8 September 2021 (first red)
Kristen Lindquist
first red leaves . . .
all afternoon a jay
mimics a hawk
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
Sign up on the Contact Me page
Filtering by Tag: broad-winged hawk
3 May 2020 (hawk)
Kristen Lindquist
circling back
to our conversation
broad-winged hawk
April 25: Hawks overhead
Kristen Lindquist
Driving to Belfast this morning, noticed several hawks flying above the Route One corridor, including some circling Broad-wings and at least one Sharpie. I apologize to anyone driving behind me while I was trying to get better looks at 50 MPH.
Driving north
following hawks up the coast.
Wish I could keep going.
Driving north
following hawks up the coast.
Wish I could keep going.
September 18: Harvest
Kristen Lindquist
At a friend's farm: tomato vines laden with reddening globes, tight corn cobs sprouting tassles, peppers painted red and green by ripening, pumpkins swelling on the vines, here and there bodies of butternut squashes tan mounds upon the ground, young chickens pecking Japanese beetles in the sunlit yard, a woodpecker spiraling the trunk of the dying pine struck by lightning, and a broad-winged hawk silently passing over the chickadee on the branch...
Garden pregnant
with rounded bodies of squash.
Ripening: sun passing overhead.
Garden pregnant
with rounded bodies of squash.
Ripening: sun passing overhead.
May 22: Overhead
Kristen Lindquist
This morning from my office I could hear the piercing, high-pitched call of a broad-winged hawk. Often I'm faked out by blue jay mimics, so I went outside to see which this was, hawk or jay. Overhead the small hawk circled above the office several times, whistling insistently. It felt as if he were calling us outside to admire him as surveyed his domain: Pay attention, subjects! The light illuminated his barred breast and banded tail. I could see where the same flight feather in each wing had fallen out and left a gap, like missing teeth--clearly, he's molting. He called over and over, eventually soaring over the river toward Mount Battie. I think they nest on the mountain each summer.
Later at my desk I heard a loon calling as it flew upriver. Such a strange and wonderful sound to punctuate my work day. And so unlike the beeping of trucks backing up at the warehouse across the street or the neighbor's dog barking incessantly.
River calls them in.
We're simple witnesses here
to all that wild noise.
Later at my desk I heard a loon calling as it flew upriver. Such a strange and wonderful sound to punctuate my work day. And so unlike the beeping of trucks backing up at the warehouse across the street or the neighbor's dog barking incessantly.
River calls them in.
We're simple witnesses here
to all that wild noise.
September 17: Wrong place?
Kristen Lindquist
Birders up and down the coast today--from the Cadillac Mountain hawk watch to Freeport Wild Bird Store--reported seeing thousands of broad-winged hawks migrating through today. Yes, thousands. As in, they needed a little hand clicker to count all the birds they were seeing fly over. There were so many raptors in the air today, pushed along by a perfect NW wind, that their flight was visible on weather radar.
Meanwhile, my birder friend Ron and I, ignorant of all this hawk action overhead, decided to go look for shorebirds at Weskeag Marsh. We saw 12 sandpipers (that's individuals, not species) and about 20 snowy egrets. That many snowy egrets is a pleasant spectacle. But it's not 1,600 broad-winged hawks, etc.! What did we see for raptors? Immediately after we got out of the car we spotted a sharp-shinned hawk circling above us. A couple of minutes after that, an adult peregrine falcon flew off its perch along the marsh's edge and soared right past us, northward. (It was either hunting or misguided.) I always love to see one of them. We also saw two vultures circling high overhead, and in the distance, a buteo that was probably a red-tailed hawk. And that's it.
I admit that I'd love to have had the experience of seeing a zillion hawks. I've attended several hawk watches and they're exciting events, even without that many birds sailing through. But Weskeag was a beautiful place to be today. The marsh grasses are starting to fade and redden, the tide was still rising up the river, angelic white egrets fluttered in the back pannes, and the blue sky was bedecked with a scattered array of clouds that looked almost unreal, like a theatrical backdrop for a particularly cheerful scene in an old-style musical. The perfect backdrop for the amazing drama that is migration. What I regret about the day is not missing all those hawks, but the fact that I didn't have my camera with me to photograph that sky.
Those hawks, too, must have
gloried in today's blue sky
beckoning them south.
Meanwhile, my birder friend Ron and I, ignorant of all this hawk action overhead, decided to go look for shorebirds at Weskeag Marsh. We saw 12 sandpipers (that's individuals, not species) and about 20 snowy egrets. That many snowy egrets is a pleasant spectacle. But it's not 1,600 broad-winged hawks, etc.! What did we see for raptors? Immediately after we got out of the car we spotted a sharp-shinned hawk circling above us. A couple of minutes after that, an adult peregrine falcon flew off its perch along the marsh's edge and soared right past us, northward. (It was either hunting or misguided.) I always love to see one of them. We also saw two vultures circling high overhead, and in the distance, a buteo that was probably a red-tailed hawk. And that's it.
I admit that I'd love to have had the experience of seeing a zillion hawks. I've attended several hawk watches and they're exciting events, even without that many birds sailing through. But Weskeag was a beautiful place to be today. The marsh grasses are starting to fade and redden, the tide was still rising up the river, angelic white egrets fluttered in the back pannes, and the blue sky was bedecked with a scattered array of clouds that looked almost unreal, like a theatrical backdrop for a particularly cheerful scene in an old-style musical. The perfect backdrop for the amazing drama that is migration. What I regret about the day is not missing all those hawks, but the fact that I didn't have my camera with me to photograph that sky.
Those hawks, too, must have
gloried in today's blue sky
beckoning them south.
July 16: Hawk Family
Kristen Lindquist
Driving down a dirt road through the woods ("15 MPH Dust!") to check out for the first time my sister and brother-in-law's new lakeside camp this afternoon, I was thrilled to see a broad-winged hawk fly across the road in front of me. It was followed by two more, which looked by their plumage to be youngsters. They perched together up in a big pine.
The camp is perfect, the kind you want your kids to spend all their summers in so that they grow up remembering their childhood as a series of sunny weeks of loon calls, the thrum of small motorboats, the slam of screen doors; of padding through pine needles in bare feet or running down the wooden dock to jump off into the cool embrace of the lake; of tipping the canoe, eating hot dogs, playing card games after dark, and seeing stars reflected in the water...
As I went for my first swim of the summer and then read in the sun in an Adirondack chair on the big porch, I visualized all this for my two nieces' future.
Hawk with two fledglings--
I always see signs in things:
my sister, her girls.
The camp is perfect, the kind you want your kids to spend all their summers in so that they grow up remembering their childhood as a series of sunny weeks of loon calls, the thrum of small motorboats, the slam of screen doors; of padding through pine needles in bare feet or running down the wooden dock to jump off into the cool embrace of the lake; of tipping the canoe, eating hot dogs, playing card games after dark, and seeing stars reflected in the water...
As I went for my first swim of the summer and then read in the sun in an Adirondack chair on the big porch, I visualized all this for my two nieces' future.
Hawk with two fledglings--
I always see signs in things:
my sister, her girls.
June 26: Backyard Birds
Kristen Lindquist
After mowing the lawn today, I did something unusual for me. I sat on the back step in the sun and... well, that's it. I just sat on the back step. For about ten minutes I did nothing but just sit there and live in the moment. My cat, who is strictly an indoor cat occasionally allowed supervised visits onto the porch, came over and, instead of trying to make her usual escape attempt, curled up in my lap. Apparently she wanted to live in the moment too. She purred and dozed, while I looked around and thought about how much I love my back yard.
Back yard, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love the ever-present rushing music of the river that passes over your feet. I love the canopy of oak, beech, ash, and maple leaves that surround you, leaving just the right-sized opening for sky and sunlight. I love the frilly fans of ferns that border your edges and the tall goldenrod along the porch steps. I love your view of my neighbor's orange day lilies. I love how you keep my flowers healthy, even the wild ones. And I love how the combination of water and tree cover brings birds into your sheltered embrace.
If you don't go looking for birds, sometimes they have a way of finding you. While I sat there enjoying my yard in all its early summer greenery, I heard the following:
cardinal whistling up a storm in the neighbor's yard
squalling group of crows upriver
broad-winged hawk high overhead
pileated woodpecker cackling somewhere downriver
loon calling in flight
warbling vireo moving through the trees above the river
several robins singing throughout the neighborhood
song sparrow across the street
hummingbird squealing through the yard, hopefully on its way to my bee balm
I've found fewer birds than that while out actually looking for them! And my cat was oblivious to it all.
Sometimes sitting still
turns out to be the best way
to hear birds, here, now.
Back yard, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love the ever-present rushing music of the river that passes over your feet. I love the canopy of oak, beech, ash, and maple leaves that surround you, leaving just the right-sized opening for sky and sunlight. I love the frilly fans of ferns that border your edges and the tall goldenrod along the porch steps. I love your view of my neighbor's orange day lilies. I love how you keep my flowers healthy, even the wild ones. And I love how the combination of water and tree cover brings birds into your sheltered embrace.
If you don't go looking for birds, sometimes they have a way of finding you. While I sat there enjoying my yard in all its early summer greenery, I heard the following:
cardinal whistling up a storm in the neighbor's yard
squalling group of crows upriver
broad-winged hawk high overhead
pileated woodpecker cackling somewhere downriver
loon calling in flight
warbling vireo moving through the trees above the river
several robins singing throughout the neighborhood
song sparrow across the street
hummingbird squealing through the yard, hopefully on its way to my bee balm
I've found fewer birds than that while out actually looking for them! And my cat was oblivious to it all.
Sometimes sitting still
turns out to be the best way
to hear birds, here, now.
May 26: In the Sky
Kristen Lindquist
Driving through Rockport early this evening, I had one of those "wow" moments. As I headed south down Route One toward what appeared to be dense clouds, at one point I turned my head to see the leading edge of the fog mass. I almost went off the road as I took in what I was seeing and actually did exclaim aloud. I know fog is nothing unusual around here, but this particular formation was like nothing I'd seen before--a tangible, sharp thing cutting through the air like the smooth silvery wing of an airplane, or perhaps something softer but still solid and forceful, like a shark's fin. Carefully feeling its way, this curved rim of fog sent out wispy tendrils ahead of it as it progressed visibly northward. Strange and beautiful, mist made animate, the movements of this cloud beast seeming purposeful--a strange-looking UFO slowly invading the sunny blue skies before it (like those space ships on "Battlestar Galactica" that are actually living beings). (The mind makes some strange connections in the presence of such atmospheric funkiness).
Farther down the road, a broad-winged hawk flapped low over my car to land in a nearby tree. Even farther along, as I was stopped at a light, a turkey took off from the side of the road, barely clearing my windshield. With all this going on overhead, it's amazing I made it intact to my destination.
Sky released its hawks,
its cold, creeping edge of fog;
for fun, a turkey.
Farther down the road, a broad-winged hawk flapped low over my car to land in a nearby tree. Even farther along, as I was stopped at a light, a turkey took off from the side of the road, barely clearing my windshield. With all this going on overhead, it's amazing I made it intact to my destination.
Sky released its hawks,
its cold, creeping edge of fog;
for fun, a turkey.
April 21: Broad-winged Hawks
Kristen Lindquist
Three-hundred ninety-seven broad-winged hawks were counted at the Bradbury Mountain hawk watch today. That's a lot of hawks. That's a good portion of the 653 total that have been seen from the hawk watch this month. Derek Lovitch, the official counter today, commented with his report that small kettles of broad-wings were moving through early and very high, visible only against the clouds.
I wasn't outside much today, so didn't have an opportunity to look for any hawks. (Yesterday I saw, perched roadside, my first and only broad-wing of the year so far.) But I could see enough out the window to know that big, fluffy, rain-saturated cumulus clouds were rolling through all day, at one point a bit thunderously. Knowing now that hundreds of hawks were swirling overhead while I worked away at my desk is a bit disconcerting. All that motion, all those feathered bodies being pulled northward, and I wasn't a part of it in any way.
During Fall migration, hawk watchers migrate to Mexico's narrowest isthmus. Because broad-wings and many other raptors don't like to fly over water, they don't fly over the Gulf of Mexico like many other migrants heading for Central and South America. Instead, they stay above land, funneling down the body of Mexico on their way south. The birds obviously become most concentrated where the country constricts. Hawk watchers in Veracruz, a city on the Gulf side of the isthmus, have counted 100,000 broad-wings in a day, and 2 million during a season. Pretty much all the broad-wings in the world pass over this point. A small portion of those hawks traveled over Bradbury Mountain south of here today, and a portion of those traveled over my head as they followed the ridges of the Camden Hills. It was going on all morning, and I missed it. But I love thinking about it, trying to get my head around the incredible miracle of that journey.
Kettles of broad-wings
carried by rain clouds northward.
And I, unaware.
I wasn't outside much today, so didn't have an opportunity to look for any hawks. (Yesterday I saw, perched roadside, my first and only broad-wing of the year so far.) But I could see enough out the window to know that big, fluffy, rain-saturated cumulus clouds were rolling through all day, at one point a bit thunderously. Knowing now that hundreds of hawks were swirling overhead while I worked away at my desk is a bit disconcerting. All that motion, all those feathered bodies being pulled northward, and I wasn't a part of it in any way.
During Fall migration, hawk watchers migrate to Mexico's narrowest isthmus. Because broad-wings and many other raptors don't like to fly over water, they don't fly over the Gulf of Mexico like many other migrants heading for Central and South America. Instead, they stay above land, funneling down the body of Mexico on their way south. The birds obviously become most concentrated where the country constricts. Hawk watchers in Veracruz, a city on the Gulf side of the isthmus, have counted 100,000 broad-wings in a day, and 2 million during a season. Pretty much all the broad-wings in the world pass over this point. A small portion of those hawks traveled over Bradbury Mountain south of here today, and a portion of those traveled over my head as they followed the ridges of the Camden Hills. It was going on all morning, and I missed it. But I love thinking about it, trying to get my head around the incredible miracle of that journey.
Kettles of broad-wings
carried by rain clouds northward.
And I, unaware.
April 16: Not a Broad-Wing
Kristen Lindquist
This morning as I was leaving for work, I heard a broad-winged hawk calling. It's a distinctive call, a piercing, high-pitched whistle. (You can hear it here, though if you don't click away from the web page, the song repeats indefinitely. If you have dogs near, it will probably drive them--and you--crazy.) It called repeatedly (somewhat like the link I just posted) but rather faintly for a hawk that also sounded like it was in my back yard. I looked up and didn't see anything soaring overhead. They've been migrating through in high numbers this week, according to the Bradbury Mountain hawk watch, and I was looking forward to seeing my first one of the year. Often in summers past I've heard the call and stepped out into the yard to see a broad-wing or two circling in the sky above Mount Battie. I know of at least one pair that has nested in the area. But the sky was empty today as far as I could see. Then I realized: I was being duped by a blue jay.
And not for the first time. I've heard blue jays imitate broad-winged hawks, red-tailed hawks, and ospreys. I've also recently heard a blue jay respond to the "beep-beep" of my car door opener, both in my own driveway and elsewhere, with a perfect-pitch imitation. It wasn't just a fluke either; it beeped back in the same way each time I opened the doors. I'm not sure what the evolutionary advantage is to being such a successful mimic, but given that the blue jay's specialty seems to be raptors, perhaps it's to mess with other birds, to scare them off their eggs or otherwise distract them for some nefarious purpose of its own. Or perhaps it just enjoys playing with sounds. Jays are generally very verbal birds, and tricky. This one certainly played on my expectations this morning, as if it knew just what I was hoping to see and decided to taunt me.
No broad-wing, just jays--
spring's teasing reminder of
what's not yet returned.
And not for the first time. I've heard blue jays imitate broad-winged hawks, red-tailed hawks, and ospreys. I've also recently heard a blue jay respond to the "beep-beep" of my car door opener, both in my own driveway and elsewhere, with a perfect-pitch imitation. It wasn't just a fluke either; it beeped back in the same way each time I opened the doors. I'm not sure what the evolutionary advantage is to being such a successful mimic, but given that the blue jay's specialty seems to be raptors, perhaps it's to mess with other birds, to scare them off their eggs or otherwise distract them for some nefarious purpose of its own. Or perhaps it just enjoys playing with sounds. Jays are generally very verbal birds, and tricky. This one certainly played on my expectations this morning, as if it knew just what I was hoping to see and decided to taunt me.
No broad-wing, just jays--
spring's teasing reminder of
what's not yet returned.