Kitchen Count: California Towhee

Last post here was of a bird photographed from my living room; this one's from the kitchen, and it actually showed up in our backyard the day after the goldfinch. I'm pretty sure it's a California Towhee. And it's upside down, frankly, because I just found the photo dull in its proper orientation.

Living Room Count

Birders talk about "backyard counts," different species they've spotted outside their houses. I'm officially starting a Living Room Count (though I'm not going to bother counting; I just enjoy looking). In addition to the highly entertaining cedar waxwings I've photographed in the past from inside our PicFair Village living room, today I spotted and got a snapshot of a group of these little (goldfinches?) perched on the rosemary immediately outside our front door. We live in the heart of Los Angeles, yet the variety of wildlife visible from inside our home is incredible. I love this city.

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They usually grab one berry at a time.

Front Yard Biodiversity

I wasn't going to get my camera out for the cedar waxwings; thought I'd just watch them. But they've been right outside our living room window for three weeks, and it didn't take much effort. So, excuse the nature photography. I didn't even have to get dressed to take these.

Acorn Woodpecker, Elysian Park

Southern California Woodpecker of Some Sort

A juvenile, I think. Do you know? He/She was kind enough to visit the sycamore tree next door, and I couldn't make a positive ID with a field guide I consulted.

A Few Berries Left

When the berries are gone, so are the cedar waxwings. Enjoying the show while we can.

Cedar Waxwings: red in, red out

Poop's red, too. Car wash time.

And cont'd.

A snapshot of the view from our bedroom window.

Cedar Waxwings, cont'd.

Return of the Cedar Waxwings

They're back!

It's been two years since they last turned the trees in front of our home into their temporary mess hall. They have a way of dropping-diving-gliding that's mesmerizingly graceful, and they're a lot more cautious and quick than the rowdy house sparrows that live all around us. More welcome, too.

Backyard Biodiversity

The term backyard biodiversity came up in a conversation recently, and it made me think of all of the life (much of it not welcome, but all the same) that our small raised-bed garden attracts in the heart of this megalopolis: enormous beetle larvae, cabbage moths, earwigs, pillbugs, ladybugs, mantises, cutworms, aphids, squirrels, a nocturnal raccoon now and then, cats, rodents I'd prefer to leave unnamed, crows, hummingbirds, phoebes, an occasional hawk, jays, and a raucous, destructive troupe of house sparrows that mowed down every new seedling I planted before the bird netting went up.

Then there's this little bird in the photo. (Bad photo, I realize, but I wasn't willing to sacrifice my gear in the rain.) This is a Yellow-Rumped Warbler, as far as I can tell. She only visits us during the rain. I've never, ever, seen her on sunny days. The aforementioned gang of delinquent sparrows who live nearby make a shrill racket on a typical day, but disappear entirely when the rain starts falling. I don't know where they go, but I wish they'd stay there.

I also don't know what this little warbler scavenges among the straw in our soaked yard, but it's always a pleasure to see her, the only bird who visits on rainy days like today.

Cooper's Hawk?

The 30 or so sparrows usually flitting around our backyard were under cover in an instant when this hawk arrived. If anyone can help with a positive ID, I'd be most appreciative.

Compost Lesson #1

[This is the first installment of what will be an ongoing, irregular series here.]
I wanted to post this photo as a counterpoint to the image in the previous post. I enjoy beauty as much as anyone—and sweets, of course—but I also enjoy compost and bugs.
The sectioned larvae pictured here will grow up to become soldier flies. They're quite welcome in my compost bin for two reasons: they assist with decomposition (precisely our purpose for having a bin) and they attract phoebes.
Phoebes will sit on a low perch near our compost bin and swoop down to snatch up emerging soldier flies. Phoebes are charming.

"One Straw Revolution"

"One Straw Revolution" by Masanobu Fukoka is a book less about farming—as I had expected—than philosophy. It's more than a bit theoretical and assumes a foundation of knowledge uncommon among contemporary American readers. Reading it was helpful for me, though, in understanding the natural processes through which plants propagate, how human intervention fits into the picture and, most significantly, when our input is best minimized.
Having finished the book not long ago, a light went off in my head when I found these small, tightly grouped seedlings (variety unknown) planted by a bird who had used our raised bed as her WC.

Cedar Waxwings?

The tree in front of our living room window, a cotoneaster, attracted a noisy and ravenous flock of cedar waxwings last winter. Twenty or more birds flew in quickly and loudly, ate large amounts of the bright red berries, and within seconds disappeared. They did this for a number of days—no sight of them when they weren't in the tree—until the tree was emptied of its round red snacks. Then they were gone.
We haven't seen them yet this winter, and are wondering where they are.