Beach Scene

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Is It Just Me...

Or do these pigeons look especially purposeful? As if, for example, they are making or have made some sort of sinister avian scheme that is about to come to fruition?

I had to almost get down among them in order to take the photo, and…I’m not sure, but I believe that may have been part of their larger plan…

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How to Exoticize the Not-So-Other

I’ve been feeling guilty these days. Now, I have any number of things to feel guilty about, from the (non)regularity with which I dust to the fact that I’ve never gotten all the way through Moby Dick—but my guilt in this case was related to the disturbing pattern I’d fallen into in my approach towards this blog and, by extension, the natural world.

Of course it’s great to have—and take—the opportunity to see, photograph, and remark upon zoo-life, but lately I’ve found myself considering them the only subject for posts—and, therefore, the only animal subjects worthy of observation. This goes against the very title of my blog, not to mention my better nature, and I’m quite ashamed of myself. Here we are, surrounded by wild things that miraculously survive—and thrive!—even in our labyrinths of concrete: surely they too deserve notice and respect.

So I’ve tried to once again pay more attention to the world around me, even as I walk to and from work or return from the grocery store, laden with the basic necessities of fresh bread and peanut M&Ms (hey, Annie was out of town).

In doing so, I’ve become fascinated all over again by the intensity and ingenuity of urban birds and squirrels that know where, and how, to acquire food that humans discard (or, in some cases, the food that humans have looked away from for half a minute).

I spied this squirrel sneaking along the façade of an apartment building, gripping a huge hunk of bread (a bagel? a pita?) in its mouth, but I couldn’t pull my camera out in time to document the food-snatching-sneakery. I was able to capture the dirty look it gave me, though.

I also noticed some of the perching spots of local pigeons:

It made me wonder whether they tend to congregate on buildings that are, or are near, food shops during the day—the better to snatch a bite—and then retreat to more isolated areas at night.

And, on my way home one day, I spotted this insect awkwardly but determinedly navigating the jungle formed by a patch of ground ivy:

At first I feared I was ogling an invasive Japanese beetle, but a little light Googling determined that it was in fact a native June bug!

I don’t think I’ve ever knowingly seen a June bug before, so this was very exciting for me.

Apart from the June bug, none of these species were novel, and I didn’t see them engage in any remarkably new or atypical behavior. Nonetheless, there’s much enjoyment to be had in what is common but overlooked, and I hope to do a better job of illustrating that here.

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One Good Shot: Pointillist Pigeon

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Wild Wildlife: The Love That Dares Not Speak Its Name

I don’t care who knows it: I adore pigeons—their beautiful slate-and-cool-grey plumage, their striking orange eyes, their iridescent neck feathers that glimmer like geodes with purple and green. I’ve endured enough taunts about my fondness from people who argue that pigeons are filthy, stupid, and enormous pests, and yet I still don’t understand why more people don’t appreciate them, especially since the arguments against pigeons are so unreasonable.
Filthy? Pigeons are no dirtier than any other bird species; they may be in a better position than some species to transfer mites to humans, but it’s a rare bird in the wild that’s not a vector for something. And, again, the argument is specious, since we all ooh and aah over adorable deer—even though we know they’re seething with tics that carry Lyme disease.


Stupid? Compared to what? Maybe they’re not problem-solving geniuses like ravens and crows, but pigeons can recognize and distinguish between the work of various impressionist painters, which is more than most people can do. And since when has the subject’s intelligence influenced our enjoyment of animal life (do you think peacocks or gazelles are especially brainy?)—or, for that matter, our response to politicians?


As for being pests—we revile pigeons because they’re able to adapt to an urban world we’ve created and live in—we’ve set up a double standard in which any animal that can live in our cities is automatically reviled, even though we live there. And yet for some reason we still find squirrels cute in spite of their penchant for living in attics or garages and eating bulbs, flowers, and garden crops.



So for those of you who are already admirers of pigeons, well done! And for those who have spoken badly of them, I urge you to reconsider. Once you get past your original prejudice, they’re a lot of fun to watch.

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It's All A Blur

I took a whirlwind trip to NYC this past weekend to see friends and family (not that the two are mutually exclusive), so my opportunities to photograph wildlife were somewhat reduced—not because there isn’t any nature in New York, but because I was generally too busy visiting people to take pictures outside. I did, however, enjoy hearing the sweet sounds of pigeon courtship coming from a window-sill:


And wandering through Central Park on my way to the A-line subway:


And on the train back to DC, I was able to appreciate what’s left of the fall foliage and to experiment with using slower shutter speeds to better illustrate the bright, flickering smear of color I saw out of the train window:



There were moments, too, when for just a second the sun would strike changing leaves at such an angle that it turned them into burning jewels, shards of stained glass, shattered fragments of light flaring up against the backdrop of ordinary trees—and for that instant, seeing them, I would be pierced with a feeling of exhilaration and incipient loss so clear that it was like being injected with the distillation of autumn.

But you can’t reproduce that.

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Everybody Itches

[cedar waxwing scratching its ear]

This observation is not, I acknowledge, particularly profound, but it does have the virtue of being true, and I have the photographic evidence to prove it. I never really thought about it myself until I started noticing just how many pictures I have of animals scratching. These were not deliberately acquired —I didn’t set out to collect photographs of scratching animals—and yet here they are. I can only conclude, therefore, that everyone itches—and can only speculate that it must be even worse for nonhuman animals than it is for us. Just imagine having none of the protection of clothes or insect repellent! –For someone who, as it is, gets mobbed by mosquitoes the minute she goes out her door, it doesn’t bear thinking about.



(I did try to come up with a better, punnier title for today’s entry, and I thought of a few, but I just couldn’t decide on one. Should it be “Life’s an Itch and then You Die”?


Or “From Scratch”?


Or “The Wicked Itch of the East”?


Or “A Scratch Made in Heaven”?


So hard to choose...