I wrote here last time that after 25 years of Backyard Birder (653 columns; one-third of my life), the time has come to move on.
I will in mid-November, the column’s 25th anniversary.
For 25 years I’ve wandered out, discovered nature’s many wonders and had a way to share them, hoping they would touch you – readers –the way they touched me.
Husband Carl after reading one sometimes nods and says, “You got me.”
He’s easy to get teary when he feels intimacy. I always knew those were good columns.
I have good news about how the column will continue, shared by two naturalists who are great writers, too.
I’ll pass that information on soon, but hope you’ll miss me some before you get excited about the new writers.
The column will be theirs, named as they wish.
“Backyard Birder” was a good name 25 years ago, but my focus expanded to the wider natural world that we all share and depend on, birds, humans, wildflowers, native bees, amazing monarch butterflies aflutter out the window now as I write.
I counted 21 today, Monday, in our gardens here, planted for pollinators.
Through caring about birds, I came to care about pollinators.
The fall hawk watch up on Pack Monadnock counts migrating monarchs as well as raptors. Friday the 13th was a big day for monarchs (92) and for broad-winged hawks (2,267).
Be sure to visit the watch, staffed through mid-November. Peak numbers are due this week, but sometimes the intimacy comes in days of hundreds not thousands.
There’s something about a lone eagle powering by in the valley below. . .
The annual release of rehabilitated raptors at the hawk watch is Sunday the 22nd at 3 p.m. It’s an event that draws many people. Invariably there’s applause when a wild one is released back to its world. Mark your calendar.
I’ve written about hawks seen from Pack Monadnock since the column’s start, and especially for the 15 years that the watch has been staffed.
Before then, new to birding and so eager to learn about hawks, I spent time alone up there. The learning is easier now as staff and volunteers welcome newcomers, but I loved the ID struggle – most days.
I’m at a nostalgic age that includes lots of hawk watch memories. Many I wrote about. Here’s one from a 1995 column:
“Local hawk watchers have their favorite viewing locations.
“I set my scope up on Pack Monadnock, facing north from the ledges 50 yards down the Wapack Trail from the summit parking area. Sometimes people come over, curious. I bring extra binoculars. They unfailingly feel the charge of excitement that builds as a migrating hawk approaches, sailing on currents of air.
“Once I spent a few hours watching with a motorcyclist whose leather outfit creaked as he raised and lowered the binoculars. He had never seen the world magnified before. After his first quick look through binoculars, he stepped back exclaiming, “Whoa, Froot Loops.” He was right. The rounded, multi-colored trees below looked like a bowl of Froot Loops without the milk.
“Finally a hawk showed up. The biker’s excitement was intense – and vocal. When the massive, powerful red-tailed hawk passed close-by, he raised his hands to cup his mouth and cry out a most believable, most piercing golden eagle call.
“He said he felt a kinship with eagles.
“When he left, after we had watched a number of sharp-shinned hawks, one northern harrier, and a few hawks that escaped our ID skills, we shook hands and exchanged names.
“Each fall I note the Froot Loop colors and remember watching hawks with Jim.”
Last Sunday, Meade Cadot and I were on Blueberry Ridge on the backside of Crotched Mountain for a Harris Center annual hawk watch that has a long history but ceased a few years back.
Sunday’s watch was a reprise, part of the Harris Center’s 50th anniversary celebration that includes some old faithful field trips.
Just as it was in past decades, youngsters chased grasshoppers as adults chatted with an eye to the skies. The children gathered around Susie Spikol, beloved Harris Center teacher-naturalist, to talk about hawks – and perhaps grasshoppers.
I remember Susie’s daughter, Lily, now in college, chasing grasshoppers.
Lily also added some vocabulary to the hawk watching tradition.
This from a column in 2010, after a Blueberry Ridge hawk watch:
“I was the counter that day. Counting is not my cup of tea. Far more enjoyable is pointing, and exclaiming, and making sure newcomers to the watch take a look at a swirling crowd of hawks through my telescope.
“And hearing their exclamations.
“In the midst of the three-hour rush of broad-winged hawks I got a little punchy. The joke became that if someone said ‘WOW!’ upon sighting a kettle of hawks, that meant there were 50 swirling hawks; ‘Holy Moly!’ meant 75; and ‘Ohmygod!!’ meant a kettle of 100.
“’Ohmygod’ is a favorite. It’s quite involuntary, and is heard often on just about any field trip when someone looks through my telescope to witness one of nature’s many wonders up close.
“The ‘Holy Moly’ exclamation came from a sharp-eyed young hawk watcher who has attended many Blueberry Ridge watches, starting as a baby in a backpack.
Carrying that backpack was her mom, Susie Spikol. Susie has instilled her infectious sense of wonder for the natural world in hundreds of students – including her daughter, Lily.”
It’s appropriate that I mention Susie. She’ll be playing a big role in keeping a nature column going in the Ledger-Transcript.
That’s a big hint about what’s coming in November.