Tag: nature photography

The Hidden Songster of Ithaca: My Afternoon with a Gray Catbird

Amidst spruce needles, a Gray Catbird’s mew captivated me; a hidden minstrel whose dulcet mimicry and secretive charm turned my backyard in Ithaca into an amphitheater of nature’s most intricate symphonies.

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In my backyard, amidst the spruce trees that seem to touch the sky, I had a unique encounter with a little gray bird known as the Dumetella carolinensis, or more commonly, the Gray Catbird. I learned that “Dumetella” comes from the Latin word for “thorny thicket”, hinting at its penchant for skulking in dense underbrush, often hidden from sight. Its species name, “carolinensis”, pays homage to the Carolinas, though this bird has certainly made a comfortable home here too.

This particular visitor had a call reminiscent of a cat’s mew, a curious sound that first drew my attention. As I peeked through the window, I noticed it wasn’t just imitating felines; it was a veritable mimic, echoing the songs of other birds, even copying the croaks of tree frogs, and sometimes the mechanical noises of our own making. Its syrinx, a true marvel of nature, allows it to produce two sounds simultaneously – an impressive feat for such a small creature.

Unlike the showy northern mockingbird or the brown thrasher, which repeat their musical phrases several times, this Gray Catbird preferred to sing each of its phrases just once. Its song was a bit raspier, less melodic but still captivating in its own right.

It’s interesting that the Gray Catbird often chooses to remain hidden when it sings, favoring the inner sanctuary of bushes or trees like the spruce in my yard, a natural stage set by verdant leaves and branches. And while I watched, it seemed content in its concealment, a master of melody cloaked in foliage.

As I observed it, I recalled reading that the Gray Catbird’s diet is as varied as its repertoire of sounds. Fruits and berries make up about half of its diet. This little bird has quite the palate, enjoying a smorgasbord that includes mealworms, earthworms, beetles, and other insects, not to mention the bounty of summer offerings such as ants, beetles, grasshoppers, caterpillars, moths, and a selection of berries from holly, cherry, elderberry, poison ivy, bay, and blackberries.

I made a mental note of the date, captured in the metadata of the photograph I snapped: 2021, from my home in Ithaca. A simple image, yet it encapsulated a serene moment of connection with a creature so adept at concealment and mimicry, a moment I would treasure. The Gray Catbird, with its unique song and dietary habits, has become a beloved part of my backyard symphony.

Reference: wikipedia, Gray Catbird.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Nature’s First Green….

…is gold, / her hardest hue to hold, / her early leaf’s a flower; / but only so an hour… Robert Frost

MichaelStephenWills4 Comments

You walk alone by the waters of Cayuga Lake in Stewart Park, nestled in the heart of Ithaca’s Finger Lakes, where Salix alba, the white willow, stands proudly along the shoreline. You’re immediately drawn to the flurry of yellow flowers, a stark contrast to the still chilly early March air.

The white willow (Salix alba), with its rough, gray bark, is beginning to dress in its spring finery, its branches teeming with tiny, starburst-like flowers. Each one is a miniature sun, casting a glow against the intricate lattice of branches. These aren’t the soft catkins of the pussy willow but the yellow inflorescences that are characteristic of the white willow’s early bloom, a signpost that winter’s grip is loosening.

These trees, you learn, are dioecious, with separate male and female trees. The blossoms you see are likely the male flowers, their stamens dusting your fingers with pollen as you brush against them. It’s this pollen that will soon beckon the bees, urging them to emerge from their hives and begin the work that sustains the ecosystem. You can almost hear the faint buzz, a prelude to the symphony of life that summer will bring. Return in midsummer to find the female catkins comprise numerous small (4 mm) capsules, each containing numerous minute seeds embedded in silky white hairs, which aids wind dispersal.

As you wander further, you note the presence of the white willow’s kin, other deciduous companions some still bare and stretching into the sky and others leafing out. You stand there, at the cusp of seasonal change, where the slumbering trees are on the verge of awakening, and you feel a kinship with them. Like these trees, you have weathered the cold, dark months, and now you stand poised to greet the renewal that comes with spring.

The stark, knotted forms of the white willow branches against the clear sky speak to you of endurance and resilience. These trees have weathered storms and droughts; they have been companions to the lake, mirrors to its moods, and now they are beginning to celebrate the cycle of rebirth and growth.

You take a seat on a bench, the cool wood through your clothes a reminder of the lingering winter. You gaze out across the lake, the water reflecting the brilliance of the sun like a vast, rippling mirror, framed by the elegant silhouettes of the white willows. You feel the peace of the park seep into you, the slow, rhythmic lapping of the water syncing with your breath.

This is a moment of transition, from the sleeping to the awakening world. You think about the Salix alba, how its presence here is a testament to nature’s adaptability, thriving in the moist soil by the lake, offering shade in summer and shelter in winter, its branches a playground for the winds.

As you leave Stewart Park, you take with you the memory of the white willows in early March, the quiet guardians of Cayuga Lake. They remind you of the enduring beauty of nature, the seamless flow from one season to the next, and the quiet joy of standing witness to the first whispers of spring on the shores of the Finger Lakes.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Watching with the Willows

On a brisk day at Stewart Park, I stroll alongside Cayuga Lake, observing Canadian Geese and white willows. The tranquil, interconnected scene proves an enduring memory despite everyday worries.

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Resilience and Beauty: The Ginkgo in Fall

Naked branches reach,
Sky braces for winter’s kiss,
Earth turns, leaves embrace.

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White House Ruin

In 2003 and 2008, the author visited and photographed White House Ruin in Canyon de Chelly, observing changes in landscape.

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In November 2003, my son Sean and I journeyed up Route 191 from Petrified Forest National Park, arriving in Chinle on a crisp autumn afternoon. My photography equipment at the time was modest: a Sony Point and Shoot 5 MP camera with filters, a purse-like over-the-shoulder bag, and a basic tripod from Kmart.

We reached the White House trailhead in Canyon de Chelly and began our hike. The trail was quiet, and as the sun set at 5:20 pm, we found ourselves virtually alone. A dense growth of Russian Olive trees dominated the wash at that time. In the dimming light, I captured a distant shot of the White House Ruin, whitewashed, set against the backdrop of autumn-hued Russian Olive foliage. Nearby, a grove of Cottonwoods, still green, stood near the canyon wall.

By the time Pam and I returned in July 2008, four years and nine months later, the landscape had changed. The invasive Russian Olives had been removed, and the White House Ruin was no longer painted white.

The same Route 191 that Sean and I had taken in 2003 led us through the Four Corners region of Northern Arizona. Pam and I had traveled from Colorado, arriving in the late afternoon. This time, the Navajo Reservation’s adherence to daylight savings time meant the sun wouldn’t set until 8:33 pm. My aim was to photograph the White House Ruin that I had missed years earlier.

That July day the sun set 8:33 pm as the Navajo Reservation observes daylight savings time. My goal was to photograph the White House Ruin I missed in 2003. We arrived at the trail head. My photography kit was expanded from 2003, now included a Kodak DSC Pro slr/C, the “C” meaning “Canon” lens mounting, a Sony 700 alpha slr (I only use a variable lens), Manfrotto tripod with hydrostatic ball head, and the backpack style Lowe camera case. With the tripod it is over 25 pounds.

With this on my back I was prepared to boogie down the trail. At the height of tourist season there were many more people at the trailhead. Pam, being a friendly person, started a conversation while I ploughed ahead along the flat canyon rim. It is solid red sandstone, beautiful, generally level with enough unevenness to require attention. When Pam saw how far ahead I was she tried to catch up, tripped, fell hard.

I backtracked to Pam and we decided what to do. She thought, maybe, the fall broke a rib. We decided to proceed and descended, slowly, together. Here we are in front of the ruin. The sun, low in the sky, is moving below the south canyon wall. This is a perfect time, and I used both cameras.

The sweep of cliff and desert varnish was my intent to capture. Here it is through the Canon 50 mm lens.

Click link for this White House photograph in my Online gallery.

I captured this version with the Sony Alpha 700 slr, the variable lens set to widest angle.

Click link for this White House photograph from my online gallery.

Here the camera setup waits out the sun…..

Click Me to view my photographs on Getty.

Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved http://www.MichaelStephenWills.com