Swallows and other Birds.

 

    Already July and I have been in the County for just a little over a year. It has been a challenging and eventful year, full of joy as well as sorrow.

 

    There is an abundance of wild life here and so very many birds. Right now a rose-breasted grosbeak is visiting the feeder on the balcony. It’s a male. He is quite stately looking, with unusual markings; he looks like a gentleman dressed for dinner.

 

    I have two finch feeders, have counted as many as thirteen birds at one time. What a delight it was to see them change from winter drab to sunshine gold. To see the bright yellow dots sitting in my big elm tree, singing their little hearts out. Dense foliage now hides them, but the singing is still there.

 

    Just yesterday I was able to identify a bird whose song has been with me every day as a tree sparrow. There are so many birds here I have never heard or seen before, including thirteen trumpeter swans flying overhead on an early morning dog walk, or seeing shy gray blue heron by the river.

 

    This spring, the swallows arrived just shortly after the finches. There is for me nothing more beautiful then to hear the first robin, but when the swallows arrive my soul begins to sing. To hear the familiar twit-twit-twit, to see them gliding through the air with such unequaled elegance, I feel my heart bursting with gratitude. Swallows are my chosen birds from early childhood; they’d build their perfect mud-pouch nests right under the eaves of our building.

 

    A friend gave me a tree-swallow nesting box last fall as a housewarming present. At the beginning of May, we hung it up on an 8-foot 4X4 post at the edge of my garden with plenty of space around. This was perhaps a little late in the nesting season, or so I thought, but low and behold, not more then an hour later seven or eight swallows were wildly circling around, each pair determined to claim it as their residence. Right away the new tenants began bringing in nesting material, always one sitting on the post defending their house from intruders.  What a delight it has been to observe these wondrous and delightful birds, fiercely dedicated to raising their young. I watched a swallow parent sit on top of the nesting box not budging when cowbirds came swooping down, likely trying to lay an egg into their nest. This is what cowbirds do; they don’t build their own nest or raise their young.  No worry though, the opening of the nest box is build so no scavenger birds, snakes or raccoon paws can enter it. What delights me most is that the little baby swallows only receive species-specific food, insects mostly. Ponder that for a while. What is it we feed our children?

    I must say I am greatly concerned about the mixed birdseed available commercially. I wonder about the corn and other seeds in the mixture. Might some of it be genetically modified or containing pesticide residues?

 

    On my way into Picton yesterday, I experienced sorrow. I watched swallows very uncharacteristicly swooping low to the middle of the county road, trying to help one of their own that had collided with a car and was now dead on the pavement. I stopped the car, got out, picked up the still warm tiny body and held it in my hand, marveling how small it is, gently stroked it and placed it into the grass at the side of the road. It was a very young bird. I had observed similar behaviour many years ago from my hotel room in Florence when a swallow had become trapped in a high wire and others tried in vain to rescue it. On a happier note, once, when I still lived in Port Credit, being in the high-school sports field with my dogs, a woman arrived with her poodle that had the biggest grin on his face in anticipation of things to come. The second he was off the leash, a swallow came swooping down from the rooftop, leading the dog to a happy chase across the field, round and round they went.  Just imagine, this apparently happened every afternoon, truly amazing.

 

    Several weeks back a young swallow had flown into my house through the open front door. I found it fluttering by the big living room window, trying desperately to get out through the glass, taking flight again only to crash into the window once more and falling to the floor, large wings spread wide, motionless. I picked it up; gently gathering the wings to its body, held it, utterly amazed to feel how very tiny it is, their large wingspan makes them appear so much larger. The rusty coloured chest told me it is a barn swallow. I found a small box and carefully placed it inside so it could recuperate from the shock. In a dark and relative small space the bird will feel safe.  I closed the lid and placed it on a shelf. I usually give this about an hour or so; this always seems to be enough time. Taking it out to the balcony, I carefully lifted the lid,  - - - oh what a relieve, the swallow rose and with great swooping motions circled higher and higher into the blue sky until it vanished from view behind my grandmother maple tree.

 

 

Tree swallows (Tachycineta bicolor) and violet-green swallows (T. thalassina) are early migrants, harbingers of spring. Both are iridescent blue-green above and white below. They nest in tree-holes or nest boxes. Tree swallows range across Canada, north to TREELINE; violet-green swallows are strictly western.

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