Predation

I was standing at the kitchen door that leads out onto the patio. A grey piece of fuzziness drifted down from the hopseed tree. And then another, more obviously a fluffy feather.

And then another!

And more, a veritable shower of feathers, not just downy chest fluff, but primary feathers as well. We stepped out the door to see who was plucking what up in the tree, and a small hawk flew away, leaving an avalanche of feathers hung up on the twigs and leaves.

An inspection of the feathers:

I knew immediately what the species of lunch was. And if that wasn't clear enough, there was this:

Delicious, crunchy fresh cedar wax-wing.

Why couldn't it have been one of those noisy, pesty mockingbirds?

If That Mockingbird Don't Sing ...

... it would be because of this guy.

A few evenings ago, a family (?) of six Cooper's Hawks came sailing through the neighborhood. Amazing sight to see, loud and plaintive sound to hear. The juveniles obviously didn't want Mom and Pop to leave them all on their own, screeching their pleas to the world.

You can hear a recording of their calls here: Just scroll down the page to "Begging Calls of Chicks."

At least one of the young birds has been hanging around, doing a low fly-by each day, perching on the street-light out front or in the neighbor's sequoia trees.

In June of 1997, we woke to our first morning in this house, hearing the beautiful sound of singing birds, so different from the previous home, where the predominant morning noise was the traffic from Highway 99, one of the main arteries of traffic running north-south in Central California.

Since Young Cooper's Hawk moved into the area, we hear NO birds singing. No crows, no jays, no finches, no sparrows ... because what Cooper's Hawks eat is other birds. How awful, you might think, and indeed, some birding sites on the web advise people to take down their bird feeders until a hawk moves on to a different locale.

We're ambivalent about this. It's true that we miss the song of house finches and the company of scrub jays on the back patio, but none of us misses that blasted mockingbird who used to proclaim himself Ruler of the Block incessantly all day long, and in the middle of the night, too.

The other possible benefit of the hawk is that the jays and mockingbirds aren't gobbling up our ripening grapes for the first summer in a long, long time.

Eventually, the hawk will fly off to the river a few blocks away and hunt more fruitfully in the canopy of the trees. In the meantime, silence is golden.

Waking and End of the Day

We've got an enormous window in our bedroom, six feet by five feet, and we normally do not have the blinds drawn down, as we love the view of the back garden and pool.

This morning, I woke to Bernie saying, "There's a hawk in the tree."

The hawk was agreeably inclined to stay there until my eyes were uncrossed. Bern got our binoculars and we observed the unmoving bird for a while. When I was sufficiently awake, I went out with my camera, collecting Lillian along the way, and we went to the end of our little yard to stare up at the red-shouldered hawk.

Now that's the way to start the day.

Most of the day I spent working on getting next Monday's Piker Press ready to turn over, trying to get ahead of the game so that Monday isn't a stress maelstrom for me.

Then was dinner, then was church. Both were wonderful. We went to Mass at St. Stanislaus in Modesto, where Fr. Ramon presided over a most reverential service. Then was home again, and I read the evening news, replied to some emails, and then, opened a file.

It was the second chapter of the semi-named Aser Murder Mystery. I wrote for a while; then handed the laptop to Bernie for approval.

He gave Chapter Two: Storming a Castle a thumbs up.  I pretty much love this story, and am really glad that the edit and rewrite are coming along.

Lovebirds

That's the missus, on the right.

This morning, while I was working on the Piker Press, I heard the unmistakable call of a hawk, along with a number of crows. I ran to the window and had a look at the backyards I can see.

In the evergreen in a neighbor's yard, up near the top, a pair of hawks were mating. I haven't identified them accurately just yet, but they were sitting side by side in the palm tree on the southeast corner of the yard the other day, and I know I've seen one of them perching in my northside neighbor's sycamore tree a few times recently.

Ignoring the crows, the hawks conversed after their mating ritual. What an incredible thing to see from one's window! I felt vastly privileged to witness the event. How many people do you know who have seen hawks mating? I could count on one elbow how many I know.

It's fully Spring here, after a grueling six weeks of Winter. Birds are mating, the first trees are blooming and humming loudly with bazillions of bees. My Japanese maple is showing the first pips of blood-read buds; my freesias are unfolding cascades of blossoms-to-be. And the almond blossoms are starting to pop open ... watch this space for more photos of the orchards of the Almond Capital of the World.