July 3, 2014 by Beth

Gray Catbird: Mimic Extraordinaire

He’s the musical sort. He sings with the robins and cardinals; not just his song, but theirs, too. First he mimicked the robins’ morning song, then he imitated the cardinals and red-eyed vireos. He blended their calls into his own unique arrangement of a song with many repeated phrases. I suspected a gray catbird (Dumetella carolinensis) when I heard his “meow”-like call. Catbirds skulk around in thickets and tangled hedges, so are often hard to see (I haven’t been able to photograph him). Later, the cardinal pair that frequents our backyard chased him out of the arbor vitae hedge and I spotted him.

He’s a fine looking charcoal-gray bird, about the size of a small American robin, with a black cap and a rusty patch under his tail. Like brown thrashers and mockingbirds, gray catbirds have the ability to imitate the songs and calls of other birds, creatures and even machines. Female catbirds sing too, but more softly and infrequently than their mates.

After declaring his territory for three or four days, he began a nighttime serenade, which he continued nightly for three weeks. At his most vocal, he started singing shortly past midnight. His song alone filled the night air and varied from melodious bird calls, to squeaks, whistles and other sharp, clear sounds. He sings to defend his territory and to attract a mate. Most recently, he’s added part of the American goldfinch’s call to his repertoire. He may mimic fragments of other avian songs too, but I am only certain of the four I’ve mentioned. He often returns to the hedge to sing at dawn, though no longer with the same intensity and frequency.

Does it matter that catbirds imitate other birds’ songs and calls? The theory, according to Greg Budney, audio curator at Cornell’s Macauley Library, is that the greater intricacy of a male catbird’s song demonstrates his greater experience with life and survival — and therefore makes him a stronger candidate for a good mate. There’s an interesting, short video that features a catbird mimicking several songs of other bird species and a chorus frog. Budney identifies each imitated song and briefly explains his theory.

I’m sure our catbird’s a fine fellow and mate — but I just appreciate hearing his joyful noise in the garden. Anyone else have catbirds in their yard, garden or woods?

June 27, 2014 by Beth

Carrot Wasp

A slender female carrot wasp nectars in the early evening sun.

One recent evening, a thread-thin burst of movement caught my eye in our garden. It was a wasp — slender, agile and fast as it nectared in the early evening sun; and unlike most wasps, it held its abdomen at an unusual vertical angle. It was too thin and small to fit into the familiar wasp categories. After searching several resources, I identified it: a carrot wasp in the family Gasteruptiidae spp. (There are 15 different species in North America.) Adults feed on the nectar and pollen of plants in the carrot family, especially wild carrots and parsnips.

Carrot wasps have enlarged back legs and red-orange bands on the abdoment.

Carrot wasps have enlarged areas on the back legs and the female has a long ovipositor.

Carrot wasps are a type of parasitic wasp. Rather than building a colony, or their own individual cells, they seek out the nests of other solitary bees and wasps, such as digger bees and mud daubers. A female carrot wasp punctures a cell of the other bee or wasp’s nest, inserts her long ovipositor into the cell and lays her egg. Depending on the type of carrot wasp, when its egg hatches, the larva will eat the host bee/wasp’s larva, eat the larva’s food, or do both!

Besides the abdomen being held vertically, other identifying characteristics include a visible, prominent neck, a black body with reddish-orange bands on the abdomen, and enlarged areas on the back legs. These wasps are most common during June, July and August.

June 17, 2014 by Beth

Wild Columbine

The first spring that we lived in our home, a large patch of wild columbine (Aquilegia canadensis) bloomed outside the back porch. The red-orange and yellow blooms of wild columbine dominate woodlands and rocky areas of Minnesota and eastern North America in early June. Also called Canada columbine, or eastern red columbine, these native wild flowers are a favorite source of nectar for hummingbirds and bees.

Canada columbine (Aquilegia canadensis) is native to eastern North America.

The entire patch in our yard was native Canada columbine. That summer, I planted a small area of blue and white Colorado blue columbine (Aquilegia caerula), native to the western United States, in a different section of the yard.

Over time, nature and the bees produced lovely hybrid flowers, ranging from dark purple, to violet, a cranberry color, and pale, lemony pink. Individual columbine do not live a long time, so the colorful hybrids usually last three or four years. However, Canada columbine produce dozens of shiny black seeds that keep the original native wildflower growing abundantly. The seeds often take root in small cracks in our stone garden wall, similar to the rocky habitat they favor in nature. But they also pop up in many different spots around the backyard in both sun and shade.

A cranberry-hued hybrid columbine — thanks to the bees.

A lavender hybrid of Canada columbine and Rocky Mountain columbine.

A violet hybrid of Canada columbine and Colorado blue columbine.

The scientific and common names for this plant reflect the blossom in two different ways. Aquilegia, from the Latin term for eagle, represents the flower as the talons of an eagle. I like the common name columbine, which is derived from Columba, the Latin for dove. Each section of the flower looks like the outline of a dove — from its tiny head, down through the oblong body and pointed tail. The entire blossom resembles a group of five doves.

The “five doves” form the blossom and give columbine its common name.

Whether you see the eagle or the dove, columbine is a beautiful spring wild flower and an important source of nectar for insects and hummingbirds. It also adapts well to gardens, especially rock and wall gardens. The colorful flower, scalloped foliage and large seed pods make it an interesting plant for much of the spring and summer.

The sticky green seed pod will ripen an split open to reveal shiny black seeds.

The sticky green seed pod will ripen and split open to release shiny black seeds.

May 31, 2014 by Beth

Our “Biodiverse” Lawn

Our “lawn” would be outlawed in most of the Twin Cities’ tonier suburbs. But living in the city allows for a little more variety. Twenty years ago we sodded our yard after building an addition. The grass was perfect — pure, uniform blades of healthy green. We kept it that way for a couple of years, then quit using chemicals when our son was old enough to play in the yard.

First a few common violets dotted the grass with their subtle, delicate blooms. Then dandelions showed their bright heads —miniature globes of sunshine that blossomed into balls of fluff. Our son loved to blow the fluff, watch the seeds dance on the breeze and settle into the grass (to grow the following spring).

Canada violets and common blue violets grow in our backyard.

White clover (Trifolium repens), Canada violets (Viola canadensis) and common blue violets (Viola sororia) grow in our backyard lawn.

Canada violets (Viola canadensis) and dandelions (Taraxacum officinale).

Over the years, seeds from garden Siberian squill and striped squill spilled out into the lawn during heavy rains. They popped up in all parts of the backyard along with three other species of violets. These spring blooms are lovely and welcome, but the plantain, chickweed and crabgrass that appear later in the summer? Not so much.

Siberian squill bloom in the grass in April, but quickly disappear for the rest of the growing season.

Siberian squill (Scilla siberica) bloom in the grass in April, but quickly disappear for the rest of the growing season.

One afternoon our neighbor, Steve, an environmental engineer, stopped to chat while I was digging out dandelions. I bemoaned the state of our lawn. Steve looked at it for a minute, then said that he thinks of it as a biodiverse lawn. The variety of blooms, though they are “weeds” in the eyes of most people, provide a great source of nectar to native bees and other pollinators. The insects and worms provide food for birds, chipmunks and many small critters. In comparison, Steve said, our former uniform lawn was a “dead zone” with little life beyond the non-native grass.

I still miss our perfect lawn when I look at the lush, tidy, green grass on our block, and every summer I’m tempted to use chemicals to restore ours. But, I ignore that urge and instead, we mow the “grass” down to a short patch of green turf that is alive with birds, insects and other creatures — and that also looks acceptable to our neighbors!

May 5, 2014 by Beth

Early Spring

Spring is slow in coming this year; but over the past two weeks, the awakening of life has softened the dingy, post-winter landscape. Summer bird migrants add their songs to the morning chorus; maples, Canada cherries and other trees bud; chipmunks dart about in the yard; and the early spring bulbs begin to bloom — among them my favorite: the beautiful blue squill.

Siberian Squill (Scilla siberica).

Striped Squill (Puschkinis scilloides).

Crocus buds (Crocus species ‘Ladykiller’).

Crocus blossoms (Crocus spp 'ladykiller')

Crocus blossoms (Crocus species ‘Ladykiller’)

Red Maple flowers (Acer rubrum).

Canada Cherry (Prunus virginiana ‘Canada Red’) leaves and flower buds.

White-throated Sparrow (Zonotrichia albicollis) © T.M. Murray 2014; used with permission.

White-throated sparrows are migrating north and add a melodious, clear whistling to early spring mornings. Once you’ve heard the song, it’s easy to remember. Many people liken it to the phrase, “My Sweet Canada, Canada, Canada”. This sparrow has a bright white throat, a black-and-white striped crown and a bright yellow spot between the eyes and bill. Listen to and watch a white-throated sparrow whistle its lovely, plaintive song.

Eastern chipmunks (Tamias striatus) are out of their dens.

Eastern Chipmunks (Tamias striatus) are out of their winter dens.

American Robins (Turdus migratorius) are building nests.

Newly opened Glory-of-the-Snow (Chinodoxa).

A patch of Striped Squill and Siberian Squill in our garden.

April 18, 2014 by Beth

Hermit Thrush Visitors

A hermit thrush eats berries from our patio planter.

Recent strong winds brought a pair of migrating hermit thrushes to our backyard. Their brown backs, spotted breasts and rust-colored tails camouflaged them well among the leaves littering the gardens and against our winter-weary lawn. They plucked berries from a planter on the patio, picked in the grass under the suet and thistle feeders, and turned over leaves in the garden in search of food.

Cousins to American robins, eastern bluebirds and several other thrushes, hermit thrushes may be the best singers of the family. Their song is flute-like, liquid, melodious. In Minnesota, these songsters spend the summer in the north-central and northeastern regions of the state. It is rare to hear a hermit thrush sing during migration, and over the many years that migrants have rested in our yard, I’ve heard their ethereal singing only once — when a bird perched in a tall arbor vitae and sang on a sunny morning. Watch and listen to a hermit thrush sing its haunting song.

A rust-colored tail helps identify the hermit thrush.

Some thrush species can be tough to tell apart because of the spotted breast and brown coloring shared by many. But, if the bird has a rusty tail that it flicks up and down, you’ll know you’ve likely spotted a hermit thrush!

April 12, 2014 by Beth

Spring’s First Green

Melting snow waters and revives a tiny patch of moss.

Early last week, I searched the few exposed patches of dirt for signs of bulbs pushing through the soil. No sign of bulbs in the north-facing garden, yet. Instead, I found the first bright green of the season: An oasis of moss tucked beneath a little cavern of melting snow under our spruce tree. Threaded with tiny seeds and spruce needles, the moss was the golden green of spring and droplets of melting snow refreshed it. Lovely, restful green; a beautiful, hopeful color after months of black and white.

March 17, 2014 by Beth

Morning Song

Each morning between 6:00 and 6:30, a male cardinal perches in the arbor vitae at the back of our yard and sings in the predawn darkness. His melodious whistles serenade his mate, define his territory and bring cheer to the cold morning.

When the sun is higher, he whistles a more intricately patterned call. Soon his mate comes to feed at the suet brick while he watches from the cedars, a red ornament decorating the green fronds. His lady is softly colored in olive and brown highlighted with pinkish red. I haven’t heard her song yet this year, but female cardinals are able to sing as lovely as males, and soon she will join him — especially when they begin nesting, to communicate location and the need for food.

This cardinal pair has nested in our hedge for the past two summers.

Why does the sight of a cardinal bring joy to so many people? Cardinals are common, year-round residents throughout most of Minnesota, the eastern United States and Mexico. Yet, spotting a flash of red in a tree top, at a feeder, or in a garden is always delightful. For me, it is because cardinals sing when most other birds are silent — on frigid late-January mornings and sweltering late-summer afternoons; and because, most summers, they raise a family in the hardwood hedge in our backyard; and, simply for their red brilliance against the winter landscape or among the purple and gold in our September garden. A common bird, perhaps; uncommonly beautiful, most certainly.

February 25, 2014 by Beth

Ready for Spring

The sun rides higher in the sky and daylight lasts almost 11 hours, but those are just about the only signs of spring — and most of us long for a warm-up that stretches beyond a meager two days. Last week brought “bookend” snowstorms: 6.4 inches of new snow on Monday and 9.9 inches on Thursday/Thursday night, for a total of 16.3 inches measured at nearby Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport.

As we awaited the city plows, and dug out our sidewalks, driveways and garage aprons, the meteorologists promised an end to the snow and another plunge to below-zero temperatures for at least the next week. (In St. Paul, the average daytime high is +31°F and the nighttime low is +15°F for late February. Today’s predicted high is +8°F with a low of -13°F.)

Fresh snow blankets white cedars in our backyard.

Heavy snow blankets white cedars in our backyard.

Ice and snow cover black spruce and a red maple in our front yard.

Ice and snow cover a black spruce and a red maple in our front yard.

How I pine for the first crocus to poke through the soil and open its delicate cup-shaped flower to the early spring sun! But, with at least two feet of snow, plus the snow from sidewalk shoveling heaped on top of the garden, it’s likely to be several weeks before the snow melts and sunlight warms the soil. As soon as I spy the first patch of dirt, I’ll be out every afternoon peering at the muddy earth for the first tiny, reddish-green tip of a crocus to push through to the light and signal the reawakening of life. What signals spring to you?

In 2013, our first crocus bloomed on April 20th in our north-facing garden). It is

In 2013, the first crocus bloomed on April 20th in our north-facing garden. (iPhone 4)

© Beth and Nature, Garden, Life, 2013-2014. All photographs and text are created by Beth unless specifically noted otherwise. Excerpts and links may be used as long as full and clear credit is given to Beth and Nature, Garden, Life with specific direction to the original content. Please do not use or duplicate material from Nature, Garden, Life without written permission from Beth.

December 6, 2013 by Beth

First “Sticking” Snow

It started out as rain, then many hours of mist. Later, heavy wet snow changed to sleet and back again, weighing down and soaking seed heads, decorative grass and the few leaves that haven’t fallen from the trees. This snow is likely to stay for the rest of the winter, given the subzero temperatures and the prediction of more snow to arrive on Sunday.

I’m not a winter person, I’m a summer gal. I miss the melodious birdsong, the activity of butterflies, bees and colorful beetles in our garden, the leafed-out trees, the warmth of the sun and the long, long hours of northern daylight. But I try to find the raw, stark beauty revealed in the winter months. It is not the vivid, vital beauty of summer. No, it is a harsh beauty that complements the cold, brittle air, stinging wind and sharp light of December.

The season's first snow that is likely to remain until spring.

The season’s first “sticking” snow is likely to remain until spring.

When snow falls, a temporary hush settles over the city, dampening the noise of traffic and aircraft, and making it easier to hear nature’s sounds — the quiet ticking of sleet and snowflake on spent plant stalks, the rustle and crackle of brittle leaves in the wind, a chickadee’s call and the honking of geese flying low overhead.

This snow wasn’t as pretty as most because it was too soggy to etch and highlight trees and other plants. But, I found a few lovely, wintry sights in the yard:

Red leaf barberry (Berberis thunbergii atropupurea berries are coated with freezing rain and snow.

Red leaf barberry (Berberis thunbergii ‘atropurpurea’) fruit is encased in freezing rain.

A single beacon apple (Malus ‘beacon’) leaf decorates a snowy landscape.

A purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea) seed head sparkles with beads of sleet.

Snow frosts an evergreen Korean boxwood (Buxus microphylla var. koreana).

Snow frosts the tips of an evergreen Korean boxwood bush (Buxus microphylla var. koreana).

Snow softens the rough bark of 70-year-old beacon apple tree (Malus "beacon").

Snow softens the rough, scaly bark of a 60-year-old beacon apple tree (Malus ‘beacon’).

Star magnolia (Magnolia stellata) buds are coated in snow.

Tightly closed Star magnolia (Magnolia stellata) buds are dusted with falling snow.