Figure 1 – Tree swallow chicks in the nest, Fresh Pond Reservation, Cambridge, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2015.

When you photograph birds, you never know what you are going to get. Some days it’s nothing and some days it can be really exciting. Yesterday I was rewarded for my efforts.  I was walking along the path at Fresh Pond. Because of the need to protect both the vegetation and the water supply a lot of the trees are behind fences.  I spotted a pair of tree swallows (Tachycineta bicolor ) visiting a hole (haven’t figured out whether these are natural or man-made) in one of these trees about ten feet above me, and then was amazed to see the chicks peeping away with mouths open.  I was delighted to get these photographs, Figure 1 being an example.  I was trebled by the intense white sky in the background; so I did two things.  First, I maximized the tree in the frame and second I used the in-camera flash to provide fill-flash for the image. Yes I know that this is a cute cuddly animal photograph.  But I am allowed when they are my own!

Canon T2i with EF70-200mm f/4L USM lens at 168 mm, on-camera flash metering, ISO 1600, Aperture Priority AE mode, 1/200th sec at f/9.0 with no exposure compensation.

Figure 1 – Baltimore Oriole (male) – Icterus galbula, Black’s Nook, Fresh Pond Reservation, Cambridge, MA.

One of the most dramatic of New England birds is the Baltimore oriole – Icterus galbula – especially the males. The vivid orange contrasted with black and white is simply spectacular. In my walks this spring at Fresh Pond Reservation I have come upon two mating pair one in Black’s Nook and the other at Little Fresh Pond by the “dog beach.” The male shown in Figure 1 is from the Black’s Nook pair. He actually posed for several shots and this was the best in terms of composition and background. I am not quite satisfied by the sharpness, probably because the exposure was just one over the ISO.  But, I seldom am.

He’s got a little caterpillar in his mouth. This means that there are baby birds somewhere. I really need to go back and see if I can spot the woven hanging nest.

Why are they called Baltimore Orioles and does this have anything to do with baseball. They got their name because their orange and black colorations is reminiscint fo the heraldic crest of England’s Baltimore family, The City of Baltimore is named after this family (who also gave their name to Maryland’s largest city). The baseball team is, of course, named after the bird.

Canon T2i with EF70-200mm f/4L USM lens at 140 mm, ISO 1600, Aperture Priority AE mode 1/160 th sec at f/7.1 with no exposure compensation.

Figure 1 – Fledgling black-capped chickadee preparing to fly, Black’s Nook, Fresh Pond Reservation, Cambridge, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2015.

Last week I was along the path at Black’s Nook when I noticed activity around a hole in the trunk of a tree. Two black-capped chickadees were carrying goodies (by bird definition) caterpillars and the like, to this hole. The pair was anxious that I chase them through the woods, but I remained, maintaining a social distance. I noticed that little bird heads kept popping up to the front of the hole. These were fledglings that were ready to test their wings, but a bit wary of the big guy with the camera. Every once in a while they would give out a baby bird, open mouthed peep.  I took a number of photographs of one of these fledglings in rapid succession, but then departed not wanting to draw attention to the nest to some less benign figure.

I reached the gate of Black’s Nook when I heard a flutter. Turning I saw the very uncertain flight of this little bird across the path onto a branch. He seemed very proud of himself. And sitting on that branch with his mouth closed the young fledgling seemed very adult indeed.

Having walked along this same path a few months ago when the temperatures were frigid and the snow covered walk precarious, I have a great appreciation of the struggle that these birds face each day trying to survive – to survive with the biological emphasis of species preservation. Their behavior is so marvelously instinctual, literally programed in their DNA. Baby chicks in the nest are terribly vulnerable, and this flight across the path is an important step towards independence and survival, ultimately to carry the program to its logical end of producing the next generation. And as precarious as their little lives may seem to us, it is significant and humbling to realize that birds appear to have evolved from the theropod dinosaurs over 200 million years ago.  I even get the privilege of quoting Sir T. H. Huxley here:

“We have had to stretch the definition of the class of birds so as to include birds with teeth and birds with paw-like fore limbs and long tails. There is no evidence that Compsognathus possessed feathers; but, if it did, it would be hard indeed to say whether it should be called a reptilian bird or an avian reptile.”^[4]

On Earth the birds are remarkably successful species, and we have to wonder whether they will be tweeting long after we and our cell phones are gone.

Canon T2i with EF70-200mm f/4L USM lens at 200 mm, ISO 1600, 1/80th sec at f/8.0 with no exposure compensation.

Figure 1 – Memento mori, detail on a eighteenth century gravestone, Concord, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2015.

Memento mori is reflection on death.  A couple of weeks ago I spoke about photographing everyday things that are becoming obsolete.  Then I read this past week that the British government was selling its remaining 20 % share in the Royal Mail.  This is a nod to modernism if ever I heard one.  The establishment of the Royal Mail was an important part, in the nineteenth century, of what historian Paul Johnson has referred to as “the birth of the modern.” So really shouldn’t be a surprise to find ourselves a century and a half later redefining the modern.  The drones are coming, and you can look at your local postal person, mail boxes, and mail delivery trucks with a certain sense of nostalgia.

It all came home to me this week, when I had to mail a letter at work.  We are a very technology-forward office and I grumbled a bit at how difficult it was to produce the letter in the first place. The use of paper at the office is eschewed with a certain modernistic, almost religious, zeal – much like the crusades of the Middle Ages. But after resorting to bringing in printable labels from home and figuring out just how to position them correctly in the printer, I did accomplish the task at hand.. Yes, I found the printer under a layer of neglectful dust.  I did not however find an admin to do this for me. He/she is also rapidly become an anachronism in the modern office. There it was in my hand a beautifully printed letter in a properly labelled envelope.

Stamps?  You want stamps?

So now to hoof it to the Post Office, where I found two talkative clerks. I was the only patron in there, and I was presented with a host of stamp options. These were not the beautifully engraved stamps of my youth, but much lesser objects that reflect the general trend to appeal to collectors, who need turn over to create elusive and false rarity. The general concept being that if people aren’t going to mail letters with stamps maybe someone wants to collect them.

It all, as I said, got me thinking – grumble, grumble, grumble. But then I it all dawned on me. I have been at my job for almost a year now, and this was the first time in a year that I actually needed to mail a letter. Bring on the drones. The epitaph, after all, is written on the eighteenth century gravestones all over New England: “Memento mori,” reflect on death.

Canon T2i with EF70-200mm f/4L USM lens at 73 mm, ISO 1600, Aperture Priority AE mode, 1/200th sec at f/8.0 2ith no exposure compensation.

Figure 1 – Red-winged black bird, Fresh Pond Reserve, Cambridge, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2015.

The red-wings have been squawking up a full force storm along Fresh Pond.  I read somewhere that in 1977 there was a stable population of 180 million of them in North America.  Mostly though, what with rearing their fledglings they have little time to fill out census reports.  They figure prominently in Henry David Thoreau’s “Walden,” where he speaks fondly of them in the woods around Walden Pond, which is not too far from Fresh Pond and also a kettle pond.

I have been trying to get a decent photograph of a male for some time.  There’s always something wrong with the shot, and often this relates to a ruffled “abnormal” appearance.  In fact this is quite normal, an agitated and aggressive display, meant for other males. It is, in fact, difficult being a red-wing male. The birds live in loose colonies and the polygynous male typical defends up to ten females. The females however are often polyandrous and when they lay clutches of four to five eggs they often have mixed paternity.

So the cause of all this noise is now clear. Last Friday I ran into this fellow perched on a fence and managed a few snaps before he flew off to attempt to maintain order in his harem.  When I looked over my images, I started to wonder who was watching whom.  Most birds are either wary or indifferent  to the bird photographer. But this fellow seemed more curious.  Perhaps he mistook his reflection in my lens for another male.

Canon T2I with EF70-200mm f/4L USM at 200 mm, ISO 1660, Aperture Priority AE mode, 1/100 th sec at f/8.0 with no exposure compensation.

Figure 1 – House sparrow (female), Fresh Pond Reserve, Cambridge, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2015.

Bird photography can be different from other forms of photography in that it has a cataloguing element to it, that is the desire to photograph every species at a given location. That’s great because it is almost invariably an impossible task – and there is nothing more humbling than attempting the impossible.  Hmm! This also leads to the view that no bird is too common or too plain to be worthy of portraying.  You know, like the phrase: “All children are special!” 

In that context, I have been trying to find the right opportunity and setting to get a good portrait of the common house sparrow, Passer domesticus, and on Friday took the photograph of Figure 1 of a representative female in a bush at Fresh Pond. Sparrows are pretty tolerant of you are walking along. But I find that as soon as you stop and raise camera to eye they beat wings.

Despite their ubiguity, the house sparrow is not native to North America.  They’re just a highly successful species.  They were in fact introduced to North America in 1852 upon the release of several specimens from England. Indeed, one of the reasons for its introduction around the world is an association of the sparrow with homeland.

 Not a whit, we defy augury. There is special providence in
the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to
come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come—the
readiness is all. Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows what is’t
to leave betimes, let be.

Hamlet Act 5, scene 2, 217–224

Canon T2i with EF70-200mm f/4L USM lens at 176 mm, ISO 1600, Aperture Priority AE mode, 1/160th sec at f/8.0 with no exposure compensation.