All the ways Maine is wicked good
Not sure how much snow we got but I’d guess at least five inches. It was a wet, heavy snow, and knocked the power out for a couple of days.
I took this picture at 6:55 AM on Thursday April 4th, while it was still snowing, and before the really heavy winds kicked in.
Heavy snow the morning of April 4, 2024
I took this picture on Sunday afternoon. Late Satrurday night, the snow turned to freezing rain, covering even the top branches of the oaks with glittering coats of ices.
Oaks covered with ice
It’s been a rough winter, and a rough year, in a number of ways. The birds have been scarce, which is always hard, but it’s especially hard in a Winter marked by COVID-19 and self-isolation.
Today I took a picture of this male Northern Cardinal sunning himself. This was the first morning this year that I heard a Cardinal sing at dawn, which this fellow did right outside my window. This picture was taken about five hours later, when he returned to catch some rays and preen a little. The picture is not high art; I took it through the window, using my phone. Still, he’s a handsome fellow, and I was happy to see him.
Early this morning, between 4:15 and 4:45 I heard a female Barred owl’s “solicitation call.” This is a strikingly odd, very distinctive high-pitched call that signals male Barred owl’s that she’s interested and available for mating. I was too tired to record it, but here’s an excellent recording from YouTub:
This fellow was on the patio this morning, under the green plastic chair, which is my excuse for such a poor photo. The Eastern American toad (Anaxyrus americanus) is the only toad native to Maine. They’re pretty common all over New England. Females are generally larger then males (egg-laying necessities) and males usually have a darker colored throat than females. I always liked American toads because, while you can’t see it in the photo below, American toads have gold eyelids. Honest!
I missed seeing the fox I’d been seeing last summer and fall; not a single sighting all winter, and I didn’t hear the fox much either. But people had been seeing one on the grounds in May, and finally, a saw a young fox trotting across the patio. I was looking up at the trees with a scope trying to see the crows my mom spotted, when I saw the fox out of the corner of my eye. He trotted across the patio, then along the gravel between apartments to our neighbors patio, where he paused to devour what the neighbor reported as a possible chipmunk.
Since then, I’ve seen very brief glimpses of another young fox/the same fox.
ETA: At least one the young foxes frequenting the campus has been hit by a car. I’m hoping that others will thrive.
An official directive from Maine Governor Janet Mills regarding Certain Magical Creatures as Performers of Essential Services:
On April fourth a friend gave us a bunch of pussy willows and Forsythia. The willow blossoms were in full bloom, but the Forsythia hadn’t even quite leafed out yet.
I put them in water, and the Forsythia proceeded to leaf out and then bud, and then blossom.
Then this happened today:
It’s still snowing even now. It started at 4pm.
This is not a great picture, but it serves to make identification easier. The tricky thing about House Finches is that they look a lot like Purple Finches. Here’s a guide to help distinguish House Finches from Purple Finches and Cassin’s Finch.
As a kid in New Hampshire in the 1970s and early 1980s I regularly saw Purple Finches. House Finches had not yet become commonplace. Now, in Maine, I rarely see Purple Finches and see House Finches pretty much all winter long (though having said that, I’m not always sure that I’m looking at a House Finch and not a Purple Finch, particularly with the females). House Finches are in fact a fairly recent arrival to this part of the U.S.
The House Finch was originally a bird of the western United States and Mexico. In 1940 a small number of finches were turned loose on Long Island, New York, after failed attempts to sell them as cage birds (“Hollywood finches”). They quickly started breeding and spread across almost all of the eastern United States and southern Canada within the next 50 years.
The House Finches arrived in force a couple of weeks ago, along with a fresh infusion of American Gold Finches. I’ve seen more than ten at a time fairly often; once, I counted fifteen individual House Finches; oddly they seem to prefer the black oil sunflower, and the Gold Finches love the two finch socks.
I first saw the fox in early July; its appearance heralded by a cacophony of crows and jay complaining. I saw only the fox’s back at first, and the color, more blonde than red, made me think I was seeing a straying dog. But then I saw the fox’s head, and his brushy tail. It was trotting, and I glimpsed it only for a moment before it disappeared from view. Later, I again heard the crows and jays proclaiming their displeasure, and saw the fox making his return trip. His fur was dense and healthy, the white of his tail and chest gleaming and clean, and his black socks strikingly dark.
Since then, I‘ve seen that first fox, and a smaller, slightly darker and thinner fox together. I’ve also realized the odd, almost feline sounding cry I’ve heard several times late at night is not the Bob cat or Lynx I suspected, but a fox bark. I’ve made two very bad recordings with my phone; I’ve linked to them below, and to a much better YouTube clip for comparison.