When the light is right, it’s easy to see what a colorful fellow he really is. This is, sadly, a low-res clip from a video. What you can’t see is how slowly he rises, it was a hover combined with a liftoff. He watched the camera the whole time.

At Shoreline Park, we found this goose and wondered how it sustained such an injury. But after doing a search, I found that it has angel wing, a condition possibly caused by kindly bird lovers who feed the geese.

It was smaller than the rest of the flock, feeding in an area much less green and lush.

I was after flocks of Canada geese. The ones at the junior high have proved elusive, and on weekends, they are chased by noisy soccer players trying to regain their fields. I was thoroughly annoyed by these players when I tried to set up the tripod for a few quick shots one morning. As if they couldn’t detect that I was trying to take photos. But now I have a new understanding.

At Shoreline near the golf course, large numbers of geese were busy having their breakfast. In a short time they stopped retreating so I could get fairly close. I got lots of good footage, and it wasn’t till I got back in the car that I noticed the problem.

My shoes. My poor shoes had goose poop on the soles and up the sides, up to the shoelaces. Scraping them on the cleaner grass didn’t help much. Removing what I tracked into the car was not easy. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to play soccer on a field of this.

But now I know where the geese hang out when they’re not around here. (Thanks for the tip, Tiff!) Plus, there were brown pelicans gliding over the water, ditto egrets. A large hawk came around a bush nearby and flew along the water, used to hikers and bicyclists alike.

Next time I try this, I’ll wear boots that I can hose down afterward.

Usually around this time, the feeder is busy with birds filling up before nighttime. I suspect a hawk or two where I can’t see. The chickadees and juncos came by for a very short time this morning, but there are currently no birds out there except for a gull now and then high up. Even the raucous crows are gone. Sparky hasn’t been by his feeder for several hours.

I saw some movement in the front oak, and went to look through the viewfinder. It was a squirrel, crouched and frozen on a limb. When he finally moved, he was cautious and slow.

Very strange, the neighborhood usually sounds like a jungle with the shrieking of the crows and the constant songbird soundtrack. All I can hear is traffic.

It may not seem so cold in the Bay Area, but at 7:00 a.m., waiting outside for birds to show up at the feeder, it’s not so comfortable. Especially if you stand and stand while the chickadees dart in, grab something and take it back to their warm beds somewhere.

I’m trying to take pictures with some holiday elements, like poinsettias. The ones I bought in a hurry over the weekend succumbed quickly to wind and a lack of fullness, so that I had to keep rearranging them. It’s hard to fluff out inadequate poinsettias. Last night I went out and got some very full ones and put them to the test today.

Except they sagged and rolled around. Then I had to periodically clean up the seeds the birds disperse when they take off and land on the table. In other words, I spent a lot of time prepping. The chickadees didn’t really mind, they waited in the bushes nearby.

A few hours later, they weren’t leaving the table when I had to adjust something. One landed on a leg of the tripod as I was using it. I gave them some of the roasted grubs as a reward.

The lingering fog was lifting, but not that fast. High up on a pole, this juvenile red-shouldered hawk sat very still.

Trekking around the Baylands Park, I was out for egrets, possibly herons. Mostly I wanted to know where the Canada geese flocks go when they leave the junior high fields. This sighting was unexpected, and in the excitement at finding a hawk, I forgot a couple of things. Manual focus. Movies.

It was very intent on finding some breakfast. I could see that it was damp, and there was some sort of protrusion on its lower body, perhaps some matted feathers. When I got home and checked the photos, I discovered that the hawk either has a deformity, with claws where they shouldn’t be, and only one foot, or is holding an injured foot up high. In some photos, it appears from the shape of the leg area that there could be another foot, but it is not visible.

Despite its handicap, the bird appears well-nourished. If any reader has an explanation, I’d love to hear it.

I managed to get up early enough to catch them, the downside being that it was also start time for a soccer game in that field, so the players were chasing them away. No worries, they always come back.

Just as the afternoon slump approached, I considered the mountain of footage to go through. The juvenile hawk I’ve been hearing for two days did not choose to land in any trees in our yard. There aren’t that many shopping days till Christmas. Sigh. I sank back in my chair, and glanced out the window.

New bird. Large new bird on the table (not the feeding table) by the door. Looking in at me curiously. Woodpecker. Normally a shy bird that I catch a glimpse of now and then high up in the oak trees. Now about three feet away, looking friendly.

I had heard they would come to feeders, but maybe not so much in the Bay Area. Only one way to find out. I shall be messing with suet.

I don’t think Sparky is quite ready to do this just yet. Such amazing footage from Russ Thompson.

There’s only one feeder at the moment. Over the weekend, I found another that is an inverted bottle-type, but the bottle has been gathering rainwater and outdoor debris for some time. Once it’s cleaned, it will be interesting to see how he reacts to it.

Yesterday I lowered the tripod, parked myself in a chair and waited to see if he would do anything different if I put the feeder on the other side of the tomato cage. I tilted the feeder so the nectar would pool to one side. When he showed up, he went to his usual side, then became frustrated at not finding his food at the usual place. He bounced around, beak down, then he did a flyby under the roof overhang, where he’s more used to finding the feeder. Eventually, he was able to get at the nectar, but not where I wanted him to be. Maybe today I’ll plug up the other holes.

An exhausting performance for the lady of his choice.

The feeding station has been in place almost a year now. Regulars are the typical visitors to backyard feeders: chickadees, dark-eyed juncos, California towhees, titmouse, and occasionally, wrens. The hummingbird feeder is dominated by Sparky, a fierce but somewhat friendly fellow. On the periphery are woodpeckers, crows, blue jays, robins, cedar waxwings (at berry time), sparrows and a couple of lovely but as yet unidentified visitors. They don’t partake from the feeder.

Back in the spring, there were lively young chickadees that took a keen interest whenever I watered the raised vegetable beds. I assumed they were juveniles from their lack of grace when landing on branches. They took to hanging out in either the plum tree or the pyracantha bush next to it. One day I aimed the hose spray upward.

They went crazy. Such a racket, and before I knew it, there were ten or so, all calling happily to each other, shaking out their wings, holding their heads upward. Clearly this was a great treat. After a few days, a wren or two would show up, and sometimes, a hummingbird. At this point, there was no hummingbird feeder, but they visited the fuchsia plants and Mexican sage regularly.

I wanted a video of this so that family members wouldn’t think I had gone off the deep end. But before I knew it, the young chickadees were gone. Vanished. On to greener territories perhaps. The whole summer went by without a single one noticing when I watered. If I pointed the spray at the remaining chickadees, they flew away.

Today, I went out to check on the green beans and the last tomato plants that are still producing. More on those another time. Was that a happy chickadee sound? Yes, and several were answering. There was the buzz of a giant bee, which I suspected was Sparky. I sprayed up into the pyracantha, which needs pruning very badly. One by one, they flew into the bush, which is more like a tree. Even the juncos were there, but more subdued than the rest, who had their wings out, heads up, shaking their feathers. Giant bee buzz again. There he was, in the middle, little wings out and chirping away, bobbing up and down, my resident hummer.

Will they do this for at least another week? Temps are warm, in the 70s. I must figure out the movie function on the camera. I’m thinking this is at least a 2-man project.

The lone ruby-throated hummingbird has been by more than a dozen times this morning, happy that I finally refreshed its nectar supply. Yesterday during the terrible storm, it refueled much more than usual.

Because we accidentally/on purpose manage to meet up at various places in the yard, I decided to give him a name. His bright magenta gorget is dazzling when the light is just right so that he sparkles. I’d like you to meet Sparky:

although you have probably seen him in earlier posts.

Sometime this morning, when I was deep in work, Sparky spotted a lady friend. When I say he’s the lone hummer, I merely mean he’s the only one that dines at the feeder. So far he has chased away everything else.

Thus began the curious courting behavior of head bobbing. The female sat quietly, but Sparky went beserk. Finally I got the camera and, sans tripod, tried to get a shot or two. He never stopped moving, and was all puffed up as well. Of course my hands weren’t steady, but then neither was he.

Next time I’ll just take movies.

So I got on the phone, taking care of some business which is a long series of automated questions, at the end of which a human would come on the line and save me a trip to some office downtown where I don’t particularly want to go today. I glance out the window into the remains of the vegetable garden.

Where a woodpecker, probably the one I’ve been stalking in the front oak tree, is flitting around. Chasing it is the male, bright red head gleaming in the noon sun. I’ve never seen him before. They cling to a couple of posts, one of which holds a small wood birdhouse. Then they make their way up the posts, stopping at the birdhouse. Some sort of courting behavior is going on, lots of flying back and forth, then they land on the pyracantha bush.

Throughout all of this highly photogenic action, I am glued to the phone, unable to take one shot.

Maybe this happens more often, it’s just that my desk faces the other way. However, when I do get around to taking any pictures, there are two very large spiders resting in their jars.

Was that a sparrow I just saw and banished from the feeder? The kind that forced me to remove the bird food for many weeks? I’ll know by the end of the day, when and if it brings back 153 of its friends. Fingers crossed.

As most of my readers know, I have little patience for the suburban pests that seem to multiply in my yard. By now, you also know about the bird feeding table here right in front of the window where I work. On a normal day, the dark-eyed juncos appear around the time I’m having my oatmeal, 7:30ish, then the chickadees show up. Some days they fight with the juncos. Some days the juncos fight with each other. The occasional titmouse comes by with its mate. Ditto the towhee. There’s a wren or two, and over to the left is the hummingbird feeder. When I’m staring at the laptop screen, which is 99% of the time, any odd movement (such as a squirrel jumping on the table) registers immediately.

At lunchtime, there was a really strange shaking of the nandina bush next to the table. When I peered around the screen, there was a little mouse laboriously making its way up the branches. It looked like a small stuffed animal.

The roof rats, for which this area is famous, tend to come out just before dark, which is why I bring in the bird food around 8:00 p.m., even earlier now that the light is changing. From time to time we can see them scurrying along the tops of the fences. Nasty-looking, ratty things. Sometimes they leap up on the table right after sunset, completely creeping me out. But this doesn’t happen very often.

Now this tiny thing was struggling to get up the bush. It looked a little like a field mouse, but cuddlier. Could it have been someone’s pet, used to a human mealtime ? When I got outside, it took a good look at me before scrambling down the branches and away.

I should have gotten a photo.

A family member saw the feathers coming down from the oak tree. By the time I set up the tripod, the hawk was mostly finished, and sailed off across the rooftops. Although there are bigger birds, it seems to be after the little dark-eyed juncos lately. The junco breeding pairs in the yard are very successful. While not exactly in big flocks like the sparrows, they are still the dominant group. Stands to reason the younger ones are easier to catch.

I had to fight off the ants for the feathers.

Dear Mass of Teeming Insect Life,

My lone brain is obviously inferior to your collective genius. Despite my peppering the ground below with a potent ant poison, you have managed to sidestep this formidable obstacle, and once again reach the holy grail of hummingbird nectar. You have gathered those among you who have mastered the art of swimming, and breached the defenses of the double moats.

The grail of endless sweetness has been temporarily moved to its original position under the roof overhang. Where you will no doubt send your mighty armies in the stealth of night.

Meanwhile, the hummingbird and I are pondering possible solutions. It has nixed the vaseline. But is probably grateful for the protection of the overhang, although I don’t think the average hawk will go for a hummer. See next post.

A few posts back, I was gloating about ant-proofing the hummingbird feeder. Apparently, the ants keep up with the blog.

As I sit here eating toast, deep in work, the hummingbird shows up. Instead of landing, it hovers from one opening to another, then disappears. I peer at the liquid in the feeder about ten feet away. Hmmm, this calls for a closer inspection. I had just changed the nectar on Monday, and it was still clear. Except for a speck or two, which could have been some debris from the tip of the hummer’s beak. But no. Maybe half a dozen ants were hanging in little straight lines, back legs somehow attached to the sides, heads in the nectar. A few more elsewhere, floating.

Unlike before, there was no line of marching ants heading up and down the wire of the tomato cage to which the feeder is hanging. However, there was a parade and field show going on underneath where I’d forgotten to hose down the patio.

Out come the Terro granules. When I first bought this economy-sized bag, the smell was so pervasive that I hesitated using it. But about this time each year, war is declared, and I don’t have any of the little packets of liquid left. The key to the granules is that they have to be wet to be effective. No problem today.

Ideally, the feeder would be suspended over a small pond. Lacking that, this will have to do.

For over a month now, I’ve been trying to photograph the lone hummingbird that comes to the feeder. He and I are old friends now, and he has been quite patient with my efforts to get closer. Yesterday I did away with the tripod to see if I could do hand-held using my 75-300mm lens. Surprisingly, he was very tolerant as long as I didn’t move laterally.

Today, I assumed he was distracted by the missus, who dove in repeatedly as he tried to eat. But after a bit, I realized it was another male since both looked very much alike.

Now I find that whenever I go out to try for a shot, he darts away. Has this one chased the other away? Just as I got it tame enough to put up with my constant shooting? I won’t know for sure till I actually get a photo.

I go to give the hummingbird feeder a close-up check for ants, as in ‘Is that an ant in there or a shadow of something’, and the hummingbird decides to fly in at the same time. Jeez.

As if the ants have that much of a chance. The feeder is still hanging from a tomato cage in a pot with a struggling tomato plant. However, I took the trouble to put the pot in the pot bottom that my giant fern arrived in. This is filled with water. There is this moat and the moat built into the feeder itself.

Two of the younger members of the flock of dark-eyed juncos that empty the feeder on a twice/daily basis. They seem to make it their goal to deplete the supplies by nightfall.

A surefire method to get several of these is to move the feeder from its customary place, then arrange the camera, tripod and chair directly under the original feeder position. I didn’t do this on purpose.

Having gotten hundreds of shots of the bird from one side, I wanted it feeding from the other. In order to force it to eat from only one opening, I had to plug up the other holes. When it found short evergreen sprigs (closest things I could find that fit) emerging from these holes, it had a moment of surprise which I did not manage to film.

But the flybys, which sound like a giant bumblebee in your ear, might start up again as I get ready for some more shooting later in the afternoon when the light is not so harsh.

So how many things are wrong with this photo?

Yesterday afternoon he showed up and perched on a tomato cage. I haven’t been shooting hummingbirds very long, so this particular situation unnerved me. Usually, he bobs up and down at the feeder, then zooms away. That I can deal with.

He was distracted by his mate, I suspect, and looked as if he might raise that cap of iridescent feathers on top of his head any minute. And he kept on staying fairly still, showing me first one side, then the other, then straight on.

After a bit, I checked the camera display. Oops. Earlier, the feeder was in the shade, and all the settings were for that. By the time I corrected, he was deep into the feeder.

Overexposed. Dark shadow. The cage. The aphid at his feet. Not sharp enough.

I’m lucky he returns many times every day. For sure, I need the practice.

Less than a minute after I cleaned out the feeder and put fresh nectar in, he checked out the results.

We did make progress today. He allowed me to get within about two feet, and didn’t mind that I kept opening the screen door to go in and out. Still no sign of the missus today.

Friday, he was contorting his neck this way and that, fluffing up his body feathers, then lifted the ones on his head like a shiny cap. This seemed bizarre till I spotted the missus sitting primly off to the side. Aha! But so far, he is lord of the feeder, and nothing has tried to dispute his claim.

Part of the morning was spent moving the feeder around to get a better angle on the bird that comes by every 15 to 30 minutes. Most of the sites were in the sun, and I got a couple of good shots, so a few minutes ago, I hung it back in the shade, got my magazine and sat back to wait. Sure enough, here he comes. As I adjust the settings for shade and mess with the ISO, he buzzes by, inches away from my face and camera.

Scary, but very cool indeed.

Sporadically for the past few days, I’ve been trying to get closer to the hummingbirds at the feeder. It’s shady at the usual feeder spot, so from time to time, I would move it to the only conveniently sunny area, which is on the tomato cages.

As you can see, some of the underachieving tomatoes are nowhere near reaching the modest height of these cages, so they may as well be put to good use.

I set up the laptop, managed to get a power supply going, and got my Pepsi too since this was going to take some time. But I was not really prepared for this little fellow to pose for several minutes while I tried frantically to get the right settings for the camera. The shots showing the lovely ruby throat were too blurry. No worries, I plan to get out there again in just a few minutes.

They’re still coming by to check and peer in the window, wondering where all the food went. The sparrows are coming in too, and as soon as I know they’ve gone to greener pastures, the food will return to the table.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking I will get much better photos by simply moving my work gear outside. Many of the birds are half-tame by now. We have lots of time to mull this over since the sparrows know a good thing when they see one, and are probably not anxious to leave.

Originally, I set up the bird feeding area directly in front of my desk for one reason: to force me to look up from work occasionally. It definitely accomplished that, and for a few months, it has been absorbing to watch the antics of a group of regulars as they flew in daily.

Except for the odd squirrel now and then, the area has stayed free of annoyances. I get to rest my eyes frequently, the birds get unlimited food, I accumulate an endless series of bad bird photos. Until very recently when the sparrows arrived.

Everything negative you hear about house sparrows is true. I actually didn’t mind at first, but they overwhelm not only in numbers but in appetite as well. I thought the towhee was the champ in the chowdown area, but they don’t hold a candle to the sparrows.

Therefore, I have temporarily suspended the feeding. The towhees keep landing on the empty table, peering in at me in what can only be interpreted as supreme irritation. For a short time in the early morning, the sun creates a glare on the feeding table, so I turn the laptop to block it. The towhees crane their necks around the barrier of the monitor, and stare at me.

As soon as I’m convinced the sparrows are gone, I’ll set up again. I just don’t have the time to put up sparrow deterrents.

Some birders feel that house sparrows are pests, taking over whole feeder areas. One day I looked up, and there they were, five or six at a time, eating every grain of cornmeal in sight. Having large numbers all at once was such a novelty that I wasn’t bothered at all.

As far as bullying the regulars, no way. As soon as the towhee sweeps in, they all flee. The juncos are bullies themselves, and judging from the racket, have new nestlings to feed, so they’re not going to let a few sparrows stop them. Chickadees seem oblivious, taking what they need, then going to shower in the raised bed sprinklers.

However, a flock will eat quite a lot. In an effort to slow this down this morning, I didn’t replenish the cornmeal, but put out sunflower seeds instead. The towhees have to extract the kernels, which takes a lot of time, therefore, they’re not kicking up the food.

But when I left the room for a few minutes to shoot some photos, a squirrel saw an opening and scattered the seeds everywhere before taking off.

After supper, I was trying to get a little more work done. It was very quiet, the birds had, it appeared, gone to bed early. Usually, there’s a bout of feeding at this time.

Then some movement caught my eye. Truly, it looked like bubbles drifting down into the yard. I snapped out of my work mode, and realized that they were white feathers being plucked in the oak tree above the lawn.

Now, this sort of thing happens from time to time around here, but not right in front of me. All I could think was, it’s getting dark. I got my camera (zoom was somewhere out of reach), and went outside as furtively as possible.

The hawk was smallish, no more than 20 feet away, prepping its dinner. I could see its underpinnings and tail, plus the upturned feet and tail of the prey. After I got a few shots, I asked a family member to bring my tripod, and I moved to get a better angle.

Of course it saw me and took off to finish its meal in peace. The photos I got were really poor, and I can’t identify either bird.

Sure, he looks innocent here, but he’s merely taking a deep, cleansing breath before inhaling most of the food.

After he and his male peers finished flinging food around, I decided to take another approach. The towhees are the largest birds to come to the feeding table. Part of their food strategy is to scratch around, and I’ve tried to modify this behavior through the judicious use of a cowbell-like noisemaker.

This is a bird that jumps in fear when a big morsel of food (that it has just gotten and dropped) rolls on the table a bit. I thought maybe if I applied a loud noise when it started flinging, it would learn that this was inappropriate behavior. Silly me.

It took a couple of days. Soon, the towhee only turned around slightly when it heard the noise. Cornmeal flew everywhere.

Today, guess who was the first to line up at dawn. (I bring the food indoors at night.) But this time, I moved the cornmeal dish slightly under a flowering plant on the table. The smaller birds could reach the food easily. The towhee could too, but flinging would require some acrobatic maneuvering.

By late afternoon, it had figured things out. Tomorrow is another day.

I know it’s a terrible photo. See previous posts for reasons why. But I plan to sponsor an eating competition very soon between a few of the male towhees that frequent my feeding table.

But first, I need to go out and buy a 50-lb bag of cornmeal and two Costco-sized jars of peanut butter.

She appears to be undergoing the molting, although some sources say this doesn’t occur till later in the summer. The babies are resplendent, Mother needs some spa time.

I talk to this bird a lot. Sometimes I say, ‘Do you think you can get a little more in there?’ (It can. Because there’s peanut butter in the mix, it has learned that breadcrumbs and seed will adhere to the main gob.)

And yes, I know that little dish serves the small birds well, but is way tiny for the big guys. I’m working on it. To think that once upon a time, the towhees were too shy to come feed on the table. And I’m still trying to figure out how to take decent photos through the window, which has a fine coating of cornmeal from the multiple flingings of these same towhees, despite my constant windexing.

The California towhee’s normal foraging behavior consists of scratching the ground with both feet to uncover tasty bits under leaves and other debris. While this works well in its natural environment, it wreaks havoc in a feeding station.

Yesterday, I cleaned the whole area where I leave bird food. Turns out the raisin bread crumbs gave some of them the runs. As certain family members would put it, kinda like having to go to the restroom before even leaving the restaurant.

Then I ran errands. Upon my return, something had urinated on the table. I suspect the squirrels, which keep watch on my comings and goings. Then the towhees came, and sent the cornmeal flying in all directions. This irritates me no end.

When I started feeding the birds, only a few juncos showed up. Now it’s wildly successful, with accompanying problems. When I leave, I have to cover the food.

This morning when I got back from more errands, I got a glimpse of the departing squirrel, who had managed to remove the cover, which was weighed down with the ceramic seagull. No matter, I have figured out a solution. More later.

Next to the feeder table, which is full of seeds and other tasty fare, is another table where I put the seeds I’m getting ready to plant. Well, there’s other stuff there too, an old semi-broken tabletop fountain, assorted hose nozzles, the odd cactus. But right in the middle is a container full of hollyhock seed pods from last fall.

What keeps me from planting them? There were pink hollyhocks and white ones. I forgot which is which. But today, I noted the heavy bird traffic to this table, mostly juncos. They’re after the hollyhock seeds, maybe as a palate cleanser to all that peanut butter and cornmeal.

If I get those seeds planted, there should be plenty of extras to go around by late summer.

Last night, as usual, I went out to cover the bird feeding station. Faithful readers know that we have varmints of various sizes and kinds, all with voracious nocturnal appetites for birdseed and the cornmeal/peanut butter in a bowl.

I use a lid from some forgotten plastic container, and to make sure it stays where it should, I put one of two things on top. One is a heavy seagull ceramic thing that a relative gave me which was headed for the trash till I found a use for it. The other is a heavy rock. Sometimes I can’t face the seagull, even in the dark. I reached for the rock.

It was quite dark. It wasn’t the rock. It was the rock-sized cactus that I bought for a photo session last year. So there it was, stuck to my hand, and all I could do was shake it till it fell off.

My fingers were a little numb for hours after.

It slammed into a window one quiet Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago, dying instantly. As best as I can determine, it was a ladder-backed woodpecker. Other than a small wound on one side of its head, it was remarkably intact.

Of course, I got photos from every angle, and as you can see, its relation to a much larger (possible) predecessor is obvious.

Mr. Towhee is under the apple tree doing his mating dance. I’m not sure about the chickadees, but the juncos are starting to get territorial wherever there is enough groundcover to hide a nest, though you’d think they’d just reuse the old one. Meanwhile the chickadee fledglings are hanging out in the pyracantha, waiting to get a bath from the upturned hose.

If I’m not paying attention, and just aim the hose upward, they can topple off the limbs. Which doesn’t seem to really deter them. But if I get it just right, word gets out, and this afternoon, there were five or six making their happy sounds and getting a shower. As soon as I set up one of the old lawn sprinklers, maybe I can get a movie of them. Well, as soon as I figure out how to take movies with the new camera.

The grub? It defecated a tremendous amount in its container, and I released it this morning.

The hummers that live in my yard (I found a nest last week) love their showers, and as it turns out, a dip in the pool now and then. This is the water pump on my small pot with the deer scare that is not visible here.

I never do handheld photos well, but only had a few seconds to take the shot.

Thanks to my continuing efforts to thwart the squirrels, today is the first day that a dove could feed relatively undisturbed. I had placed metal pie pans around the edges of the feeding table in hopes of splashing the occasional curious squirrel. Over the weekend, the water evaporated, and the poor dove kept upending the pans when it landed, terrifying itself with the racket.

Even more interesting, the sight of the dove didn’t intimidate the smaller birds. When the towhee eats, nothing else comes by, but the chickadees, juncos and titmice all shared at the same time, more or less. However, the dove was the champion eater.

Perhaps tomorrow I can bring out the 5D and get some decent shots without giving it a heart attack.

The baby was in the raised beds, enjoying a morning shower. The parents were frantic in the oaks above, screaming while trying to gain a foothold on the tips of the branches that didn’t really support their weight well.

I thought it was another photo op.

As soon as I got out there with the tripod, one dove at me. Then the other parent came from another direction. Meanwhile, the baby found the fence to be a formidable obstacle. When I say baby, I mean fledgling, and full-sized at that. I crept closer.

In the past, I’ve had parent crows swoop down before. One year, a fledgling was down somewhere in the neighborhood. To make sure no human would bother it, Mom and Pop attacked everyone out for a walk. This went on for several days.

The morning’s fledgling was unnerved by the sight of the tripod and camera plus moving human. Suddenly, it had the ‘Oh, right, I can fly’ moment, and took off for the top of the fence. The parents went beserk, unsure of whether to keep going after me or to encourage their baby.

Not a single shot did I manage to get. But I am wide awake.

The dark-eyed junco fledglings feed on their own now, taking big helpings from the cornmeal/peanut butter bowl. Shyer, the titmouse fledglings have just begun coming to the feeder. One was happily eating away when a parent junco pounced on it. The juncos chase away most other birds from time to time, but before I knew it, the fledgling was on its back, helpless with Papa junco on top pecking away.

I jumped up and banged on the window. Since then the parent titmice are making multiple trips with beaks full of cornmeal mix for the traumatized young.

Sometime I will rig up a webcam so you can see these antics too. There are plans afoot to build a bluebird nesting house or two. And I’ve got to figure out a way to film the hummingbirds that regularly jump into the spray from the hose for a shower.

At the outlets, this little bird was found behind a trash can. High winds must have knocked it out of the nest in a large letter on the storefront. Another few gusts, and it would be in the street. It was not able to grasp yet, and didn’t want to be fed by well-meaning but untrained humans.

Off it went to Palo Alto’s Wildlife Rescue, where staff said one eye may have sustained injuries in the fall.

Cold today, only in the mid-50s in the afternoon. All day long, the chickadees have been picking off the peanuts and sunflower seeds, with one female eating as if she had a big brood back at the nest. She tears off bits of the bread pieces, downing it on the spot instead of flying off like the others. When she finds a bigger seed, she wedges it between her claws, and hammers at it with her beak.

Just when I’m lulled into thinking all is peaceful, a big form comes out of nowhere and slams into the window in front of me. When I dash out, all I can see are two doves flying away, one making comforting sounds to the other. Maybe due to not hitting the window head on, but rather coming around from the side, it didn’t knock itself out. Which is great, but I didn’t get to take close-up photos. Dang.

For such a small bird, it made a very loud thump on the window. It didn’t seem to be moving as it lay on the ground. When I picked it up, it stretched out a wing stiffly. Oh no, I thought, a broken wing. Its tiny feet couldn’t get a grip in my palm so I set it in some veronica. And then of course, my main instincts kicked in, and I went inside for the tripod.

I managed to get a few shots taken. Suddenly, the eyes brightened, the heartrate quickened, and it went straight up in the oak tree. What a recovery!

The dark-eyed juncos are waiting for me when I come out here in the morning. I have to put a cover on the feeder at night to keep the varmints at bay. Most days I fix my oatmeal first, but it’s obvious they are impatient and all but lined up. Now I see why.

The juvenile screeches and follows the parents all over the yard. This is one of two, the other is not as demanding, and doesn’t feel the need to puff up its feathers.

My photo setup is not quite there yet, I’m working on it. Dark, gloomy day, constantly moving subjects fluffing and unfluffing. Beaks eating at high speeds.

One of the old birdhouses I put by the feeding station is a subject of great interest from a female wren. She popped in and out of the very small hole (the lower entrance is blocked by the twigs of a former tenant) a couple of days ago. Today, she is back with a beak full of nesting material. However, her mate seems to have talked her out of settling in, although with a major food supply right outside the front door, it really can’t be beat.

He has gotten more used to my being so close by. Mrs. Towhee regularly chases him off, so I don’t have a really high opinion of him, but notice that the two of them put away a huge amount of seed. He still turns his back if I watch too closely.

From their comings and goings, they seem to live in the arbovitae.

It’s not everyday that I get over a thousand grubs via the mail. When the box was opened, a vaguely familiar smell came forth. Toasty, kind of fried, with an undercurrent of animal.

Pork rinds. That’s close. So far, the juncos are eating all around them, but we’ll see as the afternoon moves on.