March 19: Marsh Cottontail

On Rabbit Road

all the mailboxes feature

some kind of bunny.

 

Marsh Cottontail seen this morning at the Bailey Tract of Ding Darling NWR

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

January 14: Sanibel

Spent the day birding with my husband and my mother in one of my favorite places: Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge.

 

White pelican

has a nine-foot wingspan.

But the spoonbill is pink!

 

Posted with Blogsy

March 22: Beach of shells

Spent a few hours at the beach on Sanibel today, one of the premiere shelling beaches. While Paul fished the turquoise waters, I waded, looked for shells, and watched turnstones and other shorebirds wander unafraid among the human visitors, the birds seeming just as interested in the ever-shifting mounds of shells as we were.

 

Each wave sweeps in

fresh shells for me

and sandpipers to pick through.

Posted with Blogsy

March 21: Pelicans

Birding today at Ding Darling NWR on Sanibel Island. As the tide ebbed in the mangrove-edged inlet, white pelicans and other birds flew onto the exposed flats. The pelicans are very huge and very white, especially when seen next to other birds.

 

Opening in the sun,

pelican's translucent bill.

Thin-skinned, all of us.

Posted with Blogsy

March 2: Herons

Watching herons stalk their prey is a lesson in patience. Oblivious of onlookers, the heron ever... so... slowly... moves each foot forward, its gaze fixed on something in the water or grass. If the bird is in deeper water, it may simply stand there staring down into the murky depths. It's like watching someone meditate, so intently is the bird focused, so completely in the present moment. For the birder, it's a meditation on a meditation. The bird stalks so carefully, for long, drawn-out minutes. Then, just as you're about to lose interest and look away, bang! The bird strikes. For a brief moment, a bug or little fish squiggles in the bird's bill. You see the bird swallow and it continues on to seek out its next target. With that care and attention, I'm sure the bird doesn't miss often.

On Sanibel Island over the past three days we saw the following species of heron or egret: great blue heron, little blue heron, tricolored heron, snowy egret, cattle egret, great egret, green heron, reddish egret, and yellow-crowned night heron. This time of year, the main activities of these birds--other than croaking at each other--seems to be this interminable quest for food. Depending on the species, we saw them wading in the salt estuaries, picking among the mangroves, or patrolling the roadsides.

Slow, stalking heron
inching through the mangrove roots:
patience rewarded.

Little blue heron

Yellow-crowned night-heron

March 1: Captivated on Captiva

This afternoon Paul wanted to do some fishing, and a local fly-fishing guide recommended the beach on the Sanibel side of the bridge to Captiva. So while he froze his feet in the surf and caught nothing, I beachcombed on one of Florida's best shell beaches, then literally sat in the warm sand just a few yards away from resting groups of terns, gulls, and shorebirds. I couldn't stop snapping photos. The water was a brilliant turquoise, my feet were bare for the first time since last summer, and I got some great practice at identifying shorebirds as mixed flocks of willets, dunlins, knots, sanderlings, and Western sandpipers surrounded me. A Western sandpiper decided to curl up right next to me for a while, and later, while sorting through heaps of shells, turnstones practically walked over my hands while they too picked over the shells to find tiny crustaceans hiding underneath. Just before we left, a dolphin swam parallel to the beach, right past a guy on a boogie board. I think these few hours on the palm-lined beach were the most relaxed and happy I've been in months.

Here with sand, birds, shells,
roaring surf, passing dolphin,
I find perfect calm.

February 27: Arrival in Florida

We are currently enjoying evening one of our week on the southwest Gulf Coast of Florida. Since we arrived in the dark, our only clues that we're not in Maine anymore, Toto, were the roadside palm trees and the flat landscape. Clear night skies, too--Mars straight overhead and a bright waxing moon. It's unseasonably cool--mid-60s now--but compared to the Northeast, we aren't complaining.

We'll spend our first three nights on Sanibel Island, a place we've enjoyed in the past very much despite the touristy build-up over the years. You reach the island via a modern toll bridge, but a friend has told us of the good old days when you had to take a ferry to get here. The lighthouse blinked to the south as we crossed the bridge in the dark, and then we turned onto the main drag to get to our little motel, a typical beachy place with a giant bed and a tiny bathroom, within striking range of a restaurant where Paul has indulged in the past in the all-you-can-eat shrimp special. True to form, he consumed three rounds tonight and we both left happy.

The seas, as best as we could tell, looked calm here--it's so strange to think of the tsunamis hitting Chile, Mexico, Hawaii. How blessed we are to be here with few worries, blithely planning a day of birding, beach, and maybe some fishing for Paul tomorrow.

Wake to snow in Maine.
By miracles of travel,
palm trees in the dark.