Pure Joy

For a quarter-century, I have been censusing the birds that nest and breed in a 40-acre woods in the Pennypack Preserve.  On eight mornings at the end of May and beginning of June, I have awoken at the crack of dawn, wolfed down a quick snack, power-walked 20 minutes to the tract, and then begun censusing.  For the next three hours and ten minutes, I have scanned the trees with my binoculars and pricked up my ears to catch the slightest hint of birdsong.

The forest is not the most dramatic or beautiful woods in the preserve.  Most of it was farmland until about 1920, but a new owner abandoned agriculture and allowed the woods to return.  The canopy is still young and not very diverse - mostly quick colonizing and rapidly growing tuliptrees and ashes (which, alas, are now under attack by the devastating emerald ash borer beetle, imported from China).  Nevertheless, it is the woodland I've come to know the best in the preserve.

And I've come to know its birds, too, especially the Ovenbirds.  Ovenbirds are aberrant warblers that look more like small thrushes.  They skulk around furtively in the duff and the low understory, defending their territory with their distinctive and increasingly strident tripartite teacher-TEACHER-TEACHER call.  The birds are much more often heard than seen, but since I spend so much time in the woods with them, I'm bound to observe one or two each spring.

The Ovenbirds and their offspring are remarkably faithful to territories.  I could probably outline the birds' territories each spring without even venturing into the woods - which is what distressed me when I learned that a part of the woods I've come to know so intimately was for sale.  I originally included this five-acre woods in my census area because it was owned by an individual who I thought would never sell it for development.  I was proved wrong in 2016, though, when the owner announced plans to sell the land for housing.  The land included the territory of an Ovenbird (or its offspring) that I had documented from my very first census in 1991.

I could clearly imagine an Ovenbird returning to its breeding grounds from the tropics, anticipating re-asserting its territory, only to find that its woodland had been leveled.

Fortunately, the landowner was willing to work with the Trust to try to protect the land permanently.  The landowner delayed a sale until the Trust could work with the state to secure open space funding.

When the landowner finally sold the land to the Trust on Tuesday afternoon, February 21, I practically leapt for joy knowing that one Ovenbird pair evermore would have a place to raise its brood.

A Murmuration

 

Though perhaps I personally notice it more during the warmer months of the year because I'm out later in the day than I am during the winter, one of Pennypack's avid birdwatchers assures me that (even in the winter) every evening just before sundown, American robins (Turdus migratorius) stream toward a wooded area adjacent to but separate from the Pennypack Preserve.  For 30 minutes as the sun is setting, robins streak across the sky - some singly, some in pairs, and others in large, loose flocks of up to 20 birds.  They are all flying toward the southwest.

The birds seem to materialize out of nowhere in the sky because they are flying relatively high, though I know they are just gathering together from scattered locations where they have been foraging all day.  They are silent - black specks all streaming determinedly in one direction.  It's easy to count hundreds of birds in only a few minutes of watching.  If they were all lumped together, it would be a spectacle, but since they're spread thinly in time and space, they constitute more of an imagined spectacle.  Nevertheless, I'm impressed every time I take a late evening walk.

Last week, I was treated to a real spectacle - only the second one I have ever observed in my life.  Looking over toward the roosting forest, the robins were swirling in the air in an amazing cloud of coordinated flying called a murmuration.  It only lasted a few seconds - alas, too short for my wife Mary, who has weak eyesight, to get a fix on it - but I saw it happen and was transfixed for that moment.  

_____

The Upper Moreland Historical Association's newsletter Moreland Memories recently republished a recipe for pigeon stew that first appeared in the local newspaper's October 18, 1873 edition.  The recipe concludes with the sentence, "Robins are delicious cooked in the same way."  Is it any wonder Passenger Pigeons are extinct?

 

(The images accompanying this post were borrowed from the Internet) 

 

Submitted by David Robertson

Executive Director     

Unabashed Anthropomorphizing

Hooded Warbler (Wilsonia citrina) (Audubon image)

I have begun my annual census of the birds breeding in the heart of the largest, oldest and densest forest in the Pennypack Preserve.  I always begin the census on or around May 20.  This date is a compromise.  For early-breeding resident species like Carolina Chickadees, Tufted Titmice, and the woodpeckers (i.e., Northern Flickers and the Red-bellied, Hairy, and Downy Woodpeckers), they've already fledged their young, which accompany their parents begging to be fed and learning how to take care of themselves.  On the other hand, later breeding migratory species like Wood Thrushes, Veerys and Scarlet Tanagers are still establishing their territories on May 20, making counts this early in the season unreliable.  In fact, most ornithologists caution that migrants in southeastern Pennsylvania should not be tallied until they've settled down into territories beginning in June.

Each year, there are always a few late and errant migrants in my earliest counts.  This year, for example, I heard a Black-throated Blue Warbler on my first foray into the woods on May 19.  Black-throated Blues breed in the Appalachian highlands, New England, and southeastern Canada - they won't stay the summer in our humid lowland woods.  Sure enough, the bird was nowhere to be heard two days later; it had moved on north.

However, on my first counting day, I also heard a Hooded Warbler singing in the forest.  This bird is a furtive wraith rarely observed but much more often heard.  Its call is distinctive and unmistakable: wheeta-wheeta-WHEET-see'o, repeated loudly and incessantly from the dense forest understory where the bird is lurking.  Unlike most other warblers that breed further north and at higher elevations, the Hooded Warbler does breed in southeastern Pennsylvania, though it is rare.  I have only documented breeding pairs in two other years during the 24 years I have been censusing birds in the forest.

This spring's Hooded Warbler stood its ground, singing for 30 minutes while I conducted the census where it had staked out its territory.

Then, when I returned to the woods two days later, the warbler was still present, but it had moved its singing perch over the crest of a ridge and about a half-kilometer deeper into the forest.

All of which got me thinking.  (I have plenty of time to ruminate when I'm conducting the census.)

This poor Hooded Warbler, undoubtedly a male singing its heart out seeking a female, probably is out of luck this year unless it moves somewhere else.  This forest in the preserve, while good habitat, is small and surrounded by suburbia.  If there are no female Hooded Warblers in the forest, the chances of this male finding a mate are nil.  It's not as if he could just fly a few hundred feet further along in the forest to another spot in hopes of luring a mate; if he were to fly a few hundred feet, he'd be in the middle of someone's back yard or in a business campus.

I couldn't help but feel sorry for this seemingly desperate bird - so clearly ready to find a mate, searching throughout the forest but unable to locate a female.  If he does find a female, he'll sing most of the summer defending his territory.  More likely, though, he'll go quiet.  If that happens, I'll never know if he flew elsewhere where his prospects might be better, or if he simply sat out the summer to try again next year, here in the preserve or in another woodland.

If he stays, I'll keep you posted.  For my census, the year is young; for a bird trying to find a mate, the clock is ticking.   

Submitted by
David Robertson, Executive Director

Snowy Cleanup

Executive Director David Robertson with board member Kathleen Ernst

Every year since 1970 when the Pennypack Trust was founded, we have sponsored a volunteer cleanup of the banks of the creek flowing through the Pennypack Preserve.  In fact, the cleanup is the Trust's largest annual event, usually drawing upwards of 100 volunteers who spend two hours hunting for trash and who then return to the headquarters for lunch.

This year's cleanup was last Saturday, April 9.  As the date approached, the weather forecast quickly began to deteriorate, with calls for a wintry mix of wet snow turning to rain.  Yuck!

When I awoke on Saturday morning, the skies were overcast but there was no precipitation falling.  Would we be spared?  However, 45 minutes before the start of the event, I heard on the radio that snow was falling to our west and, sure enough, when I went out to help prepare, snow had moved into the area.

Nevertheless, we did not call off or postpone the event, and about 60 volunteers reported for duty.  I led my group down to the creek (a 10-minute walk via the Rosebush Trail), where we forded the stream to get to an island that is always a hotbed of trash.  This year was no exception.  The creek splits at the head of the island and floodwaters push all sorts of debris up onto the point where the stream divides.  Most of the flotsam is woody, but it also contains all the detritus of modern life - especially plastic bottles and polystyrene.

A "before" picture of trash embedded in woody debris (volunteer at right)

My group's most impressive finds included one natural item (a large, partially decomposed snapping turtle) and one unnatural (a mannequin's arm).

Over the 28 years I've helped with the creek cleanup, it's interesting to note that we hardly ever find aluminum cans any longer (formerly a significant part of the trash collected).  Are more people recycling, or are the cans valuable now?

We decided to call ourselves the Drowned Rats

In any case, though we were wet, all of us had a good, rewarding time despite the weather.  Cleaning up trash is really satisfying.

 

In addition to the volunteers who worked along Pennypack Creek in the preserve, two other groups worked in Upper Moreland Township parks along Round Meadow Run, a Pennypack Creek tributary, cleaning up trash headed downstream from downtown Willow Grove.  We appreciate everyone's help!

 

Submitted by:

David Robertson, Executive Director

Bald Eagle Update

Adult Bald Eagle with chicks (Audubon image)

Yesterday (November 11, 2015), a Pennypack Trust member observed "our" two adult Bald Eagles mating - three times!  Of course, there's no guarantee that the birds will attempt to nest in the Pennypack Preserve again this winter, but it's a good indication that they might.  Keep your fingers crossed!

After last year's pair of eaglets fledged on June 16, 2015, we occasionally observed the adults and the immature birds throughout the spring and summer.  The fact that they stayed in the area was another good indication of their intent to attempt to nest again, but we couldn't be sure.  After all, Bald Eagles nested at the mouth of Pennypack Creek for several years and then abandoned that location, so they could have done the same here in the preserve.

Now, we just have to make sure that we have a sufficient number of roadkilled deer to sustain them through the winter.  Fortunately for the eagles, but unfortunately for the staff and the deer, retrieving enough roadkilled deer is not usually a problem.

Perfect Autumn Afternoon Walk

Walkers stopped to appreciate the newly renovated 1817 Papermill Bridge

Yesterday was a perfect autumn afternoon--temperatures in the low 70s, low humidity, and crystal clear blue skies.  I had an opportunity to lead a 2-mile walk through the Pennypack Preserve for about 50 Pennypack members and supporters of a statewide environmental advocacy group named PennEnvironment.  

I was approached by PennEnvironment because the organization wanted to highlight the importance of the EPA's new Clean Water Rule that protects small headwater streams.  So, my comments along the way focused on the Pennypack Trust's efforts to safeguard upland drainages through open space acquisition and habitat restoration.

PennEnvironment's David Masur (with child on his shoulders) addressing the group

The executive director of PennEnvironment, David Masur, brought his wife and two young children to the preserve for the walk.  Near the end, on a stone bridge spanning one of our headwater streams, he thanked the walkers for coming and encouraged them to advocate for clean water.

Walkers listening to David Masur just before walking up a long, steep hill out of the valley

It was a really fine walk, and the participants all seemed to enjoy themselves. We had a chance to enjoy the vista across the Raytharn grasslands, inspect the newly renovated Papermill Bridge, walk a mile along Montgomery County's Pennypack Trail, and explore the highlights of the Lord's New Church's grounds.

Submitted by David Robertson
Executive Director

Drone over Pennypack

Former Stewardship Assistant Mike Coll sent this link to a video of a 9-minute drone flight over the Pennypack Preserve and Bryn Athyn Cathedral that he made last Thursday afternoon, September 17.

Enjoy!


https://youtu.be/ksSEqvYb6OA

Submitted by David Robertson
Executive Director