The Boston Globe’s Big Picture. The BBC.

A few days ago, there was a new frantic sound, the rapid buzzing of a hungry fledgling on the ground. It was big.

Alongside the parent junco, it looked enormous. My first thought was, this can’t be a junco. Maybe it was a hybrid. A quick check proved me wrong. Till today I had only seen it in the agitated, fluffed out stage. The parents seemed bent on leaving it behind to forage on the millions of nyger seeds dropped by the goldfinches. This it would do, but as soon as it spotted a parent, it turned up the volume on the buzzing, chasing them all over the yard.

This morning, as it fed alone on the seeds, a dove landed. Immediately, it unfluffed itself, and I could see that it had the lean lines of a junco. But I kind of prefer it all poufy.

There I was, minding my own business after a fine lunch that included a protein and not one but two veggies. My usual bird friends were fairly calm, and the only discordant note was a bluejay that kept swooping in and stealing their food. Then the raccoon appeared.

Around the corner it came. High up in the oaks, the crows began to screech loudly. The door was open as usual. Quickly I went outside, closing the door behind me, grabbed the camera and tripod and went after the rapidly disappearing creature. It loped across the back patio, and ducked under the shed.

Every bird and squirrel in the surrounding trees set up a huge outcry. I went back to work. No photos. In a few minutes, the alarm sounds went up again as I heard something big crashing through the ivy on top of the fence.

A little blurry, I was nervous.

About a week ago, I found a dove sitting on her nest on the fence. She froze, even though she tended to flee at the slightest human movement near the feeding table. The day after, all that remained was the nest with one broken egg and a lot of feathers scattered on the ground and caught on the vines.

Now I know what happened.

It went along the fence easily, as if it had done this many times before. At the spot where the dove had her nest, it stopped to see if another dinner awaited. Then it climbed down the other side. I didn’t go after it.

But if it comes back along the same route, I’ll be ready.

Please bear with me, he’s been gone a couple of months, looks scruffy and has gotten camera shy again. Here is a terrible shot through a really dirty window in very little light:

How do I know it’s him? Between 7:00 and 7:56 p.m. tonight, he has come by the feeder more than 10 times. The only other hummers don’t sit and feed like he does, they sip and are gone within seconds. He knows it’s his feeder, and takes his own sweet time.

Which begs the question, where did that hummingbird body we found in the deer scare (which I thought was Sparky) come from? Did he kill a rival and vanish for a while? It really didn’t make sense that he would die in a fountain he saw every day, and took baths in. But the weather was brutal back in April when he disappeared. I looked carefully at the remains, and noted that Sparky didn’t have that many white-tipped tail feathers.

I had heard that ruby-throated hummers migrate. However, there have been females in the yard and at least one or two juveniles that chose to stick around.

But all is well, he’s back. And starved, obviously.

Here’s what he really looks like.

At least six, and sometimes a house finch manages to get a spot too till it is overwhelmed by the goldfinches, who eat all day long. This male was eating peacefully alongside another male, which certainly doesn’t happen very often.

Underneath the sock feeder is a pile of black seeds and their hulls. The doves and juncos pick through them.

Near the end of next month, I will move my laptop and camera gear outside, and then we’ll see how close they’ll let me get.

Possibly the most retiring of the menagerie. It was all I could do to set up the tripod and camera (open door, equipment inside) without spooking it. And that, of course, is why it is not in focus. This is also from video. But it craned its neck so it could check out the camera and me for a few seconds before taking off.

There are three of them, one bullies the other two, so maybe it’s not a pair with their young one, but a male and two wives. Now I’m trying to get used to big shadows across the yard as they fly back and forth, but they get closer each day.

Next thing I know, there’ll be a dove or two in here making those frantic twittering sounds which seem to be their normal mode. We will scare each other to death, no doubt.

I used to get terrible photos of the hummingbird till the feeder was moved into a brighter spot. Maybe this will happen tomorrow when I don’t have 10,000 other things to do.

Turnabout’s fair play, as they say. I’m always shooting chickadees outside, and today, one of them decided to check out what I do in here.

Yes, those are cobwebs on its feet. I tried to keep it away from the windows, but it just wouldn’t listen. At first I thought it was the baby chickadee, but it seems to be the male parent. The male will not land on my hand, but the female will. Although given the stress of the situation, she probably wouldn’t have either.

It kept going to the base of the window even though I pleaded and tried to coax it out with mealworms. There it goes again.

When the juncos came in, they looked over all the equipment I use, and got out of here in a hurry. The chickadee decided it would stick around.

I remembered the butterfly net in the garage. Please, please, I thought, let it not be the one with the hole in it.

It wasn’t. The family member came home, and managed to escort the chickadee outside in the net. It flew off into the oak tree where it lives. Where it is probably currently soaking in the tub, trying to get rid of all that stuff on its feet, and regaling the family with his strange adventure. I hope he remembered to tell them that there were refreshments.

For my nonbirding readers, goldfinches will feed from these mesh ’socks’ filled with tiny nyger seeds. It took them a day or so to find it. So far, I’ve only seen one, but I know there is at least one pair in the yard. This one fed from the other side of the sock this morning.

Because I’m always staring at the monitor, it’s fortunate that some birds, like this one, will announce its arrival. A clear whistling sound signals a visit, while the titmouse makes a rasping, harsh call, but is sometimes more melodic. When there are fresh mealworms in the feeder, the titmouse is no longer hesitant or mindful of the camera. The goldfinches will just have to get used to the many comings and goings, bird and human alike.

The titmouse is taking plenty of food back to its nest. It fought off the usually ferocious juncos this morning to get a prime spot.

After spotting a pair of lesser goldfinches yesterday, I bought one of those mesh socks filled with nyger seeds. No takers yet.

She’s not the first to plunder this long-abandoned nest, which is about two feet from my desk. Had to try and get a shot. This is a low-res frame from footage.

A Townsend’s warbler showed up yesterday, and while it has taken a liking to the suet, one of the dark-eyed juncos inevitably appears to escort it off the premises. I was worried it would be scared off, but it keeps coming back, and submitted to having footage (which yielded this blurry frame) taken this morning.

Not too many brightly-colored birds come by, other than the blue jay, robins and the woodpeckers. The jay, I discovered, is a very smart bird.

Yesterday I was trying very hard to get a shot of this fellow in dense fog that had just lifted from pea soup status. Knowing, of course, that my 300mm lens was not equal to the task. Behind me I could hear voices.

The accompanying family member was talking to a couple, and they were discussing whether this was a harrier or not. After a bit, they came to the conclusion that indeed it was, and a female at that. Then the woman approached me.

Woman: That’s a hawk.
Me (silence)
Woman: A harrier. Now turn around, I want you to see something.
Me (turning warily)
Woman: See that bird out there? That’s a willet. And farther out, see those? Those are goldeneyes.
Me: I thought that was a sandpiper.
Woman: No, it’s a willet.

They moved on. The hawk moved on. Suddenly, the family member exclaimed. The couple had paused near a bench. The harrier landed directly on the bench in front of them. And stayed there.

Naturally we made our way over, and as these things happen, it flew off before we got close enough for a shot that was not up in the fog.

That was the second amazing thing of the day. Here’s the first:

I’d never seen one before except on a set of drinking glasses my dad favored for his beer.

At Shoreline this morning, it was having great luck finding food.

Sploosh!

Got it!

A brief but very intense few moments in the ivy.

They’re a noisy bunch, the robins. After announcing their arrival, they tried to eat the dark berries of the ivy along the fence. I pruned back this ivy a few weeks ago. Had I known there was this much interest, I would have left them as they were.

Usually, they with their friends the cedar waxwings have a party in the pyracantha bushes, then disappear. Sometimes they don’t leave till they knock themselves silly on the windows.

Did they fall off the ivy? Repeatedly. The waxwings got their share, but I haven’t gone through all the movie frames to see if I managed to shoot any.

Once again, these are taken from video and are none too sharp. But you get the idea.

Usually when a hawk has dined in our backyard, only a few feathers are left on the ground. A couple of days ago, I found the bones of a good-sized bird, possibly a crow. The neighborhood crows harass the hawks mercilessly, and maybe one day a hawk just couldn’t take it anymore.

A sequence of frames from footage I took a few days ago. When I figure out how to embed video in the blog, you’ll be the first to know.

The chickadees are bullied by the juncos, but once in a while, they manage to feed in peace.

They drop a lot of their food. Sometimes they manage to recover it.

You might have thought it too big for a tiny chickadee to handle.

Getting a good grip is critical.

For the past few frosty mornings, I’ve been outside filming birds. Those of us in the Bay Area are spoiled, and think it’s really cold when it’s in the low 40s. If you’re standing still for long periods of time, it can be.

Back in band days, the boys had white fingerless gloves, but these can’t be found when I’m in a hurry. I ordered these, and they just arrived. I’m surprised to see loose strands, but assume I can just snip those off, and there won’t be unraveling to the point that I’ll eventually just have wristlets.

Others have various solutions, most of them somewhat pricey. My favorite is the Wal-Mart version, which I might investigate when I can get up the gumption to go there again.

No, I didn’t get a shot of it.

They are known to eat out of your hand if you have enough patience. While the flock here gets very close, one had yet to make the leap. This morning, I had to spend extra time getting props set up. Sometimes they knock over things, and I was making sure this wouldn’t happen today.

One was in the bushes next to the feeder table. I took a couple of peanuts and held them out. It jumped right onto my hand, chose one and took off. Because I had a shooting plan with props firmly adhered in place, I didn’t follow up by offering more.

However. One morning I’ll work at this and see if more will join in.

They do like my Manfrotto tripod. When I take a break, I remove the camera but leave the tripod outside. Naturally I missed the shot of the one perched on the head.

When the light is right, it’s easy to see what a colorful fellow he really is. This is, sadly, a low-res frame 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.

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.

For a few seconds, I inverted the cup. This is one fast spider that I did not want loose in the house. Did I mention that it’s really, really big?

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.

The other night I spotted it over by the window while I was fixing supper. A family member immediately went into some kind of loop: How did that get in the house? How did that get in the house? How did that get in the house?

Somehow, the subject was cornered. This morning I released it on a piece of paper, but it was bent on a fast escape. The home jar was too distorted for a decent photo, so I used a plastic cup instead. It spent the entire session trying to leave the premises. Unlike the previous spider, it did not spin obscuring webs. Very soon now, it will be finding a new home out in the garden.

This time of year it’s hard to check the garden without walking into spider webs. In the 95° temps this afternoon, I found this creature. A hot breeze came up, so I didn’t get the shot I wanted. I suspect it will still be there tomorrow.

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.

It has resided in the pimento jar on my desk for several days. I haven’t been anxious to take a photo, thank to the vivid memory of a family member’s experience as he leaned in to shoot one years ago. His subject made a sudden move, prompting him to drop his camera.

As I was setting up, there was a loud buzzing on the window. A crane fly had somehow gotten in, and for a moment, I contemplated the obvious. But I took the fly outside. Which is where I will put this jar. Right now. (Now if it had been a housefly, that would have been different.)

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.

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.

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.

Nepenthes attenboroughii, named after Sir David, is capable of putting away rats. Not wee mousies now and then, but . . . well, there’s a photo. The accompanying video shows remarkable footage of how the plant produces the nectar-filled pitchers.

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.

Some days I spend 8 - 10 hours tweaking my photos with PhotoShop. By the end of the day I have lots of floaters, and the eyes are on the dry side.

Several times a day I move to another room where the light is good for taking photos. Last week, I was shooting an old suitcase full of vintage clothing from my mom’s house. I thought my eye fatigue had at last produced blurry spots at the edge of my vision. I would reararrange things, set up the tripod and there they were again, big dark things. I blinked. And blinked again. Wait a minute.

They were moths. Somehow they had gotten into the suitcase, and were rapidly vacating the premises with surprising speed. I started killing the ones in the case, but they left such a mess that I gave up.

I seem to have a bigger moth problem than originally thought. But less of an eye problem.

For a short time today, ShutterStock contributors were seeing their numbers doubled, in both photos sold and earnings total. It was baffling to see all of a sudden, but of course it was a bug. Some bug.

I’m always on the lookout for bears with character - used ones at garage and estate sales. They sit fairly still for photos, and if they won’t lean the right way, a well-placed heavy rock does the trick. (I know what you’re thinking, but I am very kind to my bears.) Tape sticks to plush badly, but given a little time and persistence, my bears generally do what I ask.

This morning found me at a Palo Alto sale where a very large old bear slumped in a dark corner with a pink pig. Quite used and full of personality, it was, sadly, missing an eye. Rejected.

At the next sale, there were masses of new stuffed animals. Not a good sign. Prices were high, but when I picked up the lone large bear, a woman exclaimed, ‘Name a price! We’re open to anything!’

The fur was suitably old-looking, but it looked more like a dog with upright ears. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, ‘It’s definitely a bear.’ I poked around the face, looking for eyes in all that thick fur. ‘You can trim back the fur if you like, but it’s got eyes.’

So what did we settle on? ‘You can have it for a dollar.’ Sold.

The family member who is a father had chosen Park Chow as his preferred place to dine on the week-early Father’s Day celebration last Sunday. Another family member, the Seattle one, is on call on the actual date, so we made do.

As we prepared to circle the block once more, hoping someone would leave, a slot opened up at just the right moment. After we parked, we realized it would be hard to forget where we were leaving the car.

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.