As for pics from our trip this week to the Rifle River Rec Area, I hope to get that going this afternoon. There were orchids and loons, birds and flowers galore!
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Artwork--eastern bluebird
Just a quick post of a work in progress, this of a female Eastern bluebird that was hanging out on our balcony several winters ago. I'll post again when it's done, which will be before next weekend as I plan to have it done before my next show.
As for pics from our trip this week to the Rifle River Rec Area, I hope to get that going this afternoon. There were orchids and loons, birds and flowers galore!
As for pics from our trip this week to the Rifle River Rec Area, I hope to get that going this afternoon. There were orchids and loons, birds and flowers galore!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Artwork
Just a quick post before I am off to the great north woods. OK, not so far north and maybe not so great, but I'm going north and there are woods. We are headed back up to the Rifle River Rec Area (see my posts from last August/September) to look for loons with babies and do a little hiking. Here's hoping the weather cooperates.
I have finished two more pieces in the past few weeks, little 6x9's of two of my favorite birds.
First, the Red-breasted nuthatch, a winter resident for us. Small and quick, getting good shots of one can be quite a challenge. This one was hanging on a suet feeder but I put him on a black cherry for aesthetics.
Next a Black-capped chickadee, one of our year-round residents. What's not to love about the chickadee? Cute, gregarious, and personable, they will come up and take seeds from your hand, if you're patient enough. This bird was on our balcony a few years ago--this is not the bird from the Shiawassee NWR. I already had this piece set up and ready to go when I got the shots of the other bird.
So be well, ya'll, and hopefully next time I'll have fuzzy loon chicks to show you!
I have finished two more pieces in the past few weeks, little 6x9's of two of my favorite birds.
First, the Red-breasted nuthatch, a winter resident for us. Small and quick, getting good shots of one can be quite a challenge. This one was hanging on a suet feeder but I put him on a black cherry for aesthetics.
Next a Black-capped chickadee, one of our year-round residents. What's not to love about the chickadee? Cute, gregarious, and personable, they will come up and take seeds from your hand, if you're patient enough. This bird was on our balcony a few years ago--this is not the bird from the Shiawassee NWR. I already had this piece set up and ready to go when I got the shots of the other bird.
So be well, ya'll, and hopefully next time I'll have fuzzy loon chicks to show you!
Friday, June 4, 2010
Disaster
As a nature artist and environmentalist, to not write about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico has been like ignoring the 800 pound gorilla in the living room. It's constantly on my mind, leaving me with a vaguely sick feeling of helplessness and grief.
Well, that grief came on full bore last night when I checked the news on line and saw that some reporters and photographers had finally reached a beach where the oil is thick and the birds are dying. Worse than dying, I suppose, the birds are suffering. As you may know, BP has strictly forbidden its clean-up workers from taking photos of oil covered animals, and forbidden them from speaking to the media. BP understands that while intellectually we know what is happening out there even if we can't see it, to see it brings it all to a whole new level--and frankly, I absolutely did not expect to see anything like this:
When the images of these ravaged birds came up on my screen, I cracked. I bawled like a baby. I have entirely too much empathy, too easily imagine what these stricken animals are going through. Not only coated and immobile in many cases, but this stuff burns, it burns skin and burns respiratory tracts and digestive systems. These animals don't understand what's happening to them--this is something completely beyond their experience and their ability to comprehend, and I imagine the panic, the confusion, the utter fear they must feel being literally glued to the beach and smothered to death.
I know my anger over BP's incompetency has been growing and growing, and my anger and disappointment in our government's response has grown right along with it. I don't really know how exactly I feel about government--more or less, Democrat or Republican, none of it really seems to make a difference. What I do know is that I am frightened--literally frightened--to live in a world that is run not by a sense of responsibility to the continuation of life on this planet but by greed and individual comfort. When corporations are bigger than government, when governments can be bought, when we as individuals don't know when we have enough, this is what happens.
BP saved money by not installing a particular type of shut-device that would have closed off this pipe when the rig blew. This shut off wasn't required by our government--although it is by other governments in other countries were off-shore drilling occurs--because there are people in our government who get money from these companies to keep regulations like that off the books. From politicians to the lobbyists who schmooze them, to regulatory officials and oil rig inspectors, everyone has a price, it seems. Was it worth it? Was it worth a new big screen TV, a Porsche, crystal meth and a lap dance at the local bar? Take a good long look, folks. Was it worth it?
It is not just these birds, turtles, dolphins, fish etc that are suffering. Clean up crews are falling ill. Fishermen are losing their livelihoods. Environmentalists who have worked so hard to restore habitat and get animals and birds like the brown pelican off the endangered species list have seen decades of work destroyed in the time it takes an oil rig to blow--or an envelope with a little extra cash to change hands.
What does this say about us? What does this say about the future of mankind? So many people who hold disdain for environmentalists like to dismiss us, calling us tree huggers, assuming that all we care about are spotted owls, snail darters and brown pelicans. What they don't seem to realize is that we understand that protecting those things also protects us. That when we have an environment that is safe for the brown pelican we have an environment that is safe for us.
Because what is left once we've tainted the water we drink, the air we breathe, the soil in which we grow our food? We are at the top of our food chain. We will face the cumulative effects of the pollution and contamination that we are now heaping upon our furred and feathered friends. We like to think we are immune, that our technology will continue to save us from our own stupidity, but it seems to me like we are just putting off the inevitable. The oil spill in the Gulf is huge, dramatic and attention-getting, but there are smaller, insidious catastrophes happening every day: Dioxin contamination of rivers with warnings not to eat the fish or fowl; CAFO (Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations) wastes polluting streams, lakes and croplands and sickening people who live nearby with toxic fumes; giant masses of plastic wastes floating on our oceans, absorbing toxins, breaking down and entering the food chain; mercury fallout from coal-fired power plants contaminating lakes and streams and the food that we eat (I have a theory about autism I'll talk about some day). The list goes on and on and on. In our quest for more and more stuff, for a higher and higher "standard of living", we are slowly killing ourselves and putting the future of our own species in doubt.
I wish I could have gone down to the Gulf, gone down the day this started, because it was clear to me even then what was coming. I wish I could have gone down there and talked to those animals, the pelicans and gulls and terns and plovers, the turtles and dolphins and shrimp, and told them to get the hell out of town. Swim. Run. Fly. Save yourselves because we aren't going to be able to do it for you. Leave your homes, leave your nests, and save yourselves. Pain and suffering are coming your way, and we don't seem to have any way of stopping it. Maybe some day we will figure out what's really important, that we can't eat money (or oil), but until then, save yourselves and fly away.
Fly away.
Well, that grief came on full bore last night when I checked the news on line and saw that some reporters and photographers had finally reached a beach where the oil is thick and the birds are dying. Worse than dying, I suppose, the birds are suffering. As you may know, BP has strictly forbidden its clean-up workers from taking photos of oil covered animals, and forbidden them from speaking to the media. BP understands that while intellectually we know what is happening out there even if we can't see it, to see it brings it all to a whole new level--and frankly, I absolutely did not expect to see anything like this:
When the images of these ravaged birds came up on my screen, I cracked. I bawled like a baby. I have entirely too much empathy, too easily imagine what these stricken animals are going through. Not only coated and immobile in many cases, but this stuff burns, it burns skin and burns respiratory tracts and digestive systems. These animals don't understand what's happening to them--this is something completely beyond their experience and their ability to comprehend, and I imagine the panic, the confusion, the utter fear they must feel being literally glued to the beach and smothered to death.
I know my anger over BP's incompetency has been growing and growing, and my anger and disappointment in our government's response has grown right along with it. I don't really know how exactly I feel about government--more or less, Democrat or Republican, none of it really seems to make a difference. What I do know is that I am frightened--literally frightened--to live in a world that is run not by a sense of responsibility to the continuation of life on this planet but by greed and individual comfort. When corporations are bigger than government, when governments can be bought, when we as individuals don't know when we have enough, this is what happens.
BP saved money by not installing a particular type of shut-device that would have closed off this pipe when the rig blew. This shut off wasn't required by our government--although it is by other governments in other countries were off-shore drilling occurs--because there are people in our government who get money from these companies to keep regulations like that off the books. From politicians to the lobbyists who schmooze them, to regulatory officials and oil rig inspectors, everyone has a price, it seems. Was it worth it? Was it worth a new big screen TV, a Porsche, crystal meth and a lap dance at the local bar? Take a good long look, folks. Was it worth it?
It is not just these birds, turtles, dolphins, fish etc that are suffering. Clean up crews are falling ill. Fishermen are losing their livelihoods. Environmentalists who have worked so hard to restore habitat and get animals and birds like the brown pelican off the endangered species list have seen decades of work destroyed in the time it takes an oil rig to blow--or an envelope with a little extra cash to change hands.
What does this say about us? What does this say about the future of mankind? So many people who hold disdain for environmentalists like to dismiss us, calling us tree huggers, assuming that all we care about are spotted owls, snail darters and brown pelicans. What they don't seem to realize is that we understand that protecting those things also protects us. That when we have an environment that is safe for the brown pelican we have an environment that is safe for us.
Because what is left once we've tainted the water we drink, the air we breathe, the soil in which we grow our food? We are at the top of our food chain. We will face the cumulative effects of the pollution and contamination that we are now heaping upon our furred and feathered friends. We like to think we are immune, that our technology will continue to save us from our own stupidity, but it seems to me like we are just putting off the inevitable. The oil spill in the Gulf is huge, dramatic and attention-getting, but there are smaller, insidious catastrophes happening every day: Dioxin contamination of rivers with warnings not to eat the fish or fowl; CAFO (Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations) wastes polluting streams, lakes and croplands and sickening people who live nearby with toxic fumes; giant masses of plastic wastes floating on our oceans, absorbing toxins, breaking down and entering the food chain; mercury fallout from coal-fired power plants contaminating lakes and streams and the food that we eat (I have a theory about autism I'll talk about some day). The list goes on and on and on. In our quest for more and more stuff, for a higher and higher "standard of living", we are slowly killing ourselves and putting the future of our own species in doubt.
I wish I could have gone down to the Gulf, gone down the day this started, because it was clear to me even then what was coming. I wish I could have gone down there and talked to those animals, the pelicans and gulls and terns and plovers, the turtles and dolphins and shrimp, and told them to get the hell out of town. Swim. Run. Fly. Save yourselves because we aren't going to be able to do it for you. Leave your homes, leave your nests, and save yourselves. Pain and suffering are coming your way, and we don't seem to have any way of stopping it. Maybe some day we will figure out what's really important, that we can't eat money (or oil), but until then, save yourselves and fly away.
Fly away.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Appleton Cranes
Each year, when spring starts seeping in around the edges of winter, we listen for the call of the sandhill cranes. A sure harbinger of warmer weather, their raucous calls lift our spirits and get us thinking about putting in the garden and getting the kayaks out. Each year we swear we'll get the 'yaks out as soon as the ice is off the lake. Each year we don't make it out until late May. Either it's too cold, or too windy, or we're too busy...you know the story.
We finally got out on the water for the first time on May 28, a beautiful, blue-sky day with little wind. Our favorite lake is Appleton, a small, marly lake in the Brighton Recreation Area that has some pretty good fishing, lots of birds, and motor restrictions--a good lake for kayaks. It also has a group of sandhill cranes that spends each night along its shores, apparently non-breeding adults who leave the lake early in the morning to feed in nearby fields and return in the evening to preen and sleep.
It is amazing to me that they seem to come in about the same time before sunset everyday--in August it's around 7pm, in late May it's closer to 7:30. They tend to land in the same part of the lake every time, unless someone is fishing too near. I was not in the best position to catch the first large flock coming in over the lake, but I got a few shots as they flew past me.
I paddled over to the shore to watch and photograph them as they went about their business.
As I watched the first group, several more flew in. Watching them prepare to land is one of the most entertaining things I've ever seen. They stop flapping and cup their wings, bringing their legs forward in anticipation of hitting the water. They look like puppets on strings, guided from above.
Touch down!
Then another group approached from the southeast,
and flew right over my head, on their way to another part of the lake.
I paddled over to were the other group had landed, out of the bright sun, hoping for some good shots.
Some tried to settle in for the night, preening, scratching,
stretching.
But there's always a trouble maker, one bird who can't settle in and goes about chasing the others around. Don't know if this is a territorial thing, or dominance, or perhaps someone got too close his girl. Whatever the case, there was much jumping and shouting. The bird in front was the boss of this group, it seemed, running the others off.
After the offender was chased away, he'd put his head down low, back arched and neck curved, in a final warning.
He stood out from the others, bold, watching me closely for some time.
After much shooting, using a camera card that I still had images on from Shiawassee, I found that my card was full. I sat drifting, deleting frames, watching the cranes out of the corner of my eye. Tempers would flare, and I'd bring the camera up and shoot, filling the card again.
It's good to know that the cranes will be there every night, putting on their show, so I can go back with an empty camera card!
The Matrix, anyone?
Not everyone was into the drama of the evening. Some just wanted to go to bed.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Finishing Shiawassee
Flush with the thrill of the chickadee encounter, we moved on down the trail, coming to a tangle of downed trees and grape vine, and my keen eye (*snicker*) spotted some movement among the vines--a brown creeper!!
I have only seen one on two occasions, first on a walk in Huron Hills Metropark just down the road from my house, and once this past winter in the trees next to my studio. That time I had been out filling up feeders and again caught movement on a tree trunk about 15 feet away. I froze instantly and saw a creeper working its way down the rotting wood of a dead slippery elm. Within moments it flew closer, landing on a black cherry not four feet in front of me. I watched it for a minute or so before it flew away, then I ran to the house to tell the girls.
They can be very difficult to see thanks to their camouflage coloring and markings. I know this one isn't particularly clear, but you can imagine how on a rough-barked tree this bird would virtually disappear.
Eventually the path left the riverbank and turned back into the woods. It occurred to me after a bit that we were walking on a raised bed, not unlike the dikes in Florida in the Maritime Hammock Sanctuary. I looked along both sides of the trail and could see in places that it had probably been dredged at some point, although I imagine the area had been previously swampy, like in this photo.
Then Lisa picked up a funny looking rock and we gathered round to examine it. Huh. Looks a bit like coal. Oh hey, that's right, I remember reading that the area had been mined for coal decades ago! What we were walking on was probably an old rail bed that was used to get the coal to a barge waiting on the river.
This deer and its partner where checking us out from across the swamp. A bit rough looking, I assume it's shedding its winter coat.
I was disappointed at the number and density of invasive plants in this wildlife "refuge"--it was thick with barberry, glossy buckthorn and garlic mustard to name a few. But in spite of that we came across a decent variety of wildflowers, including the densest concentration of wild ginger any of us has ever seen.
Lots of wild geranium...
and Jack-in-the-pulpit too.
Nearing the end of the trail we spotted this eastern phoebe near a marsh, watching us closely.
Finally, as we neared the parking lot, we came to a small flock of cedar waxwings feasting in...well, I'm not sure what this is. It could be glossy buckthorn--the berries they were eating had to be from last year as no plants had produced yet. This of course is how this plant gets spread all over the place--birds eat the berries and then poop out the seeds. Sigh.
Here is a shot of the backside of a waxwing. Shows off the yellow tips on the tail and the red adornments on the ends of some of the wing feathers--breeding plumage that will be lost when the birds moult in the fall.
We got back to the RV--remember the RV?--and were famished, not having packed any snacks and too little water. Our hikes always take longer than we think they ought to considering the distance we travel, and this was a warmer day than most we'd had up to this point in late April. We sat and had lunch then headed on home.
A week or so later I visited their website, http://www.fws.gov/midwest/shiawassee/, and found that they have a list of bird sightings that is just amazing. Again, we were there about a week too early to really see a huge variety of birds, and I would guess that many of the sightings were near the marsh, not the river and woods. Oh well, someday we'll figure out how to plan our travel times better!
I have only seen one on two occasions, first on a walk in Huron Hills Metropark just down the road from my house, and once this past winter in the trees next to my studio. That time I had been out filling up feeders and again caught movement on a tree trunk about 15 feet away. I froze instantly and saw a creeper working its way down the rotting wood of a dead slippery elm. Within moments it flew closer, landing on a black cherry not four feet in front of me. I watched it for a minute or so before it flew away, then I ran to the house to tell the girls.
They can be very difficult to see thanks to their camouflage coloring and markings. I know this one isn't particularly clear, but you can imagine how on a rough-barked tree this bird would virtually disappear.
Eventually the path left the riverbank and turned back into the woods. It occurred to me after a bit that we were walking on a raised bed, not unlike the dikes in Florida in the Maritime Hammock Sanctuary. I looked along both sides of the trail and could see in places that it had probably been dredged at some point, although I imagine the area had been previously swampy, like in this photo.
Then Lisa picked up a funny looking rock and we gathered round to examine it. Huh. Looks a bit like coal. Oh hey, that's right, I remember reading that the area had been mined for coal decades ago! What we were walking on was probably an old rail bed that was used to get the coal to a barge waiting on the river.
This deer and its partner where checking us out from across the swamp. A bit rough looking, I assume it's shedding its winter coat.
I was disappointed at the number and density of invasive plants in this wildlife "refuge"--it was thick with barberry, glossy buckthorn and garlic mustard to name a few. But in spite of that we came across a decent variety of wildflowers, including the densest concentration of wild ginger any of us has ever seen.
Lots of wild geranium...
and Jack-in-the-pulpit too.
Nearing the end of the trail we spotted this eastern phoebe near a marsh, watching us closely.
Finally, as we neared the parking lot, we came to a small flock of cedar waxwings feasting in...well, I'm not sure what this is. It could be glossy buckthorn--the berries they were eating had to be from last year as no plants had produced yet. This of course is how this plant gets spread all over the place--birds eat the berries and then poop out the seeds. Sigh.
Here is a shot of the backside of a waxwing. Shows off the yellow tips on the tail and the red adornments on the ends of some of the wing feathers--breeding plumage that will be lost when the birds moult in the fall.
We got back to the RV--remember the RV?--and were famished, not having packed any snacks and too little water. Our hikes always take longer than we think they ought to considering the distance we travel, and this was a warmer day than most we'd had up to this point in late April. We sat and had lunch then headed on home.
A week or so later I visited their website, http://www.fws.gov/midwest/shiawassee/, and found that they have a list of bird sightings that is just amazing. Again, we were there about a week too early to really see a huge variety of birds, and I would guess that many of the sightings were near the marsh, not the river and woods. Oh well, someday we'll figure out how to plan our travel times better!
Monday, May 24, 2010
The Effervescent Chickadee
I apologise for it taking me a month to post about a two day trip, but my show schedule really kicked my butt this past month. I had two of my biggest shows of the season back to back and I've been busting my tail prepping for them. So bear with me--there will be one more post after this and then I'll be caught up.
After leaving the bluebird behind we caught sight of yet another snake. There were literally everywhere, warming themselves along the open edges of the trail. They'd shoot off into the taller grasses as we approached, but this one didn't escape far enough to avoid having its picture taken--a common garter snake.
The girls were chit chatting behind me while I photographed the snake. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw a bird fly into the bushes in front of us. I shushed them and we all stood still. Oh, a little chickadee!
We stood still and quiet, and eventually the small bird made its way to a branch on the edge of the shrub, right in front of me, and proceeded to check me out.
I wish I'd been able to shift just a bit to get rid of that twig in front of the bird, but I was afraid to move too much. It is not often you have a bird station itself five feet from your lens!
This is without question one of my favorite birds. They're cute, gregarious, and they stay with us all year long, a quality I really appreciate. In January they start singing their "spring's coming" song and even though we're buried under snow and ice I feel my heart lift in response.
What a wonderful moment to have this sprightly bird sit still before us. Bird photography can be so difficult because they rarely sit still long enough to even focus on them, much less get off a decent shot. This was quite a treat.
And then, just to show how relaxed it was, it started preening and stretching its wings. I was so excited I couldn't hold the camera still!
After several minutes the chickadee flew off, leaving me breathless and excited--to have such a close encounter is a thrill, and I knew I had some great new subject matter for a new--or several new--pieces.
Woo-hoo!!
After leaving the bluebird behind we caught sight of yet another snake. There were literally everywhere, warming themselves along the open edges of the trail. They'd shoot off into the taller grasses as we approached, but this one didn't escape far enough to avoid having its picture taken--a common garter snake.
The girls were chit chatting behind me while I photographed the snake. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw a bird fly into the bushes in front of us. I shushed them and we all stood still. Oh, a little chickadee!
We stood still and quiet, and eventually the small bird made its way to a branch on the edge of the shrub, right in front of me, and proceeded to check me out.
I wish I'd been able to shift just a bit to get rid of that twig in front of the bird, but I was afraid to move too much. It is not often you have a bird station itself five feet from your lens!
This is without question one of my favorite birds. They're cute, gregarious, and they stay with us all year long, a quality I really appreciate. In January they start singing their "spring's coming" song and even though we're buried under snow and ice I feel my heart lift in response.
What a wonderful moment to have this sprightly bird sit still before us. Bird photography can be so difficult because they rarely sit still long enough to even focus on them, much less get off a decent shot. This was quite a treat.
And then, just to show how relaxed it was, it started preening and stretching its wings. I was so excited I couldn't hold the camera still!
After several minutes the chickadee flew off, leaving me breathless and excited--to have such a close encounter is a thrill, and I knew I had some great new subject matter for a new--or several new--pieces.
Woo-hoo!!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Artwork--White-breasted Nuthatch
After a spectacular show in Indianapolis I have been working my tail off to get some new pieces done. I am hoping for two before my show this weekend in East Lansing, but I may not get there. We'll see.
I have gobs and oodles of images of birds--some from my backyard, some from up north, many from Florida. It is difficult to choose which ones to do first. I picked the white-breasted nuthatch because it's one of my favorites and because I thought I could do this particular piece fairly quickly. I have others of this bird I want to do but they'll have to wait until I am not so crunched for time!
I have gobs and oodles of images of birds--some from my backyard, some from up north, many from Florida. It is difficult to choose which ones to do first. I picked the white-breasted nuthatch because it's one of my favorites and because I thought I could do this particular piece fairly quickly. I have others of this bird I want to do but they'll have to wait until I am not so crunched for time!
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