Meanwhile, in falcon land…

There was a known peregrine nest inside one of the hangars at San Francisco airport. This was great, because airports sometimes hire falconers as a benign way to scare off birds from the runways and theirs had simply arrived of their own. I heard about them last year if not before.

And then this happened, and I quote:

“We don’t really know how that falcon came to be injured,” (airport sportsman) Yakel said. He maintains that the airport has no record of anyone on staff shooting any type of bird that week, including the falcon.

NBC Bay Area wanted to know how it could be that a bird was shot out of the sky over an international airport and no one knows who did the shooting. Are enough precautions set in place to ensure that these live rounds don’t interfere with aircraft?

Does Yakel really want to leave the impression that random people are allowed, rather, to wander in restricted space, unrecorded and unnoticed, to shoot at whatever wherever? It’s like we teach our kids: the lie and its trajectory are always far worse than the goof you’re trying to cover up.

Glenn Stewart is working on trying to rehabilitate the shot peregrine now known as SFO. He can fly a bit, a huge improvement, but not well enough to survive in the wild yet.

And in the more natural world, there was a talon-to-talon battle for territory and the female on the PG&E building in San Francisco has been seen no more. The male has been trying to incubate the eggs alone, while having to catch, pluck, and eat his food, and the presumable winner of the battle is a female whom he gradually accepted over several days and now allows near the nest. She’s even tried out this sit-on-those-eggs thing–but they’re out of sync: he’s not mating with her because he’s too busy trying to hatch his offspring, and while peregrines do readily take to fostering others’, not having mated, quite possibly ever, her hormones haven’t kicked in to tell her what to do or even to be able to do it. She hasn’t developed a brood patch: an area where the feathers fall out and the skin swells with blood to make the warmth available to the eggs as the parent snuggles down over them.

She scoots the eggs around randomly. The male brings them back in a circle. She has tried settling down over them, but it hasn’t lasted for long and she knocked one out of the nestbox. Oops. She looks at them and gives them a teenager’s noncommittal shrug and takes off.

Time will tell, but it looks like this clutch will fail and then perhaps they will make a second one together. It was laid a full month earlier than the first set to appear on that building back when the nestbox began, so there’s plenty of time in terms of the season.

This is all new stuff: as Glenn says, there is nobody now alive from the last time there were enough peregrines still alive to actually have to fight it out much over territorial spaces. We have some nest cams and so our knowledge of the species increases.  Viewers at home tuning in at chance times have filled in some of the gaps of the narrative not just of this nest but of the species as a whole: someone was recounting today a widowed male in another state who tried, for 100 days he tried but the eggs had been allowed to cool just enough just too many times and at last with the season changing he gave in to reality.

Meantime, our San Jose nest had the male ousted by a young male near the end of the egg laying last year, and Fernando had no idea at first how to incubate or what he was supposed to do, even with mating going on, and he left most of all that to Clara but he fed her and did a great job later of teaching her offspring to hunt and fly and soar in the skies.

This year, he’s got the hang of this whole egg thing going on and they are much more a pair.

Eric’s photos of the San Jose peregrines of late, here.  Four eggs are humming along in the nestbox just out of sight over that ledge.

While we were at my audiologist’s on Friday, the guy talked to the manufacturer of my hearing aids. I had bought wires for the things a goodly while ago, they had been a frustration, we tried it with a bluetooth unit, they still didn’t work, they were useless. They plugged into my Iphone at the other end and the idea of being able to listen to music etc on it like everybody else was so, so–if only!–and all they did was turn off all sounds to everything when I tried. So that I was suddenly wearing $6400 earplugs. Was there anything else we could try.

With right and left plugged into his setup, I saw him say, Oh, okay, and he hung up the phone. He turned to his screen and added a new program.

Richard ran an errand this morning and came home and said, “This is cute.”

“What is?”

“This,” and he held out the new bluetooth unit to go with those wires and I, to my surprise, answered, “Oh, that’s cute!”

And then we plugged the wires into my ears.

And then he walked to the far end of the house, dialing my cellphone. Which had always told those wires, You are dead to me.

Even in speakerphone mode, I have never been able to carry on a conversation with my Iphone. Ever.

His voice sounded higher pitched than in real life but it was clear as a bell. Every word. I about burst into tears. Wow!

Richard said I should call my folks. I reached for the more audible landline out of sheer habit mixed with a little disbelief.

“No, on your cellphone!”

I called them in celebration and had to work at hearing Mom–same old same old–only, since I wasn’t in speaker mode nobody else could fill me in on what she was saying. But I got about half of it. On a cellphone!

It felt like the moment I looked up at a chandelier in a quiet room in a grand old building here not long after we moved to California, and having been entranced in church by the glass of one dancing to its own neverending tunes it was creating in the air currents when I was a child, observing the lightplay in the now-silenced-to-me one all these years later, to my astonishment my brain filled in every sound. It still knew. I heard the chandelier of my childhood again, brilliant and beautiful and alive again.

Talking on a cellphone. It felt like that.

Routine doctor appointment this afternoon. Going out the front door to my car, there was a raven perched on the streetlight.

So that explained it! It hadn’t dared land in my back yard but it was near the redwood tree, which would not be allowed–and must have been why I had just seen Coopernicus swoop across my back yard to the redwood, then swoop around again in a loop, not in stealth but dominance. Here, here, over here, too. If I could see it out my back window, it was his.

He took a low pass over that black squirrel that was teasing him a few days ago.

I saw yet another swoop after I got home.

A limb was taken off the neighbor’s tall tree last summer, taking out the big nest that I’m sure was the Coopers’; there is a new one higher up there now, not quite as big–yet. (Someone captured video here of a Cooper’s pair building their nest and it looks just like it. That makes me all the more hopeful that Coopernicus may have found a new mate.)

I needed a portable project to take to that appointment, so, after way too much dithering, I found a forgotten start to a hat in the stash–one single row, hadn’t even joined it into a round yet. It would do.

Finished the ribbing during the wait; another patient was having an emergency, they apologized, I assured them I was fine and please take care of whoever it was–and I started into the pattern part, not a long wait after all.

I considered the thing.

It was a pretty small nestbuilding in my hands but it was merino and baby alpaca and cashmere goodness. Soon to be ready to hat-ch.

I saw a peregrine falcon today! It was near Stevens Creek (near you, Don) dancing in the air currents and then flying low over my car so I could get a close look. In a blink, I saw details on feathers, that its crop was full; it had just enjoyed a good meal and it was shooting the breeze with me. (I drove safely.)

Meantime: the plum tree on Sunday evening and the plum tree twenty-four hours later.

It’s supposed to rain the next two days.  I’m picturing a giant umbrella keeping the pollen from washing away before its time? How much time does the tree need it for? Yo, bees, quick, wake up?

But it intrigues me that all the blossoms, no matter where they are or whether their branch might seem to block them, are oriented in the direction of the path of the sun.

The blossoming of the plum tree, day one.

I hadn’t seen any birds at the feeder in awhile and wondered, but the sun was low enough I thought I might chance going outside to take this picture and I really wanted to.

A day or two ago I was walking down the hall when I heard, as if through the skylight above me–was that the hawk? Did I actually hear the hawk? Or was that something else? I wondered if it might be a crow: there had been a huge flock that had tried to take over the neighborhood a month ago with the last of someone’s unpicked persimmon tree attracting them, but most seemed to have moved on and they always avoided my house. Only once saw a few land in my yard and then immediately go nope nope nope out of here.

So here I was, camera in hand at about 5:00 pm, and we are going to get hundreds more plums than last year’s handful when the tree was just starting to get into this. (Planted by my kids for Mother’s Day here.)

There was that call again.

I looked up into the bay laurel tree just to my right. Whether he was calling to a mate somewhere or giving it to me straight I wasn’t sure but it was a deep, croaky sound that would carry a long way.

The Cooper’s hawk looked over its shoulder back down at me from up at the top as if to say, Prey tell? Do you mind?

And I, grateful for the chance to be actually outside in person with him for that moment but not wanting to cause him grief over it, let the photos already taken be enough.

Four peregrine falcon eggs in the nestbox on the 33d floor in San Francisco, and as of today, four on the 18th at San Jose City Hall.

Only–there seem to have been five laid up north.

Peregrine eggs arrive 48-50 hours apart, and at the time everybody was expecting the second on the PG&E building, the female flew off camera for a goodly while–and laid her next right on cue two days later.

The biologist on the list chimed in: sometimes a peregrine will lay outside the nest. He had no doubt there had been one on time. It could be anywhere, and who knew why. She would not be done till there were four actually in the nest, and so, now there are, and the parents have begun incubation time, north and south.

I guess the second in SF was the bird equivalent of  a miscarriage, if she felt something was wrong with it?

He told us it was quite possible it could be somewhere where it could roll and then all the way down…. Gives new meaning to the falconista’s phrase, Keep looking up!

Meantime, I walked in the family room today just as the hunt was happening, unintentionally distracting the Cooper’s hawk so that his dinner got away. My apologies. He stood on that one favored spot on the fence awhile, watching Michelle and me, then swooped low towards us and up over the roof and away. I saw him fly by later, too.  I hope he’s got a nest full of eggs to guard and then feed this year himself–it’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen a Cooper’s fledgling toddling around my amaryllis pots, exploring its brand new world the way children do. But at least during nesting season I always get to see more of the papa.

While the cleanup continues…

Movement caught my eye about 4:30 and got me to look up.

The dove was pumping pell mell and away across the yard–then suddenly dodged left and thought it could escape the hawk through the objects that were–in my family room? Here they come!

My eyes were on the Cooper’s coming straight at me so that I barely saw his prey: those big wings were beating at hummingbird speed, no easy coasting here. Then suddenly he spun in a tight U, again just inches from the window just as the dove hit it and fell back stunned between the shoes put out to dry from the burst water heater, a foot (heh) from the glass door between them and me. The hawk, not needing one extra wing beat in his perfectly-timed choreography and knowing exactly where everything was even though glass is clear and there were new objects in front of it, reached back with his feet, wrapped talons around his just-fallen prey just so, lifted it in towards his body for better aerodynamics, all in the blink of an eye, and flew out to the lawn, successful.

Intelligence in the wild is an awesome thing to behold.

The San Francisco peregrine falcon nest now has four eggs and the San Jose, three as of this evening.

But closer to home. Third flower!

When my car’s transmission blew, right on cue on a day when I needed the comfort of seeing him my Cooper’s hawk did a fly-by within feet of me, a dramatic three-beat wide-winged U-turn inches from the window, its talons in sudden wrapped attention to the dinner I could not quite see.

We were up till quite late last night washing, sorting, lifting, tossing and of course this was after two days of Stitches for me and of all day of this for Richard and by the time church was over today I was desperate to collapse before I barfed, the first warning sign of Crohn’s.

A long nap later, feeling a lot better for it and quite relieved, there was a low bird call and I thought, Wow, I heard that? Where was that? Cool!

Coopernicus flew in. There is a particular spot on the fence he likes, that the squirrels also like to sun themselves on, redwood real estate that seems to hold particular appeal.

He wasn’t hunting–he was announcing. Calling. To his new mate (I hope!) I couldn’t see? To the crows in the neighborhood? He stayed there being conspicuous for quite some time, owning the place. Richard got to see him too.

And then there was movement in the nearby leaves to the right that startled me but not the Cooper’s.

A black nose sniffed in the hawk’s direction. Pulled back. Reached forward and sniffed again. He’d been waiting and he was tired of it. (Note that the camera angles make the hawk look quite a bit smaller than he is.)

The squirrel seemed to harrumph, and ran deftly through the branches above the raptor’s head and over to the olive tree, where he turned and  considered his options and I snapped their picture.

Down a bit. A bit more. Forward. One step at a time. The hawk finally turned and stared him down. While I thought, we’ve seen this movie before and it does not go well for urban squirrels not used to being challenged.

The bushytail stepped onto the fence, still shielded by leaves (he’s in there). The hawk lifted a wing and a foot in warning.

Closer. And the  hawk, who had already demonstrated he wasn’t hungry by his utter lack of stealth, flew straight down into the neighbor’s yard and away.

That squirrel played king of the hill, all but shouting Mine! I did it! in that coveted spot and then peered down the fence in the direction the hawk had flown. Turned the other way to see if he was over there, just to make sure that bird knew who was boss around here. While I thought, you’ve just given a large hawk a perfect chance to come at you from behind from both ways.

Darwin awaits.

Chocolate torte: baked.

Saw a squirrel starting to climb a tiny twig of the new blueberry–which immediately broke–while pulling down the main cane to try to reach the buds at the end.

I yelled and stomped and ran and chased him off and put the paper bag over the blueberry’s head that it had come home from the nursery in, not sure what else to do. The handles stuck out at the sides and dared him to try that again. It was Something New and therefore not to be trusted for the first day and the squirrel stopped raising–no, lowering cane, even after I took the bag off a few hours later and put it next to the pot so the fresh air and sunshine could do the plant some good.

There are pop-up tent-type things with bird netting and the like that I could put over those two pots, once I buy one.

Everything keeps coming back down to the one-car dance. While I am at Stitches Saturday (thank you Sam!), Michelle will be car shopping.

The first peregrine falcon egg has arrived on PG&E’s 33d floor in San Francisco, a full week earlier than last year, which was earlier than any year before it, as was the year before that, to the point of being a month earlier than it once was. Eyes on our San Jose nest, often just a few days behind.

Meantime, the neighbors did some tree trimming, and with our permission they cut back some random stuff that was leaning over from our side of the fence. The trimmers did leave one big bushy thing alone: it had a bird’s nest at the top, and it may be February but it’s nesting season now.

I’m pretty sure that’s the jays’ nest. And there have been two, and in the last week they’ve been cooperating like a pair rather than chasing each other off from the peanut offerings tossed when the squirrels aren’t looking.

Two Bewick’s wrens likewise have begun dancing lightly together across the top of the large wooden box that gives me such a good viewing platform as I scatter suet across it. The kind with chili oil in it: birds only. (And don’t rub your eyes!) I haven’t seen one wren feed the other yet, but it will be soon.

There is new light and space opened up for our fruit trees now, thank you, neighbors.

And Phyllis, I know you said it takes several years, I know it takes several years, but no one told the Tropic Snow peach that it takes several years: definitely pink there (flash notwithstanding) and definitely a flower about to open up. Probably several. When it starts to fruit I want to put a metal cage around each one, prop them up somehow and let that baby tree do what it wants to do.

They say that letting it fruit in the first year or two will stunt the growth, which I’m choosing to think of as not the roots but rather the future height of the tree. (Right?) And this is a problem?

Maybe just one peach?

One of these days I’m going to have to replace that picture over there. When the hair started coming back in after my skin cancer surgery 19 months ago, I knew there was just going to be a very long time of it looking goofy no matter what; why not grow out the bangs at the same time to match? Nothing else in all these years had given me the courage to spend a year looking bad, but hey, long as I’m there anyway….

So when the new hair got to the length of the bangs last February there you go. (And  now there’s a new bunch growing in and it looks like I’m just starting to grow that part of my bangs out. Of course.)

Speaking of bangs, there was one at the window behind my head this afternoon and I turned just in time to learn that it takes three wing beats for a Cooper’s hawk to stand in the air and then U-turn after its still-fleeing lunch.

I got to see my hawk. Cool.

Don posted a picture of Morro Rock on his blog.

My friends Nancy and Jerry moved south and to the ocean to build their dream house two years ago, where they have a beautiful view of that massive watermarked landmark that sits just off the beach.

But I’ve also long since been interested in the place because of the peregrine falcon sites there, as described by Glenn Stewart, the biologist who was crucial to bringing them back from near-extinction.To those new here, I was one of his San Jose nest-camera volunteers three seasons ago.

Normally, peregrines are very territorial and will not nest near each other’s scrape nor hunting territory. But on Morro Rock, where you have the whole ocean to feed you (they do catch fish), there’s a nesting pair on one side of the rock and there’s a nesting pair on the other side of the rock.

They do not cross paths. They do not venture into each other’s side of the rock nor water. Nor has a third pair been allowed to set up shop, just the two twosomes and to each their own, only. I’d love someday to go visit Nancy and Jerry, exclaim over their new house, and watch those falcons with their rocket-speed highdives in person.

To Morro, two, Morro, it’s only two, Morro, it’s only a Bay away.

Oops, Don, I think I’m in for it after all, my apologies for the germs.

At the first loud sneeze, a squirrel leaps ten feet off the porch into the air.

At the second loud sneeze, the same squirrel lopes three feet in no particular hurry. Stops.  Looks back over his shoulder at me: if I want him to go any further away than that at this point, there’s going to have to be a stale nut thrown past him, a little incentive, and I’m not going along with it. He gives the bushytail version of a shrug–he got over it quickly, so hopefully I will too.

I had a request for a picture of the beginning of the peach tree budding, so here it is, with a reminder to me that mylar strips are in its future. They have that certain snake-like charm. There will be leaping away and there will be staying away. (Right?) I intend to get the budder deal of it.

Hawk yoga. Every pose you could think of, including one I hadn’t seen before: wings raised in sharp inverted Vs with a tight lean forward as if ready for takeoff, then relaxing again on the fence, a foot slowly rising up and disappearing into the poofy feathers against the chill of the day. This is the life, he sang into the wind.

Half an hour. I considered walking a few steps over and back to pick up the hat project as I watched the hawk show, live!, but nah, why disturb him.

I suddenly wondered if, had I done so, what a small ball of yarn in blues/greens/purples would look like to him, with its long tail constantly jerking around my hands.  Caught me a live one!

After he left, anyway.

We all saw him this time. Richard grabbed the nearest camera and took the best picture and then handed the Nikon to me, my hand reaching blindly behind me for it–I know how fast Coopernicus can disappear and I didn’t want to miss a thing.

Someone had recently moved a ladder under the eaves near the small birdfeeder in the alcove part of the patio, making a ten-foot-wide space even narrower for a 31″ wingspan to be wheeling around in–I had been wondering if it had been interfering with his hunting and where to move it to. But it was his hunting that had driven a finch into the window and gotten me to look up to see him–and he twirled sideways into wings straight up and down as he whizzed around that tight area, fully aware of the space and of the presence of the glass. And later he did it again! Dazzling.

Barbecue grill to the lawnmower handle, repeating Friday’s pattern. (Note to my childhood friend Karen: that’s your birds suncatcher in the upper edge.) After awhile, Richard and Michelle went back to whatever they were doing wherever, but I was not about to miss out.

Again, the hawk and I spent a long time together watching each other. For about half an hour. Then he lifted off lightly to the neighbor’s post just over the fence, where, his dark gray back to me, he fluffed out his chest feathers against the cold, the late sun illuminating their edges into a brilliantly-lit white-ish halo poofing out at his sides. He watched a flock of finches start to play in the tree in front of him–then one suddenly went zing! in a straight shot to the right.  Hawk! Run! Then another, then the rest of them caught on to him as he watched the show in no particular hurry.

He was very much out in the open. No stealth. This was his home, the neighbor’s yard and mine, and he was proclaiming it to the world.

I checked outside briefly to see if a bird had indeed gone down at impact from that window strike, but no; he noted my doing so and so about two minutes later was when he came back and did that second fly-by that again missed the ladder, leaning into an up-and-down wingtip just so.

He went to the top of the table. He walked through the amaryllis pots. He bowed once, twice to the world beyond my window.

And then, wings wide, he bade me good day, forty-five minutes after I’d first seen him, and was gone.

(With thanks to Kelli, who gave me her old camera when mine died. My Iphone was in my purse somewhere, but Kelli’s Nikon was right in reach.)