snowbirdredux

As we drove home this afternoon, there were flocks upon flocks of geese, finally flying in Vee formation and headed south.  Winter has been delayed here in the plains of Minnesota, most of the snow passing just to the south.  This, we’re told by weathermen, is strangely unusual and some of them are even wondering if there will be a proper white Christmas in the forecast.

My daughter, Noelle, has spent a fair amount of time outfitting herself for this year’s holiday event, envisioning her first sojourn to a wintry wonderland as the picture perfect postcard  experience. And while we are aware that at some point before spring, all the cold “whiteness” may become stark and endless, we too would like to have our first Christmas in Minnesota to be a proper, traditional  and awesome snow event. Just like Bing dreamed for us as we grew up in sunny Southern California.

There was a sprinkling of lovely white flakes this afternoon and the bends in the Otter Tail are beginning to freeze in part, and that is most likely the reason for the delayed departure of our Canada Geese.  And, yes, it does appear that they are finally lifting off and heading to climes more tropical.

I haven’t checked today on the possible departure of my snow goose with the greater flocks, but I did come upon another mystery tale.  As we pulled into our drive this afternoon, I was shocked to see a lone Canada Goose huddled among the brown brush outside the kitchen window.

I watched and waited and finally went outside and threw a handful of bread scraps to see if she responded.  With the river just across the road and scavenger ground in between, the Canada Goose has never ventured onto our yard.  Mr. and Mrs. Mallard last spring for a time, but never a goose of any species.

I wanted to determine if the goose was injured, sick, or left behind.   Call it my overactive imagination, but she seemed sad.  She looked sad.  And when I threw the bread crumbs, she didn’t budge at first, didn’t even look in my direction.  After I went indoors, however, she stood and waddled out of the brush and walked around the house to the front lilac hedge, looking all the while towards the river, and just sat down.  Sad.

Occasionally a small, tardy flock would course overhead, honking all the while on their migratory path, and she would look up.  Very sad.  Or so I imagined.

Eventually she returned to her spot outside the kitchen bushes and settled down.  I kept watch until the dark and now I’m wondering. And a bit sad.

A few weeks ago I caught out of the corner of my eye, a fairly big flash of black and red whisking across the yard outside of the living room but as I rushed to the window, it was gone. I could swear, I could imagine that it just might be the pileated woodpecker for I am now living in his territory, and that might not be a cause for hilarity, enlightenment or unmitigated excitement if you’re not a “birdie”, but trust me, the pileated woodpecker is a sight to behold and a rare one indeed. Webster’s New World Dictionary defines pileate as “having a crest extending from bill to the nape.”

It is the bird deluxe, about which my copy of Bird Watcher’s Digest – Enjoying Woodpeckers More, states – “This is THE woodpecker in the eyes of many; the sight of a pileated often triggers an exclamation that is its common name in much of the country: GOOD GOD!”

Which might very well have something to do with the great Thor, god of thunder and lighting who has traditionally been associated with the woodpecker. They both have flaming red heads, for one,  and while Thor  wields his magnificent hammer, Mjolnir,  sending bolts of lightning to strike mighty trees on earth, the pileated hammers in his own way, excavating for carpenter ants and extracting large nesting holes. Or it just might be because of the pileated’s  size, beauty and overall impressiveness.

My first brief glimpse had been too fleeting for any surety,  but yesterday as we were having lunch, T.M. exclaimed – “What’s that big bird out there?”  and yes, Dryocopus pileatus was indeed swinging on the suet feeder. He didn’t munch long enough for me to retrieve the camera and so I am forced to post a picture from the guide, but he stayed long enough for me to cry out “GOOD GOD!”  and fully appreciate his 16 inch frame.

The first picture in the bird book is of a female and our visitor looked just as grand except that as a male he (like the second picture) also sported a red mustache, if not a carpenter ant.    The guide also states that he is  nonmigratory, monogamous and most likely a permanent  resident, that he likes ornamental berries (lots of those here) and the fruit of the sumac (check) and suet (no problem).  I hope he likes Mt. Faith too.