I am a keeper of my family's lore, chasing after my ancestors' tales in south central New York, southwestern Pennsylvania and Southside Virginia. The stories and photographs that I share on this blog are my intellectual property. While I do my very best to provide well researched posts, I do not pretend to have reached genealogical proof standards. Therefore, much of this work is to generate conversation among interested parties. If you would like to share my work or my records, please contact me: dkaysdays (at) gmail (dot) com.
Monarch butterflies come through northeastern Pennsylvania every year, finding our cone flowers tempting way stations. This year a specimen stayed focused on the nectar hunt long enough for me to snap dozens of photos from a variety of angles. I like these three perspectives for the detail that I could observe and research.
The first photo distinctly shows the black dot on the vein in each hind wing, a field mark that identifies this beauty is a male.
In this second photo, I am struck by the Monarch’s thorax, perfectly coordinated with the black and white polka dot wing trim.
In this final shot, the Monarch wings held in the vertical plane, I get a clear glimpse of the feet searching for nectar among the cone flower’s nectaries.
What a delight to get reacquainted with this lovely symbol of hope and transformation.
Recent American Robin fledgling waits patiently for parent delivery of Wiggly Food™.
This time of year I can wander my yard, equal parts naturalized woodsy, goldenrod-filled meadow, and human-cultivated garden, and hear the earth’s pulse. A Tufted Titmouse song peals over the trees, setting up territory for one more clutch. Soft coos drift between Mourning Dove mates, one on nest, the other on roof. And high pitched whistles drift among leaf rustles, feathered ventriloquists hiding their fledged selves from two and four legged threats. The robins have had another successful clutch emerge into my private preserve. One short-tailed fledgling remained composed as I gingerly captured her wait. I anticipate a week of new generation sightings.
I had both dogs with me today, and decided to take a path back from the lake edge rather than retrace our steps on macadem, our usual hike. Off the group camping area, the path is two dogs and two persons wide, narrowing to two dogs wide with human behind, narrowing to one human with dogs kinda off to the side wide. Rocky and rain-washed, the path was a mindfulness exercise.
Avoiding leash entanglement pulled my attention totally off bird song ID. Fortunately I am so into birding right now every little movement captures a modicum of my brain so I caught the sight of a few sparrow-sized birds about 10 feet ahead of us, odd for mid-forest, in time to halt the dogs, who were super cool nosing around while the LBBs (birder lingo for little brown birds) moved with confused deliberation off the path.
Whoosh! Out dashed a mom Ruffed Grouse, feathers wide, tail fanned, belting a piercing whistle warning. I choked up on the leashes but the dogs only lifted their heads in mild curiosity. I waited a few seconds for her chicks, the LBBs now identified, to get deeply buried away from the path and mom settled down a bit. Then we continued on our way, accompanied by a whistling, pissed off Ruffed Grouse for another 100 yards or so. Like a Killdeer she traveled away from where I suspect her chicks crouched waiting her all clear.
Really cool experience, and a deep reminder of why I never let my dogs off leash. Had they been free roaming, I am certain that curiosity would have led to working dog mind games within seconds, disturbing the chicks and the adult.