Spring changes and new arrivals

Local birds are beginning to nest. As I type, a Western scrub-jay is selecting shreds of coconut hulls from the flower basket lining that hangs over the back patio. It's off to weave those into a nest somewhere. A pair of chickadees has taken a liking to two birdhouses we've hung on the fence, obtained at a recent estate sale in our neighborhood. Perhaps they recognize these houses from their past and are assessing their new locale. They gather the fibrous root matter of Chloragalum pomeridanum that sits staged in the yard, ready for us to plant. They take it in small quantities and disappear into the house with it. They are benefiting from Catey's and my planting delays. But the chickadees are having to compete with crows, which have been raiding the same root matter this morning, either for to line their own nests, or to eat. They are acting fast and eating a lot.

When I'm at home these days, it's difficult for me to focus on the things I "need" to go get done away from home. Having a hummingbird feeder, two suet feeders, and a seed feeder with black sunflower is one thing. But, now, with spring here, nesting activity is becoming a constant draw of my attention. Are the Hutton's vireos singing from the backyard oak going to build a nest on one of its thousand branch forks for me to find? The regular pair of purple finches, whom I can hear crunching seed on the bird feeder when I sit in the kitchen -- where will they nest? They sing in the trees around the neighborhood. Are these California towhees I see going to start gathering nesting materials, or are they just foraging...and ditto for the golden-crowned sparrows?

The yard bird list is at a plateau of 33, with the last three birds to date added on 16 February. Spring migration will be starting soon. What will be the next bird to be noted? I am curious whether next door's palm will invite a hooded oriole to nest. Will stopping-over sparrows follow the cues of locals and visit my feeder? I just realized I don't have a song sparrow on my list, but I heard one sing across the street this morning. Come on over and be #34, I invite him.

One of the things I "need" to go do, and I'm about to do so, is go buy more bird seed.

And find ways to stop feeding the squirrels -- and seal up the gaps in the fence to keep that rogue cat who keeps visiting OUT.

Snow geese, La Conner, December 2012.

(I think) I Found a Chanterelle Patch

I am not sure -- I need my friend Ally to help verify this -- and maybe until September when they are out of the ground again -- but I think I found a patch of chanterelles within walking distance of home. This is very exciting because these are known for their deliciousness. Mushroom collectors, already secretive about their collecting spots for other mushrooms, scarcely reveal their chanterelle haunts.

Although the habitat I was in seems right -- an oak understory in a gully, an internet crash course tells me that I need to examine the gills before truly identifying these.

 I might have found a population of the bioluminescent jack-o'lantern mushrooms, which grow on wood, sometimes underground rotting wood. These would still be a great find, because then I could return to find them glowing at night.

False chanterelles (which are not deadly, just not delicious) have true gills, but real chanterelles have false gills. Confused? Me too...don't worry, I'm not going to go picking any yet. My photos aren't good enough to make the call, and the fungi have vanished now. But I know the spot, and I'll wait until I'm accompanied by an expert to return.

At any rate, with its waxy orange translucent glow, this mushroom I found on a drizzly morning walk is another feature of nature to become excited about, another seasonal phenomenon of intrigue. Just look at trumpet-carrying, tux-laden David Arora on the cover of his wildly popular book, All that the Rain Promises, and More. Who wouldn't want to experience such simplistic joy from nature's bounty?!

Chanterelles? Marin County, Dec 2012.