Dear Reader,
When Gal Potashnick (ACT’s Outreach & Member Services Director) invited me to write about the “phenology” of the North Country for ACT, I confessed I had no idea what she was talking about, and I suspected that she had invented the word to describe what she was looking for. Since I myself am not above such a tactic, I decided to look it up. Not trusting what I might find on the internet, I book-Googled and found the following definition in the H-R Volume of Webster’s Third International Dictionary:
Phenology – “a branch of science concerned with the relationship between climate and periodic biological phenomena (as the migration of birds or the flowering and fruiting of plants).
So, Gal was correct. She was looking for someone to write about the changing seasons in the North Country, and she knew about my interests in nature. For more than 20 years, I have always had a little notebook in my back pocket to record my observations of the natural world, and I nearly always take my camera along whenever I go for a walk in the woods or check out what’s going on in the nearby meadows and ponds. So, instead of merely being a somewhat eccentric retiree spending too much time organizing photos and analyzing my journal entries, I am pleased to find that I am an amateur phenologist. Of course, when I proclaim that to any interested passers-by, I will be asked “what is an amateur phenologist?” And I will have to answer, “a somewhat eccentric retiree spending too much time organizing photos and analyzing his or her journal entries.”
What follows is the first of what will be a regular series of essays about the phenology of the North Country. Each essay will include some discussion of what’s going on outside, and each will include some of my photos and the related journal entries. Seasons are always changing, but in some ways the changes are always the same. By knowing what we have seen in the past, we can look forward to what we might see next.
Out the Kitchen Window
Late January
In late January, we enjoy the way that twilight lingers well into the cocktail hour, even though the cocktail parties this year find neighbors socially-distanced around a fire that adds more warmth to the soul than to the body. The coldest weeks of the winter are ahead of us, the snow is piling up, the wood pile is shrinking and only the most devoted residents – human and avian – remain in the North Country. So now is the time that we – human and avian - most enjoy our birdfeeders. We hang our feeders from a curved steel post a few yards in front of the kitchen window, a site chosen so that we can watch the birds every morning as we eat breakfast, make the coffee, and do the dishes. I place my camera by my cereal bowl, make sure I have my current journal in my back pocket, wait for the usual suspects to show up, and hope for something special.
The most reliable birds, of course, are the small flocks of chickadees and blue jays that always checkout the feeder. A couple of nuthatches usually accompany the chickadees, and from time to time a hairy woodpecker drops by. Little flocks of redpolls, purple finches, house finches or goldfinches are less frequent visitors, but sometimes they arrive as rowdy groups of a dozen or so. If we’re lucky, a few evening grosbeaks will steal the show with their brilliant colors and extraordinary beaks. Other visitors might include downy woodpeckers, a misplaced starling, and this year even one or two tufted titmice.
Bird watchers often say that the best time to see birds is early in the morning, which may be true for some species at some times of the year. However, I find early morning to be the best time for sleeping, so I look for birds on a more civilized schedule. If you put out a feeder, or if you simply spread some bird seed across the snow, the chickadees and blue jays will find it – it may take a couple of days, but they will certainly show up. After that, the word will spread, and most of the other winter birds will eventually stop by. Some will be there in the morning, some may prefer mid-day when the sun is shining, and some will seek a last bite as the sun sets. There is no way to predict when the little flocks of evening grosbeaks, gold finches or red polls will show up; you just have to glance out the window from time to time to see who’s there. And keep your camera nearby.
Photos and text by Carl D. Martland, founding member of ACT and a long-time resident of Sugar Hill. Quotations from his journals indicate the date of and the situation depicted in each photograph. He is the author of Sugar Hill Days: What’s Happening in the Fields, Wetlands, and Forests of a Small New Hampshire Town on the Western Edge of the White Mountains.”
Little flocks of small birds at the feeder:
January 29, 2015 — minus 6 degrees at 715am, brilliant sunshine! Today was the first day this year that I’ve seen gold finches at the feeder – four males in their winter plumage. Also, the usual half dozen chickadees, a lone and perhaps lonely red poll, and a blue jay. For breakfast I had blueberries and home-made granola, and I sat by the window looking at the feeder, enjoying my “bird food” while the birds ate theirs.
Blue jays – the most colorful of the regulars:
Blue jays are frequent visitors to bird feeders in late January. They generally pick seeds right off the snow or a stump, perhaps simply because they prefer not to contort themselves into an awkward, undignified position on a bird feeder designed for chickadees and their allies.
July 6, 2016 — Eight blue jays at and around the feeder this morning, on the ground, on the stump, and in the fir tree, all brilliant blue against the pure whites and greens. I took a great picture of one on the stump. A pair of tree sparrows and a pair of juncos were also enjoying the sunflower seeds.
Something Special – An evening grosbeak!
What an extraordinary bird! Like Jimmy Durante, this bird shows no embarrassment regarding the size of his beak.
January 16, 2021— A small group of evening grosbeaks flew up as I approached the kitchen window. One returned, sat atop the pole holding the feeder, and posed for a photo before flying off to join his pals.
Surprise! A tufted titmouse!
This winter, for the first time in 22 years, a couple of tufted titmice have been regular visitors to the feeder. I was blown away to see the first one, and my journal entry suggests that he too had been “blown away”.
December 9, 2020 — 24 degree, cloudy. Many birds at the feeder yesterday, including the tufted titmouse that first arrived last week, the day after the “big wind”. It was the first one I have ever seen in Sugar Hill at any time of the year. It next showed up yesterday, and it’s here more often today, less shy, perhaps, after getting used to the neighborhood.
