opens into the lake, gulls were constantly circling and diving. Finally I understood: this is a great place for a Heron to hang out just now.

Where marsh meets lake

A patient slow stride, a sudden strike into the water, a toss of the head; that meal is down the hatch.

Swallow, swallowing, swallowed

bumblebee and scilla

PHOTO POST

Which is prettier, a Wood Duck or a Bumblebee? The reddish orange of a Robin’s breast, or the orangey red of Staghorn Sumach fruit? The sunrise or the sunset?

This April there’s no need to pick answers to silly questions – there’s a different beauty around every corner.

Closest to home, at just a few meters from my office window, a Downy Woodpecker makes quick rest stops on convenient branches.

Downy Woodpecker takes a pause

The Red-Winged Blackbird is named for two simple colours flashed by the male, but on an early-spring evening the female shows a richer palette.

Blackbird Evening

Long-Tail Ducks are beginning to show some of the rich colours they will wear when they arrive in their breeding grounds far north of here.

Long-tailed Duck times two

Though only scattered hints of green are visible in the marsh, life is stirring.

Muskrat Wave Mirage

A recently-arrived Killdeer checks out a muddy island in Westside Marsh.

Killdeer on mudflat island

Across the marsh a black-and-white Ring-necked Duck catches sunlight and reflects back red and brilliant green.

Ring-necked Duck in Westside Marsh

Mute Swans are establishing territories and building nests, but not all of them have paired off.

Two-Swan Takeoff

McLaughlin Bay landing

A pair of Red-breasted Mergansers have lingered close to the lakeshore on several recent mornings. Even in monochrome backlight they cut striking profiles …

Merganser pair in monochrome

… while in another light their colours really sing.

Mergansers swimming in colour

Still, in this area no other water bird competes with the Wood Duck in the colour olympics.

Wood Duck says Wake Up

The unseasonal warmth of early April brought a few flowers into full bloom. You need to get right down to ground level to fully appreciate the beauty of Scilla.

Scilla above and below

Will any pollinators be awake to visit these early blooms? I wondered. But in the afternoon warmth a huge Bumblebee hovered near, grabbed onto a tiny blossom, rode the swing down, then quickly moved to another and another.

Bumblebee and Scilla may sparkle together again next spring.

Bumblebee swings with Scilla

Photo at top of page: Robin feeds on Staghorn Sumach (full-screen image here)