Photo Page 0503

Images from the month of May, 2003 - a rainy month, but we need the rain, having gone deep into water debt over recent years. The aquifers are finally filling again...

	I see this pair often, the hen is lighter colored than most female mallards. They are an easy-going mated pair and often sleep near a busy sidewalk. Here the rain beads on their feathers, and they are warmly snoozing.



	Everywhere the theme is Spring and all that implies. Flowers are all around and the new leaves have the accents of vigorous new life.



	The fungi create their towers, like little round-roofed cities, in a strategy of massive spore dispersal. Apparently the strategy works...



	None of my reference books could tell what fish these are, but they seem to know, and with the wisdom that comes after the Spring Equinox, they are pretty sure about male and female issues like fertilizing eggs. I didn't observe that specifically, but there was a lot of sliding and slithering in circles and spirals that suggested more was going on than an idle passing of the time of day.



	Surely baby ducks are among the cutest of living things. Yet Mother Nature has little sentimentality about her, and the loss rate of these little ones is very high. They must feed themselves, stay with mother, yet learn about the world. They battle currents, hide from predators, and risk their lives constantly to learn how to live. Mistakes are easy to make, but hard to survive.



	Spring reminds one of the old words: "Two by two, go they." There are many exceptions to that in nature, and many species, like mallards, have the pattern, but it is lightly applied. Her eggs may not carry his genes, but perhaps he is content with a statistical advantage. Meanwhile, they seem to enjoy each other's company.



	Mallards molt in late Spring -- some of them look downright disreputable, even mangy. This drake shows the new primary feathers coming in, and it appears to be a bit painful as his wing trembles. Of course the birds are barred from the sky during this time, and in the wild, it means increased vulnerability. Mallards seem to bear all inconveniences and worse, with a general benignity of attitude.



	After several tries, I finally captured what I had long observed -- that mallards can swim underwater like seals. They are a species of dabbling duck, but they don't have to dabble, they can dive. However, so far, I have only seen the females diving like this.



	This shot leaves a lot to be desired, but it shows the water ski landing pattern of ducks. This varies a good deal with the speed of approach, cross winds, even the mood of the duck. Perhaps some enterprising electronic game designer will create a virtual reality computer game where the player becomes whatever species of bird desired, and that player can compete with the observed skill of ducks in landing and taking off in a variety of weather conditions.



	People too have Spring chores to do -- here the park fence is being repaired.



	The blue spruce is a dignified sort of plant, not as demonstrative as, say, the willow or aspen, but Spring has its effect, and the spruce puts forth its cones.



	A moment of sunshine sets the wisteria aglow.



	This shot and the next show the busy house sparrow, pausing only a moment to reconnoiter the scene, before zipping off to investigate the next food or nesting bush possibility.



	The house sparrow, formerly called English sparrow, politely ignores the calumny heaped on his little head. I've read they did well in America in the days of the horse, went into a decline as the horse was replaced by machines, then learned to rely on the buildings, bushes, trees, works and scraps of mankind, and is doing well again.



	Quite a few Canada geese have stopped with us this year. Of these, three mated pairs chose the park and its grassy areas to hatch and raise their goslings. Here a goose family is arrayed in battle order as they remain face to face with a large, black German shepherd. I was surprised they did not retreat further from the dog, but he had invaded their favorite area, and they obviously felt aggrieved. The goslings remained unruffled and disciplined -- more so than ducklings would have been.



	The parent patrols the perimeter as the goslings go about their blithe eating and fooling around. The goslings have short necks, so often flop down to eat the sweet tips of the grass. Anyone with geese probably doesn't need a lawn mower.



	In fewer weeks than you have fingers, this little gosling will be fully feathered, long necked, and sporting that spiffy chin strap of the Canada Goose. Sometimes the goslings, hurrying for a nip of grass that a sibling has found, will lose balance for a moment, and they wave their absurdly small wings. At such times I remember that birds are, according to more than a few scientists, dinosaurs. If so, then what fun to watch round fuzzy little yellow dinosaurs grazing in the park!



	You haven't been truly scrutinized, until done so by a suspicious parent goose.



	Some of the local pigeons have been nesting underneath a building built over a mill race in our town for many generations of birds. Recent construction has not fazed them much, though it did unnerve the hawk. How, I idly wonder, do they fly from the dazzling light of day into deep darkness and land successfully on some little perch near a nest? More mysteries...



	The yellow eye of the grackle sees much, especially of a food nature. Flying away in a moment toward a hopefully messy picnicker, he leaves a vivid emptiness where he had stood.



	Intent on his quest, he had mistaken me for an odd leafless tree, and so was camera-shot. This did not prevent him from expressing a certain displeasure, and few do that better than a squirrel.



	I have taken two shots at different seasons of this scene near the park. It seems to capture much of the ugly side of urban life. The first shot of months ago, I named Popular Culture, and this one I'll call Plants Vs. Popular Culture. Come on, plants!



	And, over all, is old Mister Death to remind us as did medieval gargoyles, of the fate awaiting. Yet, with a nod to the Parsis of India, I suppose a better name is Mister Afterlife, though in polite society, the details of that are unwelcome. Maybe when the celestial warrant is issued to vacate the premises forthwith, the soul repairs to some metaphysical Cancun for some R & R, while the natural world prepares a suitable habitation. Whatever our speculations, we cannot surpass the everyday strangeness of the world.