Birding Notes

Late this afternoon, on a warm, sunny day when I’d been doing housework, I walked outside for a few minutes just to get some fresh air and see what I could find. Along the edge of our driveway, a small, pale-brown butterfly was fluttering low over a thick layer of dry brown leaves. Its color was so close to that of the fallen leaves it seemed to disappear each time it settled on one for a moment.

I had binoculars with me, but no phone, so I couldn’t try for a photo, but I did see a beautiful, close-up view several times as it paused on one leaf and then another and another. It never stayed still for long, and it held its wings up, not outspread when it was still. Its pale, gentle brown wings were patterned only with subtle reddish-brown wavy lines. I guessed it was some kind of Satyr butterfly, but there were no prominent eye spots. The markings that defined it were a line of small dark spots on the back edge of the underside of the lower wing, surrounded by iridescence that glittered like gold in the sunlight. 

I watched for several minutes as it fluttered over the dead leaves, settling here and there, until it finally flew further away and out of sight. I had never seen one before so I couldn’t identify it until I got back inside and looked it up. 

It was a Gemmed Satyr Butterfly, Cyllopsis gemma. An exquisite little creature, and so quietly colored and marked, so well camouflaged, that it could very easily escape any notice by humans at all. There was nothing bold about it to catch the eye. But once seen up close, it was delightful and very pretty, with the iridescence like tiny jewels decorating its lower back wing. Its name captures it perfectly.

On a warm late-summer morning, sunlight poured onto a small, weedy patch of foxtails – tall, tan grasses with soft-looking brushy tops that stood among other wild grasses and plants in a rough clearing in patch of woods. In the air above and all around the sunlit foxtails, danced dozens of bright, burning-orange butterflies all fluttering rapidly, in constant motion. A flowing, shimmering cloud of golden orange, with sparks of black and silver. 

The butterflies were Gulf Fritillaries, medium-size and brilliant orange with delicate patterns of black markings and three tiny white dots outlined in black on the upper side of their wings; and on the underside, elongated, iridescent spots of silver-white.

Gulf Fritillaries are a common species in this part of the South, often found along woods’ edges like this, or along roadsides, in parks or in yards with flowers. They used to be very common here at this time of late summer. But this year, I’ve seen very few of them – or of any butterflies at all – so this sudden gathering was so unusual it felt enchanted, and I stayed to watch them for several minutes. Every now and then, one would settle briefly on a foxtail or blade of grass, but it never stayed long before it flew again. Mostly they stayed in swirling, flickering motion over this magical little spot.

September has begun gently this year, with pleasantly warm days and softly sunny skies. Many birds have fallen quiet now, in these late days of summer. But early this morning, soon after sunrise, some of our most familiar neighborhood birds still greeted the day with songs and calls –Carolina Wren, Carolina Chickadee, Tufted Titmouse, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker, White-breasted Nuthatch, and a good many Blue Jays and American Crows. 

A Chipping Sparrow sang its long, level, summery trill from a small tree along the side of the road. A Pine Warbler’s cool, lyrical notes drifted out from a well-screened spot in the pines.

In a large pecan tree on the edge of a neighbor’s yard I noticed several small birds flitting around among the leaves and stopped to check them out. There were Chipping Sparrows, an Eastern Bluebird, a House Finch. And then my breath was taken away by the glimpse of something more exotic – though I only saw it in pieces at first. A flash of yellow, black streaks on snowy white, a rather long bill, a gray back, a white wing bar. The bird moved quickly and constantly through the leaves, creeping along branches but staying mostly hidden, so I could only see it in fragments, like teasing pieces of a moving puzzle. Finally, I caught a quick, vivid view of a burning yellow throat and a strikingly patterned face with a black mask and white curve over the eye, as the bird emerged from the leaves for a moment, head and long bill tilted up, and neck stretched up in the sun. It was a brilliant Yellow-throated Warbler. 

A Yellow-throated Warbler is considered a common woodland bird of the southeastern U.S., but I have very seldom seen one here in our own neighborhood, or heard its song here – a pretty series of bright, clear notes that quickly identify the singer. It’s a colorful wood warbler that spends most of its time high up in the canopy of forest trees. Its upper side is mostly gray, with white wing bars, white underneath, streaked with black, a black and white face, and a vibrant yellow throat. This one was quiet, almost serpentine in its movement, intent on searching for insects and other small prey as it crept along a branch, probing the bark and leaves with its long bill.

Two little Brown-headed Nuthatches chattered as they explored the top part of a dead pine snag this morning. The snag has lost most of its bark so its surface is bare and pocked with holes and cracks of different shapes and sizes. There’s one hole larger than most, very near the jagged, broken-off top, and I watched as one of the nuthatches hopped inside this hole, and then I heard tapping that went on for several moments. The other nuthatch stayed nearby, searching over the top part of the snag, and the two called in squeaky, cheerful-sounding notes, back and forth.

Brown-headed Nuthatches are very small birds with short tails and long bills, a blue-gray back, brown cap, and white throat and breast. Lively and active, they are found most of the time in pine trees. They stay in touch with notes that sound like squeaky toys as they move quickly up, down and sideways over trunks and branches and in clumps of pine needles, searching for insects and spiders. 

Brown-headed Nuthatches are closely associated with southeastern pine forests, usually found in areas where pines are the dominant trees. They need standing dead trees for nesting and roosting, and mostly search for food in living trees. We’re lucky to have them here in our neighborhood, in patchy woods that are a mix of hardwoods and pines. Over the past two decades, many of the pines have died or been removed, so there are fewer than there used to be. But the nuthatches still have stayed around, so far, so maybe there are enough pines and snags to provide what they need. They are year-round residents here, and some stay in the same territories for years. They often come to our feeders in the winter – and in some summers they have come regularly to our hummingbird feeder with a water moat in the middle, to drink from the moat. 

Early morning on a very warm, humid, brightly sunny day, two, maybe three, maybe four Ruby-throated Hummingbirds zipped and hummed and dueled around the porch, flying between two feeders, whizzing past the screens, perching in nearby oak branches. One twittered for several minutes as it hovered, visiting pink impatiens blossoms on the deck. 

A Mississippi Kite called a sweet pee-tooo, pee-too, nearby but not in sight, maybe perched in a tree, or circling low.

And this morning’s special gift – a Red-eyed Vireo sang its bright refrain in trees all around the edge of the back yard, traveling from one side to another and on, passing through.

Later in the morning, as I walked up a wooded hill, a rather long, sturdy songbird, in shades of mellow-yellow and brown, flew out of the trees and paused on a low branch of a pine. A Summer Tanager, a female or an immature male, reminding me that fall migration has begun. Birds still seem quiet and scarce, and hot summer days will linger here for another month or more, but it’s late August, and changes have begun. Lots of brown, crumpled leaves of pecan trees litter the ground, and sprinkles of red-orange leaves dot some of the water oaks. Two Common Grackles flew over, calling harsh checks, and American Robins are gathering in small groups in shady yards.

This morning I found this very tiny, colorful spider in an intricate orb web among the leaves of a holly bush at one corner of our house. With its vibrant colors it sparkled in the sun, showing up well, even though it’s only about .3 inch long. 

Arrow-shaped Micrathena spiders (Micrathena sagittata) are common in eastern North America and Central America, usually found in wooded places, often close to the ground. Instead of being round, the abdomen is triangular in shape, like the head of an arrow, and sharp spines stick out from its edges. Two large, fierce-looking, black and red points extend from the rear of the abdomen and point away from each other. The spines may serve to deter predators. Micrathena spiders are also called Spiny Orbweavers.

Today while I was walking, I again heard the sweet, whistled pee-tooo calls of a Mississippi Kite, and turned around in time to see one flying toward the dense green canopy of several tall trees. As it neared the treetops, the kite gave a pretty, stuttering series of high call notes that sounded different – similar to the pee-tooo calls but with more and shorter notes. The kite disappeared into the trees, and a second Mississippi Kite whistled as it circled nearby. 

I’d never heard this call before, and when I looked it up after I got back home, I learned that this multi-syllable call is less often heard, and is commonly used by the kites when interacting with a mate or nestlings. 

On a hot and humid morning, two graceful, slender, long-winged raptors circled over a cul de sac in the neighborhood next to ours. At first glance, they looked black, but a closer look showed pearl-gray plumage with white heads and dark-gray wings with white edges – Mississippi Kites. I’ve seen them here off and on all summer, but this is the first time this year I’ve enjoyed such a good view and watched them in flight. As they flew, they called in high, whistled notes, pee-tooo.

Their legs and feet were extended as they flew, and they were catching insects in the air, and leaning over to eat them in flight. As they hunted, they flew with acrobatic grace, with sudden turns and sharp dives, and smooth soaring on narrow, outstretched wings, looking lighter than air. Their tails constantly shifted with small adjustments. Once, when one circled down lower, just over the rooftops, I could see the black patch over its eye on a white face and head. 

A Mississippi Kite is a medium-size raptor, with narrow, pointed wings. It’s known for its graceful, buoyant flight. Over the past several years, they have become more common here around our neighborhood and the surrounding area, and I’ve often watched them from this same cul de sac – sometimes perched in a line of trees along the edge of a stretch of woods that extends behind the houses here. This summer for the first time, I’ve also been hearing the pee-tooo calls around our own back yard, and now and then I’ve seen one circling low, just over the treetops. 

We’re extremely lucky to have these elegant birds spending the summer here. They have been extending their breeding range in the U.S. over the past several decades. They appear to adapt well to living urban and suburban areas. They breed in scattered areas of the southern and central U.S., using a variety of different habitats in different regions, and they migrate in large flocks to South America for the winter. 

This morning Blue-gray Gnatcatchers were again flitting all along the edge of the thickets in what remains of the old field. Three in one spot, four in another, two further along, they animate the drab green weeds and tangle of vines. 

A dark-gray bird flew up to perch near the top of a thin, near-leafless wild pear tree out in the middle of the field – a Gray Catbird, adding to the list of surprises I’ve found in this spot in the past few days. This one’s especially nice to see because this summer Gray Catbirds have not nested in our neighborhood or the subdivision next to us, for the first time in recent years. I’ve watched for them ever since the spring, and they never showed up here. There was a pair around our own front yard that I saw a few times in late spring, and I was hoping they might stay. But they didn’t – at least, not anywhere I’ve been able to find them. So it’s nice at least to see one passing through. 

Gray Catbirds are among my favorite birds, very animated in their behavior, all dark gray with jaunty black cap, and rusty-orange feathers under the long, expressive tail. Like its close relatives, Northern Mockingbirds and Brown Thrashers, a Gray Catbird sings a song that includes mimicked sounds, though it’s not as fluent as a Mockingbird. A Gray Catbird’s song is a long series of unusual and sometimes awkward-sounding notes, many of them nasal or creaky in tone.

This one today was not singing – or calling its raspy, cat-like mew. It only stayed in the treetop for a few moments, holding its long tail down and looking around, before flying back down into the thickets and out of sight.

Later in the morning, in a wooded spot of deep shade, a very tiny pale-green spider was making its way across the road to grass on the other side. It was smaller than a fingernail, and I don’t know why it caught my eye except that its color was almost white and it was moving, and its shape looked unusual – with very long legs on its front part, curving out, and a rounded diamond-shaped body. 

It was a Green Crab Spider (Misumessus oblongus), common in Georgia and the Southeast. It does not spin a web, but lives in plants, hiding among the petals and leaves to feed on insect prey, which it captures with its extremely long front legs. As I learned when I looked it up later, a Green Crab Spider, only about 3-7 mm long, can walk forward, sideways and backwards, which must be how it got its common name. The one I watched was traveling in a very ordinary way, straight across a road and into grass and clover, where it disappeared.

I should have taken a photo, and wish I had, but it didn’t occur to me at the time – as usual. I was just fascinated to watch such a beautiful, small, intricate creature.