Goldfinches in spring

American Goldfinch Carduelis tristis

Today I was looking at my backyard birds and I noticed that the goldfinches were changing their winter plumage for their spring and summer look. In the winter their feathers are a drab yellow-green colour, as you can see on the back of this goldfinch in the picture. In the summer they are a bright yellow, and you can see these feathers starting to appear near the bird's face. On the top of its head the black cap feathers are just starting to appear. Soon this goldfinch will have a black cap that is as dark as the black on its wings. Here's a picture of a goldfinch in their full summer plumage. Note that the female and the juvenile do not have the bright yellow and black colouring of the males.

This picture is not as sharp as I would like. I did not use a flash (I think it would have scared the bird away), and I didn't get out my tripod. The shutter speed was just a little too slow to take a hand held photo. When I take a photo I always try to get the shutter speed up to at least 1/90th of a second, otherwise the picture usually turns out a bit blurry from camera shake. I think this one was around 1/50th of a second.

House finch Carpodacus mexicanus

My husband built me this new bird feeder this weekend. He was so pleased when the birds finally started visiting it. One day I'll do a post on the different types of bird feeders that I have in my yard.

After he built the feeder he became more interested in the birds and squirrels in our yard. Unfortunately, he is starting to become involved in the Squirrel Wars. It is a slippery slope to madness.

Why should I identify?

In my brief and rather unsuccessful study of lichens this winter, I started to wonder if it was important to be able to correctly name a particular organism. Even if I managed to figure out that this grey, flaky lichen was Peltigera malacea (since many lichens don't have common names), what difference does it make? Maybe I could just call it 'The Grey, Flaky Lichen', so I could tell it apart from 'The Orange Speckled Lichen'.

Identification is the first step in nature study, perhaps in all fields of learning. Our brains need to attach a name to what we are looking at in order to store details about that particular object.

Last spring I took a 2 week trip to Japan. I could not read any Japanese, but even during that short time period I started to notice some symbols appearing regularly and began to deduce their meaning in the context they were placed. It didn't take too long to figure out that the following symbol meant 'exit'.

Tokyo National Museum Gardens, Japan, March 2007

I think that identifying a species in nature study has a similar effect. Once you are able to give a name to a particular bird or tree, all of a sudden you start to see it everywhere. It doesn't seem to happen the same way if you have not learned the name of the object. I don't find myself thinking "Oh look, there is another one of those trees that I saw in my neighbour's front yard with the pink flowers". Even if I did, my brain has still given that tree a name (The Tree In My Neighbour's Front Yard With the Pink Flowers) in order for me to be able to think about it. Once I identify that tree as a Redbud tree, I can then mentally start to attach more information to that label. I can also look online or in books to learn more about the Redbud tree.

Even common names can get confusing. In one area this plant is called the Trout Lily, but elsewhere it is known as the Dog-Toothed Violet. That is why we have the latin, scientific name for an organism. The scientific name for that plant is always Erythronium americanum, no matter where you are in the world.

Trout Lily Erythronium americanum
Photo taken May 2005

One of my weaknesses in nature study has been that I would identify an organism and leave it at that. Birdwatchers are particularly susceptible to this. We see our bird and check it off the list and go on to look for a new bird we have not seen before. I could identify many birds, but I couldn't tell you very much about them because I had not stopped long enough to observe and learn about them.

My original question to myself was 'Can I skip the identification stage? Can I observe and learn the habits, behaviors and characteristics of an organism without knowing its name?' I think the answer is no, I can't. If it is difficult to identify, such as the lichens, I can make up a name for it, but I cannot learn and think about a species without a name.

Spring flowers

Crocus

My yard is still half covered with snow, but I have spring flowers! This crocus is growing in a sheltered, sunny spot next to the house. The warmth of the sun reflecting off the brick melts the snow first in this corner of the yard. This tiny patch is always the first to bloom.

I hung a piece of black velvet behind the crocus to achieve the smooth black background. I used my macro lens and laid down on the half frozen ground to take the shot. I had to wait until the flower was in the shade to avoid shadows and bright highlights.

Snow drops, Galanthus nivalus

The snowdrops are in a more exposed area. The snow melted just this week, and there they were, already grown and ready to flower. The white background is the snow still surrounding the plants.

When the last of the snow finally melts (which doesn't look like it will be soon according to the weather forecast) it will feel like a long winter has abruptly ended and spring is in full swing.

On the writing of books

-and, after all, it isn't very difficult to write books. Especially if you either write a rotten story in good English or a good story in rotten English, which is as far as most people seem to get nowadays. Don't you agree?

as said by Lord Peter Wimsey, in Dorothy L. Sayers' mystery novel,

Unnatural Death, 1927

Art Lessons for Mommy

The Bluejay, age 2 1/2, photo taken Feb 2007

My four year old son, the Nuthatch, doesn’t paint very often. We haven’t done a lot of art at home. Paint is messy. It takes too much time to clean up. It will get all over his clothes. Excuses, excuses.

A sense of mild panic takes hold of me as I realize the inadequacies of my child’s artistic abilities. I’ll sign him up for art lessons! Problem solved. With a cup of coffee in hand I contentedly flip through the spring issue of the community calendar looking for the perfect program.

I’ve signed him up for his fair share of classes in his short life. First there were the drop in playgroups, then swimming for babies. They were followed by a program to teach your 3 or 4 year old to play soccer, hockey, basketball and tennis in only 9 weeks (yes, all of those sports at the same time). That one was scheduled at 7 o’clock at night. Needless to say it didn’t go very well. The Nuthatch preferred running along the lines on the gym floor to the organized game of floor hockey and there were a few times where he just lay down and refused to get up.

I know I’m not alone in my quest to enroll my child in a variety of programs designed to increase his intelligence, athletic prowess or musical genius. A certain amount of acrobatics are required to get into some of these programs. You must outwit, outplay and outlast all the other savvy mothers. Phone lines are busy, websites slow down, and applications pile up for the under 5 crowd. The line up outside the local Early Years Centre would make you think they had the last ‘Tickle-Me Elmo’ on the planet.

The Nuthatch, September 2007

All these lessons take their toll on our family life. Trying to get the children (we now have three) into the car is often like herding ferrets. Somehow, a 15 minute swimming lesson can take over an hour once you have wrestled the wiggly captives into boots and snowsuits, driven to the pool, changed them into their swimsuits, given the "I’ll be right over there" pep talk and finally performed the entire scenario in reverse after the lesson has finished.

Where did my obsession with these programs come from? It might have started in infancy, when I was bombarded with products for my little ‘genius’ or ‘Einstein’. There were videos, flashcards and cd’s, not to mention the books, toys and computer games. The organized classes were just a natural extension of this developmental mania.

Part of the wonder of childhood is watching your kid take a few simple objects and create a whole world out of them. I’ve watched the Nuthatch create a piping hot gourmet meal using only a pot, a wooden spoon and some potatoes. Then there is the endless joy provided by a large, empty cardboard box. You can sense the possibilities as he circles the box, debating whether this particular box is a pirate ship, a cave full of bats, a desert island or perhaps a medieval castle, complete with imaginary moat and drawbridge.

Perhaps painting with a 4 year old isn’t so complicated. I could just give the Nuthatch some paint and paper and watch what happens. Does his picture have to look like a Renoir to post on the fridge? (I’ve seen some of Picasso’s sculptures, and frankly, I think the Nuthatch could do something similar.) Maybe I could join him, somedays I think painting a copy of ‘The Scream’ by Edvard Munch might be therapeutic.

The Scream, Edvard Munch, 1893

I often overanalyze this whole parenting thing. The simple things are the best part of childhood, splashing in puddles in the backyard, a pile of broken crayons and some blank paper,building forts with blankets and the dining room chairs. Simplicity is so elusive in our busy lives. I think I’ll skip the art class this time. Pass me the tempera paint please, I can figure it out, all by myself.

I originally wrote this piece about a year ago. Since then, I have realized that your average parent really wants to sign their children up for umpteen programs, and they look at me blankly when I explain how our children are not signed up for anything at all at the moment. We have enjoyed a relaxing year. We have not rushed around to swimming, karate, playgroups or skating lessons. And we have finally had time to play with paint at our own kitchen table.