Get your woodpeckers straight!

Living in Balance
By Jenipher Appleton

“There’s a hairy woodpecker on the suet feeder.”
“No, that’s a downy!”
This is the sort of banter you hear around our place. Truth be told, the hairy and downy woodpeckers are pretty much identical in appearance except for size. Sometimes it is difficult to distinguish which is which because of distance (or poor vision).
Roger Tory Peterson, father of the field guide, states that the downy woodpecker is like a smaller edition of the hairy: about 2.5 inches smaller. At a distance this doesn’t always help with identification. Both birds are white-backed and black-winged, with regular white spots. Two white stripes adorn a black head and the male of each species sports a small red patch at the back of its head. The main differences are body size and the bill. The downy’s bill is small; the hairy’s is proportionately larger and quite prominent.
These woodpeckers are regular visitors to feeding stations and are fun to observe. Comfort foods for us may include chili, soups and stews; for a woodpecker it is definitely suet. It provides necessary heat energy to survive the winter’s cold. Congealed pan drippings mixed with peanut butter or trimmings from meat stuffed into net bags provide tasty, energy-filled treats as well.

The ability of the woodpecker to effectively drill holes into a tree seems to defy physics. I can only imagine what it might be like to repeatedly and relentlessly thrust my face into a solid object. Some quick research revealed that woodpeckers have a suspension system in their skull that reduces and absorbs the force of strokes. It has special softening tissues between the bones of its skull.
During my childhood, at the cottage in Muskoka, we often awoke to the rapid percussion of a hairy woodpecker as he drilled away on the metal chimney-pipe on the roof. We never knew why he did it; perhaps he liked to hear himself. The sound would reverberate throughout our little wooden structure and our night’s slumber would come to an end.
People sometimes mistakenly call the hairy or downy woodpecker a ‘red-headed woodpecker’. The red-headed is aptly named, as its entire head is bright red. They are not common at feeders, preferring hedgerows, groves and fields. I have only seen a couple over the years on our Ailsa Craig property.
Flickers and sapsuckers are common in the area as well, and are actually members of the woodpecker family. I shall reserve the details on them for a future column.
While in our campsite in Algonquin Park this past summer, we were visited by a large hairy woodpecker. The object of his attraction was a fallen pine log, loaded with juicy grubs and beetles. As he did not seem to care much about our presence, Tom (my better half) was able to get a few good photos of him.

Cauldrons, murders and unkindnesses

Living in Balance
By Jenipher Appleton

It is commonplace for us to refer to certain groups of animals by their correct term: herds of cattle, schools of fish, pods of whales, swarms of bees, litter of puppies, etc. In the avian family, the names for species groups are indeed quite unique, if not intriguing. Three group names are stated in the title of this article.
Bird groups are often named by more interesting terms than ‘flock’. In many cases the group name is more appropriate than one might think. A few examples are highlighted in the ensuing paragraphs.
One might wonder why a group of raptors (hawks for example) would be called a ‘cauldron’. Perhaps these adept hunters had been historically associated with witches’ brew. Wrong. Upon some investigation I learned that the term refers to migratory behaviour. In the autumn when massive flocks of raptors take off from the ground, the spiraling funnels of thousands of birds resemble kettles or cauldrons. Makes sense.
A ‘murder’ of crows is another term that conjures up macabre scenes of ghosts and haunted houses. Again, the group name is based on crow behaviour. Crows are known to fly in large mobs in order to harass other birds, like hawks and owls. Mob mentality frequently ends up in murder. Hence the group name.
Similarly, a group of ravens is referred to as an ‘unkindness’. The ominous appearance of this bearded black bird, with its raucous voice was highlighted in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”. It is featured in mythology worldwide. The raven is the cleverest of birds and has been known to steer a hawk to a rabbit (which the hawk kills) and then chase the hawk away so the raven can have his lunch. The hawk would call that ‘unkind’.
Eagles have long been admired for their soaring spirits and have been used as symbols of wisdom and determination. They are always at the top of the food chain. Sports teams and universities often use the eagle image as a logo or mascot. The link to higher education may explain the group name ‘a convocation of eagles’.
A group of peacocks is known as an ‘ostentation’. The reason is obvious when one thinks of the ostentatious strutting of the males, parading their coloured fans for the females. A ‘gaggle’ of geese simply comes from the burbling sound made by a passing flock. A group of hummingbirds is known as a ‘charm’. Everyone is charmed by the beauty of this tiniest of birds, delicately sipping nectar from a bell-shaped flower.
Other examples include: a bevy of quail, a bouquet of pheasants, a company of parrots, an exaltation of larks, a pitying of doves (yes the cooing is pitiful) and a herd of cranes. Try applying these terms next time you see a ‘flock’ of crows or migrating hawks. You may get some strange looks, but you will be the wiser.

A ghostly green glow

Living in Balance
By Jenipher Appleton

Summer was gone but the good weather lingered on into golden September. It was one of those lovely, almost autumn weekends that found us at the cottage on Three Mile Lake in Muskoka. Saturday passed pleasantly and dusk came relatively early. There was a slight chill in the air so my mother, my dad, my friend Debbie and I sat close to the open-hearth fireplace. At the ripe old age of eleven, it seemed to me that the gathering darkness and flickering flames were setting the mood for one of my father’s choice ghost stories.
Gradually the logs were consumed by the fire and shadows deepened in the room. There were no other cottagers in the bay that weekend so all was very quiet and still, except for the chirping of crickets heard through the screens of the front windows which faced the lake.
My father’s story concerned some poor man whose dying wife had persuaded him to bury her with all her jewels. Later on, the direst of circumstances made him decide to open her grave in order to extract the jewels therefrom. Dad’s quiet, slow, monotonous voice added to the spell of the moment. Debbie and I were paying rapt attention, along with my mother who had undoubtedly heard the story countless times.
We followed the exploits of the desperate grave robber as he made his way to the cemetery. In the light of a dim kerosene lantern, he located the shallow grave and dug down until the metal of his shovel met the wood of the coffin. He opened it and in a rush of courage seized the jewels. We noted his frantic efforts to return the grave to its previous appearance. With backward looks he hurriedly made his way homeward. Now the moment of truth was near. It was almost time to bring everyone back to the present with a start; the man crept up the stairs to the bedrooms that he and his wife had shared. Suddenly…!!
At that precise moment in the story, the whole cottage where we sat was alight with an eerie green glow, which filled every corner of the room. My mother’s oil painting of an autumn forest, bathed in phosphorescence by the eerie glow, stood out on the back wall. We all spun our heads toward the source of the illumination. Down the bay sped a globular greenish-white object that grew in size and then quickly faded, leaving everyone momentarily speechless. Our senses having returned, we took to our feet and ran outside toward the lake. My father then explained that apparently a meteorite had raced through the atmosphere at the moment when one usually shouts GOTCHA! at the end of a ghost story.
Meteor showers are common throughout August and September, but we normally are able to see them as what we might call shooting stars streaking down the sky on a clear night. We had been fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time. It is likely that a small, perhaps baseball-sized chunk of a meteor had broken through the earth’s atmosphere and taken its path right into the lake that ghost story night. It is an event that I will never forget as long as I live! Nor am I likely to ever have one of my own ghost stories so aptly punctuated.

The Eastern kingbird can be a real tyrant

Living in Balance
By Jenipher Appleton

Family TYRANNIDAE, scientific name Tyrannus tyrannus. Sounds like some type of dinosaur, doesn’t it? It is not what you might expect; this scientific name is that of the Eastern kingbird. You will commonly spot this handsome bird perched on a wire, or high up on a tree or weed stalk catching insects. This 22 cm-long bird has a black cap, forehead, cheeks and bill. White throat, charcoal gray back, white under parts, and black tail with a white terminal band are other distinguishing marks.
The Latin name means “king of the tyrants”. This aggressive bird, when defending its nest, will be seen chasing and pestering larger species like hawks, crows, and turkey vultures. Extremely agile in its attacks, the kingbird will pull out the other birds’ feathers and generally make their lives miserable.
According to Fred J. Alsop III, PhD in Ornithology, the Eastern kingbird winters in South America where its diet becomes mostly berries. The male performs erratic courtship flights, circling, hovering and tumbling with tail spread. This bird is monogamous and a solitary nester. Young are fed by both parents for 16-18 days.
Your chances of spotting a member of this distinctive species are extremely good, as its population is common and widespread. Watch out for them along the roadside, perched on fences, utility wires, shrubs or posts.

Current Backyard Sightings
We have been enjoying a tremendous number of rose-breasted grosbeaks in the yard this summer. Throughout the day you can count ten or more members of this beautiful species on the feeders. The spring fledgling males are in their immature phase of plumage. The breast is rusty in colour with multiple streaks, and the distinctive red triangular patch is not yet developed. Other common species noted are house finches, downy woodpeckers, white-breasted nuthatches and the very friendly chickadees. We continue feeding all summer. Don’t forget to keep the birdbath full of fresh water.
We have also had a green heron visit our water garden on several occasions. Less than half the size of the great blue heron, this individual is fairly young and the plumage on its head is quite fluffy. He is a deep shade of green with distinctive yellow legs, and does not spook easily when we approach the water garden. However, the frog population appears to have diminished.

Savouring the great blue heron’s majesty

Living in Balance
By Jenipher Appleton

Childhood memory. Three Mile Lake, Muskoka. Early morning mist. Lake a sheet of glass. Heron skims the surface and lands in the reeds. Stands erect. “Squawk!”
Algonquin Park. Summer 2007. Pioneer Logging Exhibit trail. Heron at water’s edge. Lightning strike of daggerlike bill. Scores a catch. Moments later a telltale Pisces bulge halfway down his gullet.
Ailsa Craig. Back yard on Queen St. North. Happily hunting heron reducing goldfish population of water garden. Need for more lily pads.
The great blue heron, Ardea herodias, ranges throughout much of North America, including southern Florida. It is often mistakenly called a crane. If you see a giant blue-gray bird with a six-foot wingspan, its neck drawn back and long legs straight out behind, it is most likely the great blue heron. It is a wader, not a swimmer, and does not have webbed feet.
The heron is monogamous and lays two to seven pale blue eggs that are 6.4 cm long. Incubation is 25-30 days. Both parents participate in feeding the young. In the month of March the birds return to the heronry (a rookery for herons). A typical nesting site in southwestern Ontario is a swampy deciduous forest clump in the midst of a farmer’s field. The nests are at least 10 metres up and consist of a network of sticks. Access to these nesting sites is very difficult for humans.
In past years there was a heronry on Hyde Park Road, south of Ilderton. For some unknown reason the herons moved north and now can be seen between Fifteen and Sixteen Mile Roads on the east side of Hyde Park Road. In early spring during nesting season, with a decent set of binoculars, one can observe the young, their necks craned like misplaced nesting sticks. The adults, circling and hovering over the nests look somewhat prehistoric, reminiscent of some feathered dinosaur.
One morning last summer I was afforded a fleeting glimpse of a smaller relative of the great blue, the green heron, which is about half the size of its blue cousin. As I opened the back door, the spooked bird lifted off from the water garden with a sharp ‘squawk’, its distinctive yellow legs dangling out behind. I think he departed without breakfast.
Fergus the Labrador and I often take our evening walk down to the iron bridge on West Corner Drive. Last week we were treated to a rare sight, compared to the usual red-winged blackbirds, beavers, and snapping turtles. As we stood at the bridge’s railing, a pair of great blue herons sailed over its framework on silent wings, just twenty feet above our heads. Like great pterodactyls, they continued their glide over the river, and then circled back to land gracefully in the top of the tallest of the deciduous trees on the riverbank. Their plumage appeared blue-gold in the setting sun and an occasional ‘squawk’ came from each bird. Shortly thereafter, a third heron descended onto a nearby tree. The giant birds sat with their long necks tucked back and appeared that they would settle there for the night. Fergus and I quietly went on our way, leaving the majestic creatures in peace.

Gray catbird: master of mimicry

Living in Balance
By Jenipher Appleton

Each day as I head to the back of our property, I hear the piercing ‘meow’ call of the gray catbird. If I meow at him, I always get an answer of some sort back. This handsome member of the thrasher family bears the scientific name Dumetella carolinensis. It is a medium-sized perching bird; both sexes are monomorphic (or look exactly alike). It is 22 cm long, dark gray in colour, with a slim black bill and dark eyes. It has a long dark tail widening toward the tip, dark legs and an even darker cap on its head. It has a rust-coloured patch under the tail. The French name of the gray catbird is “monqueur chat.”
The behaviour of the gray catbird is very typical of a thrasher as it pumps its large tail up and down vocalizing all the while. It uses its loud cat sound to proclaim its territory, usually singing from inside the protection of a tree or bush, obscured from view by foliage. At the back of our property there are some very tall white cedars, which are the perfect hiding spot for the catbird to render his proclamations. These birds are urban, suburban, and rural. They eat mainly insects and berries. If you want to attract them to your feeder, try cheese, bread, raisins, cornflakes, currants, peanuts and crackers.
The gray catbird can mimic more than a hundred different species, including a tree frog. When I make my meowing sound at him, he often responds with the ‘purp-purp’ sound of a robin. He sings each phrase only once. The catbird’s syrinx (inside its throat) is divided in half and each side can operate independently. This means it can actually sing two songs at the same time. I have yet to hear this for myself but the phenomenon is well documented. Imagine being able to sing harmony with yourself!
The nest is cup-shaped and close to the ground on a tree branch. There are usually 2-3 pale blue eggs to a clutch. Another bird, the cowbird, is known to be too lazy to raise its own young and usually lays its eggs in the nests of other birds, which are often oblivious to the additional clutch members. If a cowbird happens to lay its eggs in a catbird nest, the tenant will deftly peck a hole in the cowbird egg and knock it out of the nest.
Catbirds summer all across southern Canada as far south as northeastern Arizona. Their winter range is the east coast of the U.S. southward to Central America and the Caribbean.

Recent Sighting
The orange-flavoured nectar in the oriole feeder is apparently not just for orioles. This week I was surprised to see what I first thought was a woodpecker on the oriole feeder. Closer inspection revealed a young yellow-bellied sapsucker (a member of the woodpecker family that drinks sap). While he was still enjoying his beverage on the feeder, along came a house finch on the opposite perch and it began drinking as well. Cocktails in the back yard.

Vegetable gardening with my Three Sisters

Living in Balance
By Jenipher Appleton

Vegetable gardening, though not for everyone, can be a very therapeutic endeavour. Planting the seeds, harvesting, and then being able to enjoy the resulting food on your plate is rewarding in itself. Then there is the physical health benefit of the exercise and fresh air. As a gardener, each year I like to plant at least one ‘fun crop.’ Some examples are: white pumpkins (ghostly), swan gourds (you can hang them as birdhouses), or colourful Indian corn (to hang as an autumn decoration).
This year’s fun crop is a combination of corn, beans, and squash, traditionally known as “The Three Sisters.” According to Iroquois legend, corn, beans and squash are the three inseparable sisters, complementing each other as they grow. Native Canadian farmers of the eastern woodlands grew them as a sustainable system that provided long-term soil fertility and a healthy diet. The Iroquois (including those in our region), believed that corn, beans, and squash were gifts from the Great Spirit, each watched over by one of the Three Sisters, called the De-o-ha-ko.
The corn stalk provides a natural pole for the beans to climb. Their vines actually help to stabilize the corn stalk. The mature squash vines and leaves act as natural mulch, shading out weeds and holding in moisture. The beans fix nitrogen in their roots. If the plant is recycled into the soil, the nitrogen will feed the corn stalk for the following year. The spines of the squash vines are a deterrent to animals.
The Three Sisters also complement each other nutritionally; corn provides carbohydrates, dried beans are rich in protein, and the squash are rich in vitamins and minerals.

How to plant
Make several mounds of soil, each about two feet in diameter. Incorporate some well-composted manure or other commercial fertilizer into the soil. Plant two or three corn seeds per mound, and a few bean and squash seeds around the periphery of the mound. For the bean crop I used scarlet runners and for the squash, jack-o-lantern type pumpkin seeds. Any kind of winter squash will work.

How not to plant
They say “experience is the best teacher” and I have certainly learned from experience on my first attempt to grow the three sisters. As I did not do any how-to research before beginning the project, I made the mistake of planting all three types of seeds at the same time. Common sense could have told me that the corn should be established first so the beans would have something to hold onto. So, be sure to plant the corn a couple of weeks ahead of the others seeds; the corn plant should be at least four inches tall before planting the beans and squash. Cultivating is still important at this point, but once established, this planting becomes a maintenance free crop. Enjoy!

In appreciation of the bird life around us

Living in Balance
By Jenipher Appleton

A warm July morning on Blue Heron Bay, Muskoka. Half an hour past dawn. The lake: a sheet of glass in the rising mist. A nine-year-old girl ambles on the beach, welcoming the sun’s rays as they kiss her chestnut hair and warm the sand between her toes. The belted kingfisher winds his clock as he swoops to claim an unsuspecting yellow perch. A great blue heron lands in the reeds, poised to spear his breakfast. From deeper in the woods, the veery chimes his haunting cadence. A sandpiper hops on stilt-like legs at water’s edge, unaware of the child observer.
These early childhood scenes served to charm the child into a healthy appreciation for the diversity and beauty of the natural environment. Children need experiences in the outdoors that will instill respect for birds and animals. Family camping trips, spending time at the cottage and hiking on the countless nature trails in Ontario can reap great rewards for parents and children. Unfortunately, not enough of us have an appreciation for the delicacy and uncertainty of the balance upon which the survival of many wild species depends. Simply having a decent field guide to the birds in your house can help to build interest in getting to know their various field marks and behaviours.
On the other hand, we, as a species, have an enormous infatuation with birds of all kinds on a quite different level. We use their names in our language daily. People are considered to have a ‘hawk-eye’ or an ‘eagle-eye’ or a ski jumper may ‘soar like an eagle’ (remember Eddie the Eagle?). An old woman may be called an ‘old crow’ or worse, an ‘old biddy’ (hen). Men or women can be ‘as wise as an owl’ or ‘crazier than a coot’ (waterfowl) or just be an ‘old coot.’ You can be a ‘silly goose’ or a ‘turkey.’ You may use Dove soap for its gentleness. We also use colours that represent birds: teal green, canary yellow or raven black, to name a few. When someone retires for the night, they may have ‘gone to roost.’ You may have been ‘pigeon-holed’ or may have your own ‘pigeon-hole’ in the office. Sports teams bear names like; orioles, seahawks, bluejays, blackhawks, pee-wees, red-wings, etc. etc…
Without birds, we would be overrun with insects. Bird song is the first indicator that dawn is approaching. The rooster wakes the farmer still. The cessation of bird song is a good indicator that a storm is approaching and the first sound to resume as the storm passes. There are birds all around. Listen, observe and appreciate.

A recent sighting
On Queen Street, just north of Ailsa Craig, Fergus the Labrador and I managed to inadvertently flush out a large flock of wild turkeys. They must have been feeding in the roadside ditch because as we passed by, three turkey hens and all of their fledglings erupted in an explosive kafuffle. The young ones were able to fly a short distance into the lower branches of some pines. Once the parents realized that their offspring had made it to safety, each female then flew easily to the tops of the trees, vocalizing as they went.
It was indeed an entertaining sight to behold. You never know what you might see around southwestern Ontario if you keep your eyes peeled.

A stroke of luck during a lightning storm

Or, How my family and two dogs survived an Algonquin nightmare

Living in Balance
By Jenipher Appleton

Not very many people can genuinely say that they have been struck by lightning and lived to tell the story. It’s a tale my family (yes, all four of us plus the dogs) can share after a 1996 camping trip.
Algonquin Park has attracted our family for more than two decades. On a gorgeous, warm day in August of 1996, my husband Tom, our two sons, and I settled into a lovely wooded site at Lake of Two Rivers campground. Tom Jr. was 15 at the time, and Andrew was 11. We had planned to take the cedar strip canoe and our two kayaks on a day trip the following morning. The weather forecast indicated sunny skies and warm temperatures.
We arose by seven, ate a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, beans and rye bread, and packed a picnic for the trip. We portaged the boats from the campsite to the Lake of Two Rivers beach and were on our way by ten. Our Labrador retrievers, one black and one yellow, panted excitedly to be on the water again.
Tom and Andrew were each in a kayak. Tom and I were in the cedar strip, he in the stern and his trusty bows-person up front. We located the mouth of the Little Madawaska River and decided to explore it. Paddling leisurely upstream against a gentle current, it seemed an ideal day for an outdoor experience.
An hour or so later, we pulled the boats up at a portage imposed by an old railroad bed, its bridge – that once spanned this part of the river – long since rotted away. Trying to imagine the sounds of the steam engines of J.R. Booth’s lumber era rumbling through the forest, we set about preparing our lunch. A single burner stove was produced and we were able to boil enough water for our ‘cup-a-soup.’ Pita halves stuffed with salami and cheddar topped off the repast.
We regarded the first tremor of thunder with little concern. Ten minutes later, however, the velvet blackness of the northwestern sky, loud claps of thunder and violent gusts of wind sent us all scurrying for cover. A well-documented rule about thunderstorms is ‘don’t stay under a tree’. We were in the Algonquin Forest in thick bush so plan B was put into place.
We hurriedly ushered the boys under the upturned canoe with Molson, the black Lab puppy. Tom and I crouched together in the lowest spot possible with Daisy Mae the yellow Lab. We were pounded with torrential rain and the lightning was relentless. Suddenly, a blinding explosion of yellow light stung the air and we were hurled violently upward. We crashed back to the muddy ground. The first to regain consciousness, I immediately crawled forward to check Tom’s condition. He was breathing. A crying puppy and groans from the boys told us they had survived. They had been thrown upward and had hit the floor of the overturned canoe. Tom Jr. complained of painful feet and Andrew clutched the helping puppy tightly. Another ten minutes of lashing rain and crashing thunder made me feel like we were in a war zone, wondering whether the lightning might strike us again. My tingling toes and fingers also made me wonder about the possibility of heart attack.
At long last the pounding ceased and we launched the boats to make a hasty exit down river. I never knew we could paddle with such determination.
Later that evening, around the campfire, we marveled at the wonder of just being alive and the beauty all around us with a fresh perspective. As I placed my hand on Andrew’s blonde-tufted head, I felt two tiny bald spots behind the temple. His head had rested against the gunwale of the canoe and the screws must have conducted the electrical current and singed his hair. That was too close!
We later learned that what we had experienced was a phenomenon called ‘step current.’ We assume lightning struck a tree many yards away from where we were, and the ensuing charge then traveled through the ground, eventually throwing us upward. Our fingers and toes tingled for a couple of days, but we were far more fortunate than a university student who was struck and killed on Lake Opeongo during the same storm.
We learned a lesson that day: don’t ever underestimate the power of Mother Nature, or her unpredictability.

Tiny wonders of the avian world

Living in Balance
By Jenipher Appleton

What lays pea-sized eggs, weighs an eighth of an ounce, and can be confused with a moth? It is none other than the truly incredible hummingbird. Only one species inhabits the eastern region of Canada: the ruby-throated or Archilochus colubris. Several other species are found throughout other parts of North and South America.
The ruby-throated hummingbird lays two pea-sized white eggs, which incubate for 18-23 days. The miniscule nest resembles a natural knob on the branch of a leafy tree or shrub. The chicks are actually larger than their mothers when they leave the nest because of the stress placed on the parent while raising them. Two summers ago our neighbour Steve Kozak was able to observe such a nest attached to a gnarly branch in one of his maple trees. He used a stepladder to take the odd peek at this amazing sight and managed some interesting video footage.

Time to put out those hummingbird feeders!
May 1st is a good time to put out your hummingbird feeder because they arrive back from the sunny south around this time. If you want to establish their presence in your yard, food must be available. I haven’t seen a hummer yet this spring, but my birding friend Val had one at her feeder last weekend. I put my feeder out the moment I heard they were back. (Orioles will be here soon as well, so you might want to think about getting the oriole feeder filled with their preferred orange-flavoured nectar as well.

Amazing stats!
The name ‘hummer’ comes from the sound of the wings, which beat an amazing 40-80 times per second. Average flight speed is 50 km/h. The birds are seen darting about, changing directions like green arrows. Their average heart rate is 250 beats per minute while resting (compare that to the human heart at about 70) and the hummer breathes about 250 times per minute. In spite of these high rates of respiration and heartbeats, the hummingbird has been known to live for twelve years, although the average lifespan is between three and five years.
The hummingbird has very short legs and consequently does not really walk or hop; it can only shuffle along a perch. However, it can still scratch its head and neck by raising a foot up and over its wing - quite the acrobat! Contrary to a popular myth, hummers do not hitch rides on other birds. They leave their northern breeding grounds in the second half of August or first week of September, travelling vast distances to winter in Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean islands. Banded birds show that they return to the exact location the following spring.
Last season in our yard, we noted that the hummingbirds that visited us preferred the flowers to the feeders. The bell-shaped flowers of the hosta lilies were a favourite. They also were partial to columbine, bee balm, phlox, petunias, lilies, trumpet vine and virtually any cone-shaped flowers. If you do put out nectar, a homemade concoction of one part sugar to four parts water is appropriate. Make sure to boil the water to dissolve the sugar and allow it to cool before adding to the feeder. Clean feeders at least once a week.

Recent sightings
We have had several rose-breasted grosbeaks at our feeders this week. My birding friend Val has had large groups of blue jays (up to twenty at one sitting!). Plus, several people in the Ailsa Craig and Nairn areas have spotted bald eagles.

Jenipher Appleton’s columns are available online at http://www.grandbendstrip.com/outside. You can also reach her through our website.

Next Page »