Knapweed and the Goldfinch

Spotted knapweed is a plant native to Europe and Asia. It was introduced to North America in the 1890s as a contaminant in agricultural seed and through soil discarded from ships' ballast. The species has become a serious problem of pastures and rangeland in the western United States. Here it seems to be found primarily as scattered individual plants on disturbed sites.

Spotted knapweed flowers somewhat resemble a small thistle: pale red-blue flowers on branched stems. Pollinated flowers produce an abundance of small seeds with a fluffy tuft that helps the wind disperse the seeds.

In the restored grassland through which I was walking there were scattered plants of spotted knapweed, some were in bloom but most had already produced seeds.

A flash of color caught my eye – it was a male American goldfinch busily feeding on knapweed seed by picking apart the dry flower heads, first discarding the white fluff –

He moved to another spot on the many-branched plant -

And I moved on.

Ruben

Bill and I were sitting on his back porch discussing the fields that had been pastures for the steers he raised but are now growing walnut saplings and autumn olive shrubs. Hanging from the porch’s roof beam are six hummingbird feeders.

As we sat there, the hum of ruby-throated hummingbirds coming to, and fighting over, the feeders was almost constant. How many hummingbirds were there? Because they were constantly coming and going to and from the lilac shrub and the mulberry tree to zip around the feeders, they were impossible to count but there were probably between ten and 12, maybe even more.

Here at home we have one feeder out front and another on the back of the house outside the kitchen window. As near as we can tell there are about a half dozen hummingbirds using our feeders.

There are one, probably two, adult males, several females or juveniles, including at least one immature male that aggressively guards the front feeder. He’s been nicknamed “Ruben” as we once nicknamed an adult male “Ruby” who was featured in an older post.

On a rainy afternoon that young male perched on a branch in our recently planted river birch. He made repeated forays to chase off any of the other hummingbirds that ventured near “his” feeder. When things were quiet he preened, rested and kept watch for interlopers.

On his throat were the beginnings of his ruby red gorget, depending on the light those few feathers either looked like black spots or glowed orange-red –

This post was drafted last week, within the last several days Ruben and his fellow ruby-throated hummingbirds appear to have left us to begin their journey south to spend the winter in warmer climes with blooming flowers – Bill's have left too. Their journey often includes a 20-hour over-water flight across almost 500 miles of the Gulf of Mexico – amazing given the tiny size of these birds. If he survives until next year he may return to our yard.

Dreamin'

At the end of summer, after temperatures had been in the 90s in July, I couldn’t help but remember and dream of days of low temperatures and deep snow. Now a lot of people think that a winter with little snow and mild temperatures is a good winter, but they are wrong! wrong! wrong!

Why are they wrong? They’re wrong because many of our steams depend on spring snowmelt for their water supply,

 

Because our native brook trout depend on those streams' cold, clean water,

Because tree seedlings are protected from the browsing of overabundant deer by deep snow,

Because many plants’ seeds have an internal dormancy that is best broken by a long period of cold temperatures.

I also have selfish reasons for liking cold and snow: I’d rather clear snow than mow grass, 

I can follow the wanderings of wildlife by their tracks in the snow,

I can get warm more easily than I can cool off, and I’ve always enjoyed traveling on skis and snowshoes,

Yup, I like cold and snow –

And I’m not the only one –

But now the winters aren’t as cold and what snow there is doesn’t last as long and it’s likely to get worse – thanks to the changing climate.

Fawns and More

White-tailed deer usually have their fawns during the first two weeks of June, but some are born earlier and some later depending on when the does were impregnated. By the time the fawns are a week old they’re quite mobile, easily able to outrun all but the fastest humans.

These are July’s videos from a camera trap on the hill above the house. The video features a pair of white-tail fawns born to a doe who’s been our neighbor for several years. Last year she had twins as well, a female and a male. The young female still spends time with her mother, but the young buck is on his own and will soon disperse to establish a new home range some distance away.

Toward the end of July this year's fawns were still nursing but their mother was starting to put them off because nursing two fawns is more of a drain on her energy than are pregnancy, winter weather or either of the two annual molts. When the fawns are about ten weeks old the doe will be ready to fully wean them so she can molt and have the resources to grow an insulating winter coat.

Also by the end of July the fawns were beginning to lose their camouflaging spots since they’ll soon be able to outrun most predators.

Here they are, the fawns and the others that appeared in front of the camera in June and July–

 

The camera is back in place to see what other wildlife appears and to watch the fawns grow as the seasons pass.