Harris's Sparrow

Harris's sparrow is the largest sparrow in North America (if one excludes towhees) but has a very restricted range.  After breeding in the stunted boreal forest of north-central Canada, they migrate to the Central and Southern Plains of the U.S. for the winter.  The width of that winter range extends from the Front Range urban corridor of Colorado to central Missouri, the two locations in which I have now observed them.

During the winter months, they are best found in brushy areas or open woodlands; on the Great Plains, such habitat is best found along and near stream corridors.  While they feast on insects during the Arctic summer, they switch to a diet of berries and seeds during the colder months.

The plumage of Harris's sparrows varies with both maturity and the seasons but their large size, long tail, black cap and bright white breast are consistent field marks.  Though fairly common across the heart of the Plains, they are rarely observed near the margins of their winter range.  I was thus very fortunate to have encountered one yesterday at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area (my first in Missouri). 

Winter Residents Return

Yesterday, while walking around Perry Phillips Lake, I encountered a small flock of white-crowned sparrows, the first I have observed in Columbia since mid spring.  Favoring open country, these winter residents are best found in shrubs and thickets along wood margins, pastures, streams or lakeshores.

Back home, I observed the season's first dark-eyed juncos in our backyard.  Common in a wide variety of habitats during the colder months, they will grace our neighborhood through early April when they gather in large flocks before heading north.  A more interesting sighting was of three yellow-bellied sapsuckers that briefly landed in a large maple tree before moving off together; not a species that migrates in flocks, their grouping was certainly a unique and unexpected observation.

Down at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area this morning, most of the birds were permanent residents though two migrants (pied-billed grebes and American coot) were also present.  With regard to winter residents, white-crowned sparrows were abundant and I encountered a single ruby-crowned kinglet and a lone Harris's sparrow.  Swamp sparrows, American tree sparrows, white-throated sparrows and fox sparrows should turn up soon; rough-legged hawks, short-eared owls and merlins may also winter on the Missouri River floodplain. 

Outdoor Reading Season

My favorite time of year has returned: Outdoor Reading Season.  The oppressive heat and humidity of summer have moved south, replaced by relatively cool air and less intense sunshine.  Great conditions for reading (and/or napping).

Those who can only read in silent rooms will find outdoor reading nearly impossible.  The nearby and distant whine of mowers and leaf blowers is, unfortunately, ever present.  Then there are the chatter of squirrels, the raucous calls of jays and crows and the softer but persistent yanks of nuthatches.

But the weather is perfect for absorbing a chapter or two or, better yet, a truly-short short story.  One has his or her limits and those are mine. 

From Diversity to Survival

Throughout the warmer months of the year, April through September in the Northern Hemisphere, we birders take note of the fabulous diversity of avian residents and migrants that reside in or visit our neighborhoods and nature preserves.  Some species are permanent residents, others are summer residents and many are transient visitors, simply migrating through our area.

For those of us in the Temperate Zone, the summer residents and transient visitors have left for more southern climes by mid October and the first winter residents are beginning to arrive.  Having raised their young up north, they, like our permanent residents, tend to gather in mixed flocks, assisting one another in the search for food during these colder, shorter days of the year.  Such feeding groups often appear for brief periods of time before moving on to their next source of nutrition.

Augmenting their chance of survival, most of our winter residents sport rather drab plumage, blending in with the seasonal landscape.  Then again, accipiters, kestrels and red-shouldered hawks will get their fair share.  

Another Sluggish Migration

On this beautiful, cool, sunny morning in central Missouri, a friend and I hoped to see a fair variety of waterfowl at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area.  Alas, our sightings were limited to four Canada Geese, a half-dozen mallards and ten pied-billed grebes.

Now in limited access mode due to duck hunting and waterfowl refuge restrictions at the refuge, neither seemed warranted in light of our count.  Not long ago, when Eagle Bluffs was a vast wetland, thousands of geese, ducks, coot and grebes would grace the floodplain by mid October.  Today, due in part to reduced open water at the refuge but also to warmer conditions up north, the autumn waterfowl migration is not peaking until much later in the season.

Indeed, this sluggish fall migration, observed in recent years, is surely a reflection of our warming climate.  Not responsive to the solar cycle, waterfowl head south when lakes and wetlands freeze over, blocking their food supply.  Until then, we'll enjoy watching the raptors. 

Watching Autumn Arrive

Hiking around Perry Phillips Lake on this sunny, cool morning, I observed a thick band of dark clouds across the northwestern horizon.  Having watched the Weather Channel earlier in the day, I knew that it was the leading edge of a cold front that will push across the Midwest over the next 24 hours.  Freeze warnings are in place for the Upper Midwest tonight while, here in Missouri, a frost warning is in effect.

Out on the lake, an osprey and a pied-billed grebe hunted for their breakfast while flocks of noisy Canada geese passed overhead, seemingly declaring the onset of autumn.  Other than a lone, chatty northern mockingbird, songbirds were relatively inactive and quiet, perhaps in response to the atmospheric change.

By the time I completed the 1.4 mile loop, the cloud bank had reached Columbia, temporarily blocking out the bright October sunshine.  At least for now, autumn has displaced our long, hot, miserable summer.  

A Welcome Evolution at Eagle Bluffs

Arriving at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area just after sunrise, a friend and I found that most of the floodplain was obscured by dense fog after cool air had settled in the Missouri River Valley overnight.  Fortunately, as the sun rose and the air warmed, the fog gradually diminished.

Finally able to scan the landscape, we found that water levels have increased significantly, just in time for the arrival of duck hunters later in the month.  On the other hand, few water birds had yet to take advantage of the change; only eight pied-billed grebes, five great blue herons, two American coot and a lone mallard were observed.  Clouds of red-winged blackbirds and a couple-dozen turkey vultures were the only sizable flocks.  In total, thirteen avian species were encountered during our visit.

No doubt, the rising waters will attract significant flocks of waterfowl over the next couple of months but birdwatching access will be limited once hunting begins.  Nevertheless, the sight of flowing water and expanding pools was reassuring on that desiccated floodplain. 

The Mexico-Kansas Express

Leaving Denver on this clear, cool autumn morning, I noted a dusting of snow on Mt. Blue Sky, a "Fourteener" west of the city; looking to the south, I saw that Pike's Peak was completely snow covered. This early season snow, the first along the Front Range this fall, reflects the impact of Hurricane Polo's recent moisture plume, combined with a cold front that swept in from the northwest.

More impressive were flooded fields throughout western Kansas, an area that was in a prolonged drought until it found itself in Polo's crosshairs.  Indeed, the Hurricane's swath of heavy rain passed right through that area, reaching as far northeast as Minnesota.

To encounter pools of tropical moisture across the semiarid environment of the High Plains was a clear sign that Earth's ecosystems are interconnected.  No doubt, as our climate warms, this fact will become impossible to ignore. 

Tiny Travelers II

Walking along the South Platte River early this morning, I encountered a relatively small number and variety of birds.  Almost all were common, permanent residents of the Front Range urban corridor.

A rewarding exception was the presence of two Wilson's warblers, flitting about the riverside shrubs in search of insects.  Very small and active, this species breeds and summers high in the mountains, often along alpine lakes near timberline.  The pair that I observed this morning are likely on their way to Mexico for the colder months, though some migrate only to the Gulf Coast or to southernmost California.

On this cloudy, cool morning, they seemed to be in no hurry to head south, apparently finding plenty of sustenance in the shrubbery.  I watched them from a bench for twenty minutes or so and then moved on to enjoy my own breakfast. 

Seasonal Change at Phillips Lake

Yesterday, on the last day of astronomical summer, there were signs of autumn at Phillips Lake in southeast Columbia.  Relatively mild air had displaced the dome of heat and a steady east breeze modified the impact of a potent September sun.

A pair of ospreys had stopped by to fish on the lake though migrant waterfowl have not yet arrived.  On the other hand, cedar waxwings have formed their large, wandering winter flocks and a trio of yellow-rumped warblers, winter residents at this latitude, scoured a lakeside tree.  Of course a wide variety of early autumn wildflowers adorned the meadows and the ripening berries of pokeweed await the avian harvest (photo).

We can only hope that the summer heat is gone for good but experience suggests otherwise.  At least the shorter days are bringing in the first messengers of autumn. 

Golden Farmlands

Heading for my wife's family cottage in northeast Ohio, we drove across the farmlands of Missouri, Illinois and Indiana today.  The overall scenery did not change much but golden hues painted the rural landscape.

In this early phase of meteorologic autumn, the soybean fields have turned yellow, the cornfields have dried out to a golden brown and the roadside vegetation was dominated by swaths of goldenrod.  Of course, all of this color brightened the countryside which was otherwise festooned with the fading greens of heat-stressed trees and shrubs.

Indeed, the golden highlights spoke of fall but the afternoon highs remained in the nineties F as this summer's heat dome retains a grip on the Heartland.  Of interest, the larger rivers, such as the Missouri, the Mississippi and the Wabash were bank full, fed by northern streams beyond the reach of the dome while regional creeks were nearly dry. 

Energized by the Chill

Following a long, extremely hot and exhausting summer, the longer nights and local elevation are finally bringing an overnight chill to the Front Range.  It dropped to 49 degrees F in Littleton this morning.

Refreshing for us humans, the cooler air also energized our avian residents and visitors.  Seemingly more abundant but surely just more active, they were in celebration mode, moving rapidly among the trees and shrubs.  In addition to our more common residents, I encountered a Say's phoebe and a pair of red-breasted nuthatches; though they are now permanent residents along the Front Range urban corridor, the distinctive yanks of the latter birds will always be associated with autumn in my mind.  A lone broad-tailed hummingbird was also zooming about the property but I suspect he'll head south within another week or so.

Finally, just before returning to the house, a squadron of Canada geese flew low over the farm, honking loudly in the morning chill.  Though common here in all seasons, they never fail to awaken my boyhood memories of massive flocks, moving high above our Cincinnati home in the cold, clear, autumn sky.  

A Supercharged Monsoon

The tragic flash flooding in Grand Canyon National Park this past weekend was related to an energized Southwest Monsoon, producing torrential downpours throughout the Four Corners region.  A normal, annual weather pattern, generally stretching from July into September, the Monsoon sweeps moisture in from the Pacific Ocean, the Sea of Cortez and the Gulf of Mexico.

This flow is driven by high pressure over the Southern Plains and by low pressure over the Desert Southwest.  When these atmospheric "pumps" are especially strong, the moisture is enhanced; in addition, storm systems in the Pacific and/or the Gulf of Mexico may inject excessive moisture into the Monsoon "river," increasing the risk of flooding.

As a tropical storm comes ashore near Houston and a tropical system moves up the west coast of Mexico, they may supercharge the Monsoon, augmenting the risk of flash floods from Southern California to Colorado.

Kites in the Trees

A flock of Mississippi kites settled in the canopy of shade trees in our neighborhood this morning, whistling to one another.  As their "fall migration" approaches, they seem to be more interested in communicating than hunting.

Though it was a hot, humid day, their musical banter continued into the afternoon, once again demonstrating that they are unfazed by tropical heat.

Indeed, they will depart for South America before the first hint of autumn pushes into the Heartland.  I wish them a safe journey but, unlike them, I can't wait for the cool, crisp weather of fall.  Of course, that relief is now coming later every year.  

LaLa lands in Hawaii

Tropical storm LaLa (perhaps a Category 1 hurricane by now) will pass swiftly south of the Hawaiian Islands over the next two days.  Counterclockwise winds are expected to bring high waves and heavy rain to east facing beaches and mountain slopes, especially on the Big Island and Maui.  The storm's rapid forward motion will hopefully serve to minimize damage across the archipelago.

To date, the Pacific hurricane and typhoon season has been active while Atlantic storms have been suppressed by a strong El Niño (which increases wind shear in the Caribbean) and large clouds of African dust that interfere with storm dynamics.

Nevertheless, the Atlantic Hurricane Season does not generally peak until mid-late September and lasts into November.  Communities along the Gulf and East Coasts are just beginning their season of risk and, as we found out in recent years, inland cities are also vulnerable to these powerful storms and their flooding rains. 

Healing Rain

After at least a month of extreme heat, bright sunshine and no precipitation, our Littleton farm received significant rain over the past two days.  The Southwest Monsoon has intensified along the Front Range and our parched vegetation may green up a bit; at the very least, the risk of fire on our pastures has been greatly diminished.

Elsewhere in the Denver Metro Area, flash flooding has occurred, especially in foothill canyons and across higher terrain south of the city.  The Monsoon is notorious for its uneven distribution of rain, producing heavy downpours in some locations while missing others altogether.

Since the Monsoon Season usually persists into early September, we are hopeful that more healing rains will bless our property.  Now that the dome of heat has shifted eastward, that possibility has increased. 

A Fruitless Year

We are fortunate to have a variety of fruit-producing trees and shrubs on our Littleton farm.  Unfortunately, following a nearly snowless winter, a hard freeze struck in mid-spring, wiping out fruit blossoms and eliminating most of our fruit crop this year. 

Apples, plums, mulberries, crabapples, apricots, wild cherries and pears have not appeared; there has been a limited supply of chokecherries.  The only fruit trees with their usual crop are the junipers, a welcome development for robins, cedar waxwings and for our lone Townsend's solitaire that arrives by October.  Indeed, the lack of fruit seems to have had a significant impact on the number and variety of birds observed on the farm this summer.

Growing fruit in this semiarid ecosystem is always a bit of a gamble but I do not recall any previous year when a spring weather event has been so deleterious.  Followed by an extremely hot and dry summer, that hard freeze seems to have been a warning sign of rough times ahead. 

A Gift from August

August, long renowned for its heat, arrived overnight behind a cold front, bringing cool, misty weather to central Missouri.  Ahead of that front, heavy rain fell across Columbia, a welcome dose of moisture during this long, brutal summer.

While we certainly appreciate that a dramatic change in weather has arrived with the new month, there is little doubt that the heat will return as the front heads east.  But, for now, the cool respite will facilitate some much-delayed yard work.

Since it is the last meteorological month of summer, August invites us to look ahead to the glorious season of autumn.  Unfortunately, climate change is pushing back that transition and, before long, August may represent the midpoint of a prolonged summer season. 

Heat-Seeking Raptors

On this hot, humid afternoon in central Missouri, a trio of Mississippi kites soared above our Columbia neighborhood, feasting on insects.  Their energy under such conditions is impressive.

After nesting and summering across the Southern Plains and Lower Mississippi Valley, they will escape to South America for another summer in the Southern Hemisphere, traveling through hot climes along the way.  When you feed primarily on flying insects, it is best to be where they thrive.

While their seasonal movements are instinctual, these kites are certainly unfazed by weather that many, if not most humans, find oppressive.  Then again, they are not subjected to dire heat advisories. 

A Skink Emerges

As I discussed in A Skink Mystery, last September, our resident five-lined skinks, which were of usual abundance in the spring, disappeared throughout the summer.  In fact, they failed to emerge in the autumn as well and I came to the conclusion that a local die-off had occurred.

Very common on our Columbia property since we moved here in 1997, they would scurry across the deck and walkways or hang out at the compost bin to feast on a variety of invertebrates.  This spring and early summer passed without any sightings (though I am often out of town).  Then, about 10:30 this morning, as I lounged on our front porch, a young skink, sporting its bright blue tail, raced across the bricks.  He/she was the first I have seen here since the spring of 2025.

I have no explanation for this confusing saga but was glad to witness an apparent recovery.  Nature keeps us guessing.