BillBow's Bird Journal - Week of the Wetland Lifer

There are some notable advantages to being a relatively novice birder, one being that life birds can come in waves. Last week I got seven lifers, and some mighty good ones in my estimation:

Ring-necked pheasant

Savannah sparrow

Wilson's snipe

Sora (heard)

Swamp sparrow

Virginia rail (heard)

Barred owl

I got them by exploring areas that hadn't been my typical birding terrain. Michigan State's Corey Marsh Ecological Research Center in Clinton County yielded the swamp sparrow, the sora, and the rail. A tiny wetland area situated within the cornfields of MSU's campus gave me the pheasant, the Savannah sparrow, and the snipe.

Indeed all but one of these lifers were seen or heard in or around tall grasses and cattails and amid the squeaking, whistling, croaking cacophony of red-winged blackbirds and sandhill cranes.

The lone exception was the sleeping owl, whose silhouette I spotted against a gray morning sky in Scott Woods in Lansing and who afforded me as long a look as I wanted:

Of course a wealth of birds brings a wealth of highlights:

The noisy, annoyed takeoff of the pheasant hen.

The Wilson's snipe's magnificent beak.

The Virginia rail's laugh-like call as the boys and I walked by. 

The call and answer of a half dozen swamp sparrows, two of whom emerged from the dense grass, and one of whom I managed to capture ineptly before it ducked back into hiding:

Speaking of sparrows, I think I found a new sparrow favorite in the Savannah and its buzzy three-part song:

The highlightiest of highlights had to be at Corey Marsh, when out of nowhere a sora belted its descending song (which reminds me vaguely of the Price is Right wheel) not 10 feet away as I was training my binoculars on a pair of green-winged teals. I waited a good 20 minutes in the hope of hearing it again or even possibly seeing the elusive marsh-dweller, but neither the bird nor its song was forthcoming. I'll be back in the hope of catching a glimpse of a it and a Virginia rail, and also adding American woodcock to my list.

nwb

Fun Times on the Cuyahoga - A Christmas Count Recap

When I was a young lad with no real birding ambitions, the Audubon Society's annual Christmas Bird Count was a singular agony, an interminable Sunday march through punishing winter that commenced in the black of early morning and didn't end until every last bird in a frozen territory in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio had been counted. Each December it loomed, this trial-by-snow, standing between me and actual Christmas. I didn't like it, I was bad at it, and outside of spotting cardinals and blue jays, I could have been little use to my dad, uncle, and grandfather in identifying birds for "the nation's longest-running community science bird project." The one service I could provide with relative competence was writing up the list, and thus I was recruited for the unenviable task of putting the names of birds to paper with my shivering, ungloved hands. Here's one such document from the 1995 count, recently dug up by our crack team of researchers (note my inclusion of the extremely rare and elusive "Red billed woodpecker"):

It was in those moments I cursed my literate self and the godforsaken ordeal into which compulsory education had landed me. The only mercy was our need to conclude in time for the 1:00 PM Browns kickoff.

Today, aged 45 and a much more able and passionate birder, I'd do anything to be able to tramp those miles with Grandpa again. Naturally now that I'm willing, work and kids and their school often prevent my participation in the count, but when the opportunity to take part with my extant relatives presented itself this time around, I wasn't about to squander it. So, after the necessary quarantine, I joined Dad, Uncle Pete, and my idiot brother on our January 20 quest to find all the birds!

Things got off to a rocky start when Uncle Pete showed up sans binoculars. Our suspicion that he had indulged in some holiday cheer beforehand was confirmed by the whiff of ethanol that accompanied his slurred yet mighty battle cry: Less count some BIRDS, bishes! Luckily, Dad had an extra pair of binocs, but there was some lingering concern Uncle Pete's condition would have him counting double and severely throw off our tally.

Undaunted, our intrepid band of hero-birders trudged on foot through the snowy wastes of Cascade Valley (a jewel of the Summit Metro Parks system) and the former Valley View Golf Course (currently being incorporated into the SMP system).

Then came stops at Chestnut Hill Memorial Park, Babb Run Bird and Wildlife Sanctuary, and a healthy chunk of the city of Cuyahoga Falls. Per tradition, we also stopped at the residence of one Stephen Foliglio (father of our famed Poet Laureate), whose calf muscles are worthy of a science project of their own and whose home coincides with our territory.

Along the way there were...

Highlights

Counting 39 species (tying our record) and over 1,300 individuals.

Almost stepping on a Cooper's hawk, which must have been feasting on the ground.

A Cooper's and red-tailed hawk cozied up on a branch in a woods overlooking a flock of chickens, clucking wildly and clearly aware of the doom awaiting one or more of them.

A red-shouldered hawk licking its chops in that same woods.

A mature and an immature bald eagle patrolling the golf course.

A lone merlin in repose.

A pair of eastern towhees foraging near the Signal Tree.

Beholding the 300-year-old Signal Tree...

There were also some...

Lowlights

The mute swan with whatever this is wrapped around its neck.

Trying to count birds as Stephen Foliglio delivered a protracted account of his manifold shoulder, knee, and back ailments.

Uncle Pete tumbling down the banks of the Cuyahoga moments after this photo was taken.

"Forget me!" he cried as the icy stream swept him away. "It's the birds that matterrrrrrrrr!"

And that brings us to our list:

The Birds

Canada goose
Mute swan
Wood duck
Mallard

American black duck
Rock pigeon
Mourning dove
Gull (likely ring-billed)
Great blue heron
Cooper's hawk
Bald eagle
Red-shouldered hawk
Red-tailed hawk
Merlin
Red-bellied woodpecker
Downy woodpecker
Hairy woodpecker

Pileated woodpecker

Red-winged blackbird
Blue jay
American crow
Black-capped chickadee
Tufted titmouse
White-breasted nuthatch
Carolina wren
European starling
Eastern bluebird
American robin
Cedar waxwing
House sparrow
House finch
Pine siskin
American goldfinch
American tree sparrow
Dark-eyed junco
White-throated sparrow
Song sparrow
Eastern towhee
Northern cardinal

All told, we birded over six hours and traveled some forty miles by foot and car. Back home, we fortified our shivering bodies with sandwiches and a seasonal ale. The Browns rewarded our efforts with a thumping win over the Giants. When we learned later that evening Uncle Pete had been fished from the river several miles downstream in an advanced state of hypothermia but none the worse for wear, we concluded it was about as perfect a day of birding as could be expected.

Here's to 2021!

nwb

BillBow's Bird Journal - Electoral Politics Edition

As the long, arduous 2020 election comes to an end, so too ends our similarly long and arduous backyard bird count, commemorated forevermore on this Twitter thread.

I stated before there are no winners and losers when it comes to birding. All birds are winners. In this case though, one bird was just a bit more of a winner. Indeed, a large, late-arriving flock tipped the scales in favor of the MOURNING DOVE, official victor of Backyard Bird Count 2020.

The decisive last-second win must come as welcome news to the widespread zenaida macroura, all too often on the losing end of encounters with the raptors of the world. Though we do not speak dove, it is rumored the somewhat lethargic gray bird gained momentum with a promise to "represent all birds," and usher in a "return to normalcy" to the back yard. Congratulations, dove! For one day you can forget about mourning and enjoy your victory!

In all, I counted 33 species, and a recount has confirmed that number. We strive for accuracy here and believe our methodologies and numbers beyond reproach. That's nothing less than the American public deserves. We are however fully lawyered up and prepared to withstand the inevitable raft of lawsuits about to be filed against us on behalf of early frontrunner, black-capped chickadee.

Backyard Bird Count 2020

Downy woodpecker
Red-bellied woodpecker
Black-capped chickadee
Mourning dove
Blue jay
Tufted titmouse
Northern cardinal
Hairy woodpecker
American goldfinch
White-breasted nuthatch
Red-breasted nuthatch
House finch
House sparrow
Dark-eyed junco
White-throated sparrow
Cooper's hawk
Northern flicker
Red-winged blackbird
American crow
European starling
Red-tailed hawk
Ruddy duck
Redhead
Lesser scaup
Mallard
Canada goose
Ring-billed gull
Mute swan
Eastern bluebird
Horned grebe
Belted kingfisher
Carolina wren
Pine siskin

nwb

Being Prepared - A How-To Guide for Advanced Birding

Birding—for some enthusiasts it's a diversion, little more than grabbing a pair of binoculars and hitting the woods, fields, or back yard for some fresh air, exercise, and leisurely avian amusement. Nothing wrong with a casual approach to the hobby, but for the serious birder like myself, one intent on tracking down the rarest of rare species no matter the physical, emotional, or pecuniary toll, things can get a little more involved. With many of my birdwalks spanning days on end and hundreds of miles in some of the most adverse terrain and weather Michigan's lower peninsula has to offer, I felt I'd be doing my fellow birders an injustice not sharing what I've learned over the years.

The Gear

Binoculars - High-powered binocs are the difference between not being able to ID a bird with the naked eye and not being able to ID it through a pair of 10x42 lenses.

Camera - Capturing birds is a challenge made easier by the latest advances in film photography. For me, nothing less than the Holga 135 will suffice.

Field guide - It's worth doing a fair bit of research to find a book that is suitably comprehensive and compact. Don't forget a writing tool to tick off those species one by one!

Cellphone - Aside from providing access to a number of birding apps, any smartphone worth a salt features a compass, satellite map technology, and the option of making a good old-fashioned emergency telephone call when the ability to read a compass or a map fails.

Charger - I rarely remember to charge my phone before setting off on a birding adventure. Unfortunately, this rarely-charged charger rarely comes in handy.

Hydration - A canteen filled with 100% liquid bourbon is just the thing to slake that thirst.

Fuel - A sudden crash in energy is dangerous and the last thing you want in the field. Protein-rich snacks are a must!

Bedding - Mother Nature is merciless and unpredictable, and as such protection against the elements is essential. The ideal sleeping bag provides plenty of warmth and the perfect camouflage to help blend into the environs when at our most vulnerable.

Protection - Michigan's open carry laws protect our right to dismember Sith lords, rock hounds, Cub Scouts, and any other natural enemies we encounter in our travels.

The Look 

Birding is the most dignified of pursuits, and the attire of the serious birder should reflect that sense of dignity.

Many generations and decades of personal experience were mined in the compiling of this post. I hope it will prove a trusty roadmap to anyone ready to spit out their pacifier, shed the mantle of novice, and take their birdwatching to the next level.

nwb

BillBow's Bird Journal - Milestone Edition

On the afternoon of September 25, I spotted a Philadelphia vireo in the Towar Woods Preserve in Meridian Township, Michigan. The sighting was a big one in that it marked the 200th bird species I've recorded since I began keeping track in April of 1993. 

Except it didn't.

After combing through the notes in my field guides one more time this morning, my life list suddenly jumped to 203. It seems some ancient recordkeeping inconsistencies had come back to haunt me as I realized I had been neglecting to count the black-tailed gnatcatcher and pair of goldfinches, Lawrence's and lesser, I had seen in Texas in 1994. That means my 200th life bird was not the Philadelphia but the red-eyed vireo I saw and photographed in the back yard on September 5. Behold, in all its blurry glory:

My apologies to BOTH vireos vying for that coveted slot. Philadelphia, La La Land of birds, I know you're crestfallen today, but if you ask me 203 is a pretty neat number too. Your heroic yet failed attempt to be 200 will not be forgotten, and I do hope you gleaned some satisfaction from 12 days of not-so-everlasting triumph. Red-eyed, this is a big day for you. Enjoy it, but remember to stay humble. This is 2020 after all, when nothing is certain and things are apt to change in a hurry. Just ask your cousin from Philly.

What will certainly not change is that a yellow-bellied sapsucker I saw out back on September 29 was the 56th species I've seen at our East Lansing home, surpassing the 55 sighted at our previous home in West Lafayette, Indiana, where we resided from 2008-13. I feel lucky to have captured a fair-to-middling photo of the young pecker as it made its way up the old pear tree:

Congratulations, young sapsucker, a worthy representative of #56. May you suck the sap for years to come!

In other news...

Bird log, 10/07/2020

Canada goose

Black-capped chickadee

Northern harrier

American crow

White-breasted nuthatch

Blue jay

House finch

American goldfinch

Sharp-shinned hawk

Mourning dove

Red-bellied woodpecker

Eastern bluebird

Downy woodpecker

Hairy woodpecker

Nashville warbler

Turkey vulture

Mallard

Northern cardinal

American robin

Tufted titmouse

nwb

BillBow's Bird Journal - Single Tear Edition

It was a great weekend for birding here in mid-Michigan. For a change, I ditched Walnut Hills CC and decided to check out the Towar Nature Preserve—200 dense, protected woodland acres hiding in plain sight just two minutes from our home. I had seen in the Audubon app a black-billed cuckoo was sighted there recently. That would be a life bird for me, and I thought it could also be a promising spot to find some migrating warblers.

I've never really attempted to ID fall warblers before, and I was fixed on that mission...until these two bald eagles wheeling high overhead had other ideas. Luckily, my sometimes-popular wife was ready with her camera.

After wiping a single tear and turning my lenses away from the majestic duo, I did manage to tally some of the warblers flitting along the preserve's margins. For the weekend, I ID-ed six, though there were two others that stumped me. Best of all, two immature black-throated green warblers represented a new LIFE BIRD, and my career list inches ever closer to 200. 

Two thrushes, a Swainson's and a gray-cheeked, were also highlights. If there was a cuckoo in the vicinity, it succeeded in eluding me.

Bird log, 09/18-20/2020

Warblers

Common yellowthroat

Wilson's warbler

Black-throated green warbler

American redstart

Magnolia warbler

Nashville warbler

Non-warblers

Pileated woodpecker

Blue jay

American crow

Black-capped chickadee

White-breasted nuthatch

European starling

Gray catbird

American goldfinch

White-throated sparrow

Rose-breasted grosbeak

Turkey vulture

Bald eagle

Red-tailed hawk

Downy woodpecker

Red-bellied woodpecker

Tufted titmouse

Gray-cheeked thrush

Carolina wren

Swainson's thrush

American robin

Song sparrow

Northern cardinal

Canada goose

nwb

Soaring eagles courtesy of Alexandra Hidalgo

Books of a Feather

Some of the objects we own hold supernatural powers. Often they are orblike, glowing things, capable changing the winds or summoning malignant spirits from their ancient, subterranean hellscapes. Others contain a more subtle magic. They acquire their uncanny qualities over time, through use, and sometimes by connecting us with the people we love.

Take this battered, faded volume on the left—my grandfather's bird book, the Golden field guide he used and took notes in for years. Ostensibly there's nothing all that special about it. It won't teach you how to make the crows rise up and ravage cities. It's noticeably wanting in runes and diagrams of proper fowl sacrifice, and yet I would argue it is among the most magical things I own. How so? For one, it is forever linked to the less faded but otherwise identical copy on the right—my own bird book, purchased in a Big Bend National Park gift shop in 1993 (very reasonable at $11.95 plus tax). 

That purchase was hardly coincidental. Though our family had shelves bursting with bird books of every kind, Grandpa's endorsement of the Golden version made it an easy and natural choice when the time came to pick out a guide of my own. "Finest in the field!" its back cover reassured me, and on the eve of my first real birding trip, I was excited by the potential in its unblemished pages. I couldn't wait to check the boxes in the index for each new species and fill the pages with notes—much like Grandpa did in his tidy cursive. I wasn't there just to observe birds, I was there to observe the way my grandfather observed birds.

A study of his guide tells me his earliest notations read, "Algonquin Prov. Pk - '60." There in the Great White North he recorded a common loon, a chestnut-sided warbler, and a pair of crossbills:

That 1960 timestamp is curious, given the 1983 copyright of his edition (same as mine). Granddad must have transferred notes from another source, but that was him—meticulous, striving for accuracy, applying his scientific mind to everything he did in work or leisure. I shall endeavor to track down all guides and/or notebooks he used prior to purchasing this one, but that's another post for another day.

In some ways, I'm very different from Bill Bowler. I'm not a very meticulous person. My brain, trained in the humanities, is anything but scientific. But I am thankful I followed his lead that week. A glance through my copy tells me I notched 51 species in the deserts of south Texas. I remember few of them now, which makes me doubly grateful I mimicked his style in marking them down:

Turkey vulture
Black vulture
Northern harrier
Red-tailed hawk
Swainson's hawk
Harris' hawk
Zone-tailed hawk
Gray hawk
American kestrel
Montezuma quail
American coot
Black-necked stilt
Killdeer
Rock dove
White-winged dove
Greater roadrunner
Elf owl
Golden-fronted woodpecker
Vermilion flycatcher
Black phoebe
Barn swallow
Cave swallow
Purple martin
Scrub jay
Gray-breasted jay
Common raven
Black-crested titmouse
Verdin
Brown creeper
Cactus wren
Northern mockingbird
Curve-billed thrasher
Blue-gray gnatcatcher
Phainopepla
Colima warbler
Lucy's warbler
Yellow-rumped warbler
Townsend's warbler
Wilson's warbler
House sparrow (lol)
Scott's oriole
Summer tanager
Pyrrhuloxia
Northern cardinal
Rufous-sided towhee
Brown towhee
Lark sparrow
Dark-eyed junco
Rufous-crowned sparrow
Chipping sparrow
White-crowned sparrow

Grandpa's bird book came to me when he passed away in 2001, and this pair of Golden guides have proved reliable companions over the subsequent 19 years. I take comfort in the blue cover, Arthur Singer's beautiful illustrations, its easy-to-use layout, even the size and heft. More than anything, I get a free shot of nostalgia every time I turn to them for help. I'm not a particularly spiritual person. I don't feel eyes of the beloved dead looking down on me from the ether, but his old faded guide is a magic portal into my memories of him, that week, the campground where every evening we toasted another day of successful birding—he with a martini, I with an ice-cold RC Cola. Therein lies the power of these little blue books.

Alas, it has occurred to me recently, as I become a more ardent birder, that a 1983 field guide is missing nearly four decades of knowledge. Hell, the book was ten years out of date the day I bought it. A lot of things can happen in just the space of a year. Bird names change. New species are added. Others are removed. Thus, with every passing day, Golden's permanent, all-caps boast of being "EXPANDED" and "REVISED" rings increasingly hollow. Nothing illustrates this better than the rufous-sided towhee—now a blanket name that covers distinct species, the eastern towhee, which I saw in West Lafayette, IN, and the spotted towhee, sighted in Big Bend on April 15, 1993. My guide separates the two as distinct races, but not species. No good.

 

Nostalgia is a powerful drug, and so my first instinct is to turn to a more recent edition, but Golden's not-so-recent 2001 version (now published by St Martin's Press) isn't going to cut it either, and so I'm faced with the reality of needing a newer, more detailed, entirely different guide. Of course there's also the matter of apps, which are updated continuously and are infinitely more compact and versatile than any book could be. Merlin and ebird make it easy to maintain running lists, complete with field notes and photos. Still, I crave the tactile satisfaction that comes with a book, and I can't imagine handing an app down to future generations. As much as I don't relish the idea of shelving the only field guide I ever owned, my search for a replacement has begun. Anyhow it's not like I'm condemning these august volumes to the dustbin. They'll be around whenever I need to commune and compare notes with Grandpa. I know he would approve of my quest to improve as a birder, as well as my commitment to meticulously transfer notes from one guide to another.

All told, Grandpa marked 494 birds in his Golden guide. His final entries were jotted during a return trip to Big Bend in 1994, when he added green kingfisher, Mississippi kite, hook-billed kite, lesser golden-plover, clay-colored robin, and tropical parula to his life list. Now I find myself wondering what the final note in my own Golden guide will be. To date, it's the common nighthawk I spotted on August 26. I plan to find a replacement in time for spring migration, but the reality is I'll probably make the move much sooner.

So what's it gonna be? Sibley? Peterson?

Recommendations welcome!

nwb

BillBow's Bird Journal - Mental Health Edition

Forgive the PSA nature of this post, but this morning's glorious birdwalk made me want to reiterate how therapeutic birdwatching can be. Lots of things suck right now. We all know that without me having to enumerate the ways. Earlier this year when I decided swilling cheap beer might be a fun way to help pass the days, the net result was not pretty. The payoff was short-lived, and instead of purging stress, I was accumulating pounds. I got moody too. The clothes of "paunchy grouch" aren't particularly flattering on me, so I decided to do something about it.

Things took an immediate turn for the better once I started taking daily bird walks. Not only was I resuscitating a beloved pastime and shedding weight, I was reconnecting with my own brain, because birding is quiet, calming, and meditative. Today's 3.4-mile hike to the northern edge of Walnut Hills and back was rewarding in many ways. It cleared my mind, got my heart pumping, and allowed me to notch four American kestrels, a pileated woodpecker, and a yellow-billed cuckoo among the 32 species I sighted. Of course if being alone with your own brain isn't your idea of a good time right now, birding is also a great way to safely hang out with a friend or two, and we all need more of that these days.

I know people have perfectly good mental-health strategies of their own, but I'm just going to throw it out there for anyone struggling to navigate the unholy mess that is 2020—give birding a try. Birds are colorful. Birds are musical. Birds offer endless gratification to anyone willing to get outdoors with a pair of binoculars. Speaking of which, there are some good cheap binoculars out there, in some cases less than $50. Birding apps like Merlin and Audubon put a field guide in your pocket free of charge.

Oh, and birding is also a wonderful hobby for those of us who love lists:

Bird log, 09/13/2020

Canada goose

Mourning dove

Yellow-billed cuckoo

Great blue heron

Turkey vulture

Red-tailed hawk

Red-bellied woodpecker

Downy woodpecker

Pileated woodpecker

Northern flicker

American kestrel

Yellow-bellied flycatcher

Eastern phoebe

Blue jay

American crow

Black-capped chickadee

White-breasted nuthatch

House wren

Carolina wren

European starling

Gray catbird

Eastern bluebird

House sparrow

House finch

American goldfinch

Chipping sparrow

Field sparrow

Song sparrow

Nashville warbler

American redstart

Wilson's warbler

Tufted titmouse

Northern cardinal

nwb

BillBow's Bird Journal

I added a veery and a red-eyed vireo to our property list during this morning's bird count. I had mistaken the vireo for a Tennessee warbler, but luckily I was able to snap a very inept photo that allowed very adept bird Twitter to tell me I was full of crap and properly identify:

That brings the total number of species at our Michigan home to 54 since I started counting in 2014, or exactly one below the tally at our West Lafayette, Indiana home from 2008 to 2013. Here's hoping fall migration will help me surpass that number within the next several days. No, the Wilson's warbler I'm pretty sure I saw this afternoon but got away before I was 100% sure doesn't count.

Property List, East Lansing

1. Red-winged blackbird
2. Downy woodpecker
3. American robin
4. Black-capped chickadee
5. American goldfinch
6. Northern cardinal
7. European starling
8. Blue jay
9. House sparrow
10. Brown thrasher
11. Red-tailed hawk
12. Mourning dove
13. Baltimore oriole
14. Common grackle
15. Gray catbird 
16. Tufted titmouse
17. Chipping sparrow
18. House wren
19. Northern harrier
20. Cooper's hawk
21. Ruby-throated hummingbird
22. Canada goose
23. White-breasted nuthatch
24. Brown-headed cowbird
25. Eastern kingbird
26. Red-bellied woodpecker
27. Great blue heron
28. Eastern wood-pewee
29. Cedar waxwing
30. Hairy woodpecker
31. Northern flicker
32. Yellow-rumped warbler
33. Swainson's thrush
34. Eastern bluebird
35. Carolina wren
36. Dark-eyed junco
37. Song sparrow
38. Brown creeper
39. Purple finch
40. Wild turkey
41. Northern mockingbird
42. Mallard
43. Sandhill crane
44. White-crowned sparrow
45. Red-breasted nuthatch
46. Pileated woodpecker
47. House finch
48. White-throated sparrow
49. Nashville warbler
50. Eastern phoebe
51. Yellow-billed cuckoo
52. Yellow warbler
53. Veery
54. Red-eyed vireo

*Note: I'm confident I've seen a red-eyed vireo before, but since I didn't have it marked in my book, this also represents a LIFE BIRD for me, and that calls for a very strong cocktail made with gin. Cheers! 

nwb

BillBow's Banner

Before we were friends, my longtime blogging partner Josh and I were co-workers at the Barnes & Noble bookstore in Boulder, Colorado, just two young gallants with a common passion for shelving books and making the kind of bank we could expect to earn with liberal arts degrees from some of America's finest institutions.

As we became better acquainted, we learned we shared many passions not unheard of among gentlemen of our station—gazing over the hills of our rolling estates, admiring the statuary, scoffing at the laments of our disgruntled tenantries... Naturally it didn't take long for us to become simpatico, and soon we were prowling the local dens of leisure, where a new game called "snooker" was all the sensation among the landed gentry. We came to be confidants over many a game, and no topic was taboo, though Josh was prone to asking indiscreet questions after one brandy too many.

I also learned Josh was a full-time cartoonist, and B&N was just a tony side hustle to keep him in ink and whatever cocktail of substances he was using to furiously hammer out his daily comic strip, The Family Monster, deep into the witching hour.

By the time his cartooning career was ready to evolve from TFM, we had both moved on from Boulder, but not before we bade each other "good luck, old man" and vowed to keep in touch. Adventure awaited—I and my sometimes-popular wife were bound for Le Mans, France, and Josh and his then-fiancée Isis set a course for Portland, Oregon. It was there Josh conceived of his new creative project, Welcome to Falling Rock National Park. The eponymous companion blog was launched shortly thereafter in 2007.

My idiot brother and I started our own blog that very year, and Josh and I quickly forged a partnership, strong and true. When the time came to fashion a new and unique look, it seemed only natural to ask Josh to apply his artistic talents to our banner. McBoners of yore will remember the images of Stabbone and McGraw juxtaposed against the Cleveland skyline, McBone muse Chanzilla looming over the city, all 200 feet of her ready to unleash her rampaging brand of country, folk, and blues-infused indie rock on the unsuspecting citizenry:

It was the perfect banner, one we proudly displayed for the entire run of our original Blogger iteration and ill-conceived Wordpress reboot, which was quickly infected with malware, driven out to the country, and given the blogging equivalent of a double-barrelled sendoff.

I always suspected my blogging career wasn't dead but merely adrift, possibly circling the Earth in low orbit and soaking up inspiration from the ether, and when the idea for BillBow Baggins struck me upside the head like a sock full of marbles, there was no question where I would turn for my banner needs. The fact that Josh had moved away from daily cartooning and had reached new artistic heights as an illustrator only cemented my convictions. My instructions were spare—a green kingfisher, my grandpa, and the title were all I requested—but he took them and ran. The results, I believe, speak for themselves:

Josh captured perfectly Bill Bowler's quiet confidence, the intellectual curiosity hiding behind an impish grin. Perched on his shoulder is the green kingfisher that, while already in the throes of Alzheimer's disease, he added to his life list at the age of 78. The bird symbolizes the studious and meticulous approach he took to birdwatching, one he applied to all of his pursuits, be it winemaking, rock hounding, or jazz fandom. The Tolkien-esque font was a delightful surprise and a stroke of creative brilliance. More of a Conrad guy, I don't know if Grandpa ever read a word of Tolkien in his life or what he would have made of hobbits, wizards, and elves. I suspect he might have found it a lot of fanciful nonsense, but Tolkien is my favorite writer, goddammit, and I just couldn't resist a little punning with the title.

I'm proud to unveil Josh's work today, and I present it with a wish that our partnership be lifelong. Though distance separates us, we are forever united by the fraternal bond only bloggers can know. Should his travels one day bring him to the chill climes of Michigan, the hearths of the East Wing await him!

See the new look on Twitter and Instagram, and give me a follow too!

While you're at it, catch Josh on those platforms as well!

nwb

Mating for Life

Birds—they're rather human in a way. Like humans, some birds prefer a life of lascivious decadence, poo-pooing permanence for the thrill that comes with bouncing from partner to partner (looking at you, saltmarsh sparrow), while others appear to prefer a lifelong, shared existence, one built on a foundation of love, devotion, and common experience. Sandhill cranes fall into the latter category. They choose a partner and stick with 'em, through thick and thin, till death do they part.

I'm not saying one lifestyle is better than the other. No judgment here, but I've always been more of a sandhill human, akin to this bonded couple that every summer enjoys wandering the former Walnut Hills Country Club in East Lansing, Michigan, likely without the threat of citation from local law enforcement for any further trespasses on private property:When I met my sometimes-popular wife in the hills of Athens, Ohio one night in 1999, I knew I had met my mate for life. I felt it instantly, before I could even shake her hand, a love as big and pure and round and full of methane gas as Uranus! In the smallest fraction of a fraction of a second, I was undone, bewitched by the most beautiful pair of black eyes I had ever seen. Yes, her eyes set me reeling, and her accent finished me off. She was mysterious. She was fascinating. For some reason, I was convinced she was Polish. When she informed me she was in fact from Venezuela, I think she was pretty impressed by my boast, "I've heard of that."

Wherever she was from, she was dark and lovely, sure as heck cuter than some damned crane, which have long, scrawny necks, thick middle sections, creepy bald spots, and which honestly more closely resemble the author of this here blog than his wife, who I would describe as more of a fox.

We talked into the small hours of the morning in that first encounter, and any lingering doubt I had just met the love of my life was quickly obliterated. Somehow her brains surpassed her beauty. And there was stuff in common! She, like me, had scholarly and writerly aspirations. We studied languages. We shared a mutual desire to travel the world. She adored sports the way I adored mayonnaise...

Okay, it wasn't perfect, but I was in love. Hopelessly. Though she may have loved me right away too, she never, ever, not for one second, loved this shirt, which for the record was a great shirt, one I wore all the time back in '99 and still miss every day:Things moved fast after that. We met on a Wednesday. By that weekend, we were living together. Soon we were naming our future progeny, incorrectly as it turned out. I proposed in December as we swung in a hammock on a Caracas patio. On August 12, 2000, we married before family and friends on a stunning day in Peninsula, Ohio. Sure, there may have been a stubborn little suspicion as to the reason she was marrying just a kid from Akron, but that nagging voice was put to rest by a second wedding in Caracas a year later and the two decades of fun, adventure, and creativity that ensued. We bounced from Athens to New York. Colorado followed, then Akron, France, Indiana, and finally (for the moment) East Lansing.

Along the way were adventures!There were milestones!

There were close encounters with fame!In those two decades we also found time to create this...and then this...Through it all, I watched her grow more beautiful. More powerful. Every bit the goddess you see before you, blasting the cosmos with rainbow energy:My dear wife, I'm so proud of you, the scholar, the filmmaker who is breaking down walls and mentoring other women filmmakers to break down walls. More than anything, you have surpassed my wildest imaginings as a wife and mother. Today, on our anniversary, I'm still bewitched, still undone, still reeling. How blessed I am to share this journey with you. 

Now comes the part of the post where I would normally thank you for twenty years and humbly recommend we do twenty more, but I'd rather take a note from our country clubbing neighbors to the north.

Let's go ahead and make it...

for life! nwb

BillBow's Bird Journal

It's nice having a big old dead tree out back. What some may see as a widowmaker, I see as a playground for woodpeckers—red-bellied, downy, hairy, and pileated. Flickers too. No word on whether yellow-bellied sapsuckers have any plans to join the fun.

The denuded oak affords a clear view of others as well. Here's the the same red-tailed hawk who swept through our yard with a bunny in its grip a couple of days ago:August isn't necessarily the most exciting time for birding, but this buteo rested here for a good long spell, seemingly oblivious to the croaks and squawks of the crows and blue jays who didn't appreciate the visit as much as I did.

Bird log, 08/09/2020

Red-tailed hawk
Mourning dove
Chimney swift
Downy woodpecker
American crow
Black-capped chickadee
White-breasted nuthatch
Eastern bluebird
House finch
Song sparrow
Common grackle
House finch
Blue jay
American goldfinch
Northern cardinal

nwb

BillBow's Bird Journal

This past May, stuff got serious between a local pair of young robins. When one thing led to another and, as so often happens, the couple found itself in the family way (safe sex is practically unheard of among turdus migratorius), construction quickly began on a nest beneath the overhang of our roof. I documented the joyous event as the expecting mother laid and incubated a quartet of perfect blue eggs.

Things happen fast in the world of birds, and within two weeks the featherless, rubbery robin babies were already poking through their shells.

Alas, before the final egg could hatch, tragedy struck. I awoke one morning to find the nest toppled and the three chicks lifeless on the deck. A shattered shell and a smear of yolk was all that remained of the fourth. I suspect the nest was ransacked by the cowbirds I'd been seeing around the yard, villains that they are. It was sad, yes, but also a reminder that nature don't fuck around, and it surely doesn't give a rip about our feelings. It's rough out there, and the fact is only 25% of baby robins ever live to see November.

With that grim statistic in mind, it's been nice to see several juvenile robins zipping and hopping around the yard, including this bespeckled beauty I spotted today casually taking in the morning sights and sounds with its (I presume) mother. Luckily, they perched long enough for me to snap a pretty crappy picture.



What motherly wisdom was being passed down here, I cannot say. Perhaps parent and offspring were simply enjoying a peaceful moment together, grateful they had thus far navigated the many perils of suburban living.

Bird log, 07/27/2020

Mourning dove
Downy woodpecker
Eastern wood-pewee
Blue jay
American crow
Black-capped chickadee
White-breasted nuthatch
House wren
Eastern bluebird
American robin
House sparrow
House finch
Song sparrow
Red-winged blackbird
Common grackle
Northern cardinal
Red-bellied woodpecker
Gray catbird

nwb


Robin in nest courtesy of Alexandra Hidalgo

BillBow's Journey Begins

In 2018, the Walnut Hills Country Club in East Lansing, Michigan closed its doors for good after 97 years. The club's nearly 200 acres, which sit directly across the street from our home, were quickly targeted for development, but when the new owners announced plans to build 400 single-family units, the township kindly suggested they gtfo.

Plans were undone, folks went to court, and Walnut Hills is again up for sale. With the grounds sitting idle for more than two years, nature has done its thing. Fairways, sand traps, tees, and greens have been swallowed by thistles, cattails, and vines. Tall grass has replaced bent grass. Though a few relics remain...

...the rolling expanse has become a sanctuary for East Lansing's flora and fauna instead of its sporting elite.

The loss for the local golfing community has been a gain for wildlife. Deer, coyotes, foxes, rabbits, and groundhogs have reclaimed the land. Flies of the dragon and butter varieties buzz and flutter. Of course it's not all pretty. Mosquitoes and horseflies abound, and more than one tick has sought to bury its bloodsucking head in my flesh.

And then there are the birds. So many birds.

My birdwatching had grown lethargic since moving to Michigan. I'm not sure what motivated me to get back out there—perhaps a looming vacation in North Carolina and a chance to birdwatch with my dad and idiot brother, or the urging of my sometimes-popular wife, who had long touted the splendors of WHCC. Whatever the case, this half-assed birder has woken up. Each morning I hike the length of the property, ticking off each species as I go. I've dug out my bird books, bought new binoculars, installed several birding apps on my phone. And what a bounty Walnut Hills has provided! Dozens of species have found a permanent or at least summer home there, from the tiny ruby-throated hummingbird to the giant sandhill crane. Typically I have to venture across to find them, though they will on occasion wander over to the homestead for a visit.

It was during one of my morning rambles the idea for this blog emerged from wherever in my gray folds my writerly side had sequestered itself. As I was fixing my lenses on a pair of eastern bluebirds, I remembered the first time I ever saw one—decades ago at my grandparents' home in Akron. I got to thinking of my old granddad and how much he loved birding and hiking and just living life in general. I thought about how much I love and miss him, how he influenced my life, and how grateful I am for the 25 years we shared on Earth. Then I remembered the time during a camping trip at Big Bend National Park when, at the age of 78, he launched into a full sprint down a trail for the chance to glimpse the elusive green kingfisher. We got a great look at the male of the species, his emerald and rust colors bright in the Texas sun as he zipped back and forth over a pond. Is far as I can tell, that sighting was the final entry Grandpa jotted into his bird book, which I inherited and is never far from my reach.

As I remembered his mad dash, it occurred to me a new creative project would be a fitting tribute to Gramp, and so I hereby dedicate this blog to William Wallace "Bill" Bowler, pictured here with his wife of 59 years, my grandmother, Florence.

Though not specifically about him, memories of his life and legacy will fill its pages, and his spirit will inhabit its html. Birds, family, jazz, sports, cocktails—the great passions of his life—will be its fuel. I invite you all to join the fun, but don't get too used to the look of things around here. There's a nifty banner on the way from my old partner blogger, and I'll strive to spruce the place up enough to give however many loyal McBoners are left a comfy new home.

nwb


Monarch butterfly courtesy of Alexandra Hidalgo