Hey tweets, The Fill is known more for small numbers and big diversity,
but yesterday was an exception. A flock of 60-plus American pipits was
busy harvesting the field just east of the main pond, while a couple
hundred swallows (violet-greens and barns) dived and swooped overhead.
Large flocks of black-capped chickadees and bushtits hopped around in the
bushes, and the double-crested cormorants have returned in numbers to
spread their wings on a mud-bar that has emerged in the bay. Hundreds of
coots dipped among the lily pads, and northern flickers were noisily
flicking all over the site (fyi, I go to my "Dictionary of
What-Were-They-Thinking Ornithological Misnomers" to define flicker
flicking as (v.) noise-making that flickers do when they aren't making
that other noise they make that sounds like an oboe player trying to sound
like a trumpet).

The swallows managed to drive off a lone Cooper's hawk, who went off in
the direction of the punting gym, no doubt to rest and ponder a new
hunting strategy that would avoid both crows and swallows. But the
swallows couldn't do much except squawk when a very large peregrine falcon
popped out of the black hole to test the fitness of the lone shorebird I
found on the main pond. I rather think the shorebird was something
interesting (perhaps a pectoral?), but it was attacked before I got a good
look at it. The falcon chased it around the sky for a while, but the
sandpiper was strong and managed to escape.

The ring-necked ducks are back, along with a lone American wigeon. You can
almost feel the earth tilting backwards on its axis as we head toward
winter. The vast numbers of violet-green swallows are not the residents
that spent the summer here. Those left weeks ago. No, these are birds down
from the north on their long journey to their southern feeding grounds.
Amazing, isn't it? that such tiny creatures would have a survival strategy
that required them to power themselves for thousands of miles twice a
year. One ragged individual looked especially travel-worn, its bedraggled
wings flapping their best to let it feed with the other birds. Bad molt? A
run-in with sharpie? I don't know, but that was a bird that reminded me of
Granma Joad: determined to go along with the family but not likely to end
up in California. It's a reminder that other species do things that we
ourselves would be incapable of doing. For that alone, they deserve our
admiration and support. - Connie, Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com