Spring babies for swallow-tailed kites (and the rest of us)

When spring really comes, the birds come with it. I've written about the the robins, who lingered this year because of the long, cool spring in the southeast. Besides their annual arrival and departure, there are several other species in which we take careful interest. We note the details informally but with care, mentioning to my friend Sue that the painted bunting arrived, or watching as our pal Pablo posts a photo of one or another denizen of the Anastasia Island bird feeder. Some of them are annual visitors like the painted and indigo buntings and the goldfinches, and others are more specialized. The swallow-tailed kites are among the special visitors, endangered in some states (including South Carolina) and protected in others. Their federal status is "species of concern". The excellent site of the Fish & Wildlife Service gives state-by-state detail and generally refers to these glorious fliers as "imperiled". Have you ever seen one of these birds? Their stunning elegance in flight takes your breath at first. And when you realize there are less than 3,000 of these birds...well, remember the North Atlantic Right Whale?

I keep a rough notebook going back several years, noting the unusual sightings. Beginning in 2006, Rodney and I spotted (and Rod photographed) a family of swallow-tailed kites. We've seen these birds for years but '06 was the first year in which we noticed what seemed like spring courting behavior. In April and May of that year, we watched as the family group expanded from 2 birds to 4. We watched, quite amazed, as the family flew together in great, beautiful circles and ellipses, constantly calling to one another. This was new to us; we'd seen kites alone and in pairs for years, but only very seldom heard them calling to each other. This was different. This was virtually constant sound: "I'm here. Come this way. Here is food. I am here, I am here, I am here..." It sounded like the talk of almost any species capable of vocalization within the range of human hearing. Apparently, kites in family groups raising fledglings (we guessed), relied on vocalizations as heavily as some other species.

This year we began to see (and hear) the mating pair a couple of weeks ago. Their sharp, unmistakable voicings became more frequent and insistent in the past week or so, and this morning I was awakened by the clear sound of the family talking among itself. Rod took this photo, in which he captured 3 of the 4 individuals, in the perfect blue light of this April afternoon.
They're soaring above the Spanish-moss laden oak trees bordering Stokes Creek at the back of our land, and Rodney thought they might have been flying at stunning speeds as they coasted across the thermal air currents and dove through the clear air in pursuit of small prey. Most of the bird books we have seem clear about the on-the-wing lifestyle of swallow-tailed kites; they seem to do almost everything in aerobic acrobatic fashion. They hunt, eat and drink in flight. They court and mate in flight. And they create messy, indifferent nests in which to lay their eggs, presumably because the lure of flight is too irresistible to allow them to dawdle over prosaic details like construction.

And they are positively stunning to watch in the air they seem unable to resist. They inspire. They lure. My own spring fever has been fanned by the fabulous weather and the calling of the kites so that my mind wanders outdoors at every opportunity. Well, in fairness and honesty, the kites aren't singularly responsible. The long winter has given cautiously into spring. Redbud trees have opened with reservation. Some wisteria I've been monitoring with distant affection for years has just emerged, including some along U.S. 1, where the road is under construction and paths are being re-routed. Even the Gatorbone Studios dogwood, I am told, has opened only after long, serious boardroom meetings in which all considerations were weighed, but it would seem that the decision is irrevocably made and the tiny white flowers are beginning to show their faces.

So my dear friends, my teachers: what calls you to spring this year? What makes your heart soar with the kites? What beckons from your window, and pulls you to the change of season? If you've been listening on the sidelines, it would mean the world to hear from you. Do tell. Love, love.




Photo credits: Both photos of kites in this post are (c) Rodney Christensen 2010

The birds of winter

As I left the office today, I watched a very large bird swirl overhead, lifting higher and higher on the thermal air, in sharp contrast to the brilliant winter-blue sky. His head and tail were white, his body a solid dark color, and his wings hardly flapped at all as he let the air currents carry him ever higher. A bald eagle, at least 5 years old by his coloring. Florida and Alaska have the largest breeding populations, but they're still not a common sight.

Sitting on my back porch fountain, here, is a female summer tanager, having a drink alongside the beautiful pink-flowering trumpet trees I started from Katie's cuttings. Tanagers don't visit the feeders much, as they dwell high in the oak and hickory trees, and we mostly know they're present by the trilling song Mr. Tanager begins in early spring and continues through the summer. That, and we sometimes see the flash of scarlet, high above the range preferred by the cardinals.

And all this is by way of telling you that my yard was filled with hundreds and hundreds of migrating robins yesterday afternoon. This tells me, as surely as anything, that the days will surely grow longer, that the sunsets will be warmer soon, that all the frostbitten flowers will raise their heads again, and that none of this will be long in coming. When my single camellia with its varigated York and Tudor colors has finished blooming, the bank of azaleas will ready itself for a showy statement about the definitive arrival of spring.

Tonight the wind chill is predicted to be about 14 degrees, though it seldom falls to the projected lowest levels here along the banks of our beloved creek, so close to the Tolomato River. But 14 or 24, this is still damned cold by my lights. The reminder of the robins bearing testament to the inexorable approach of spring warms my heart.

Turn on the oven to warm up the rest of you. If you need an excuse, you can make Cream Biscuits. I've adopted this recipe from the Fannie Farmer Baking Book, and it's a recipe she credits to James Beard, one that doubles excellently well as shortcakes if you have fresh fruit for dessert but is also perfect with any soup or stew you might serve in this weather. Who am I kidding? Just make them. Even if you're serving frozen pizza for supper, no one will mind.

Put 2 cups of all-purpose flour, a teaspoon of salt, a tablespoon of baking powder, and about a teaspoon of sugar into a bowl and stir with a fork to lighten. Add about 1 to 1-1/2 cups fresh cream and stir until the dough forms a ball. Turn out onto a floured surface, knead for about a minute and then cut into shapes as you desire; I always cut into diamond shapes. Dip each biscuit into melted better (you'll need about a half cup). Bake at 425 for about 15 minutes.

Let me know what you think.