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The Return of the Juncos Signals Fall Bird Feeding Time!

Northern Flicker on a window-mounted suet feeder (Colaptes auratus) Courtesy & Copyright Hilary Shughart, Photographer
Northern Flicker on a window-mounted suet feeder
(Colaptes auratus)
Courtesy & Copyright Hilary Shughart, Photographer
The distinctive calls of the Northern Flicker announce the arrival of fall here in northern Utah, and on cue, to too does the arrival of at least five subspecies of Dark-eyed Juncos. I’m always a little sad to see the last of what I think of as the bird-friendly coffee plantation birds of summer – the Black-chinned Hummingbirds, Lazuli Buntings, Western Tanagers, and Bullock’s Orioles, but I welcome the winter guests, and appreciate the drama they bring to my window feeders.

The seasonal changes in backyard birds is as exciting as the rare bird sightings because it is these changes and outliers which keep us alert, in tune, and connected to the world around us.
I often take breaks from supplemental feeding for by backyard birds over the summer, especially whenever there’s visitors with avian pox, but when the snowbirds return, it’s time to
fill the feeders with Black Oil Sunflower seeds, and this seasonal task is a way to stay grounded in a busy and sometimes unsettling world.

Black-capped Chickadee (Poecile atricapillus) Courtesy & Copyright Hilary Shughart, Photographer
Black-capped Chickadee
(Poecile atricapillus)
Courtesy & Copyright Hilary Shughart, Photographer

Though I live at the edge of town in the Wildland Urban Interface, I mostly enjoy the typical backyard songbirds such as the House Finch, American Goldfinch, Lesser Goldfinch, and Pine Siskins. Black-capped Chickadees come and go, as do Mountain Chickadees, and as others have been observing, there appear to be more higher elevation species coming to town for food – people are reporting Clark’s Nutcracker as a first in 17 years, as well as Steller’s Jays, and Woodhouse’s Scrub Jays.

Woodhouse's Scrub Jay, Aphelocoma woodhouseii, Courtesy & Copyright Hilary Shughart, Photographer
Woodhouse’s Scrub Jay
(Aphelocoma woodhouseii)
Courtesy & Copyright Hilary Shughart, Photographer

My most unusual sightings in the past few years have included a Red-headed Woodpecker, which I really doubted, knowing we are well out of their range, but when I found that there had been a number of sightings in Logan Canyon over the years, I stopped doubting myself, especially since there is no other bird which even remotely resembles that bright red head, white belly and black back. Another rare bird sighting was the White-headed Woodpecker, but, again, there’s just no other species with that solid white head, red nape patch, and black wings with white wing bar. For my backyard feeders, though, the Northern Flicker is the only woodpecker which returns and hangs around, sometimes for hours working on the suet, black oil sunflower seeds, and even the white millet.

For those new to bird watching, I highly recommend checking whether there’s a local Audubon chapter or other bird watching group with an annual wild bird seed sale fundraiser, and if nothing else, to consider providing water year round, and especially through the winter.

Canada Goose in my backyard, (Branta canadensis), Courtesy & Copyright Hilary Shughart, Photographer
Canada Goose in my backyard
(Branta canadensis)
Courtesy & Copyright Hilary Shughart, Photographer

Don’t forget to keep an eye out for the birds which may visit your garden if not your feeders – during migration there may even be the distinctive rattle of an overhead herd of Sandhill Cranes, or the honks from a flock of Canada Geese. This was the first time in 15 years I had a Canada Goose in my backyard, and I was recently visited by a Sage Thrasher, which are ground foraging insectivores, and when the light catches them just right as evening approaches, I can see small groups of Tree Swallows, busy aerial insectivores, catching their dinner on the wing.

I’m Hilary Shughart with the Bridgerland Audubon Society, and I am Wild About Feeding Utah’s Backyard Birds!

Credits:

Images: Courtesy & Copyright Hilary Shughart, Photographer
Featured Audio: Courtesy & Copyright © Kevin Colver, https://wildstore.wildsanctuary.com/collections/special-collections/kevin-colver
Voice & Text: Hilary Shughart, President, https://bridgerlandaudubon.org/
Additional Reading: Lyle Bingham, https://bridgerlandaudubon.org/

Additional Reading:

WildAboutUtah pieces by Hilary Shughart, https://wildaboututah.org/author/hilary-shughart/

Procure Bird Seed from local Audubon Chapters:
Great Salt Lake Audubon
Bridgerland Audubon
Other Statewide Birding Groups

Shughart, Hilary, To Grow Your Own Bird Food, Native Plants Are Key!, Wild About Utah, April 12, 2021, https://wildaboututah.org/native-plants-are-key/

Kervin, Linda, Bird Feeding, Wild About Utah, November 25, 2008, https://wildaboututah.org/bird-feeding/

Kervin, Linda, Cane, Jim, Feed the Birds, Wild About Utah, December 1, 2011, https://wildaboututah.org/feed-the-birds/

Liberatore, Andrea, Dark-eyed Juncos, Wild About Utah, January 12, 2012, https://wildaboututah.org/dark-eyed-juncos/

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High Uintas

Joseph with his lab Blue and black lab Jesi after the Uintas hunt for White-tailed Ptarmigan Courtesy & Copyright Joseph Kozlowski, Photographer
Joseph with his lab Blue and black lab Jesi after the Uintas hunt for White-tailed Ptarmigan
Courtesy & Copyright Joseph Kozlowski, Photographer

Camping in the High Uintah’s is never easy. Due to the rugged landscape and high elevations, every trip offers its own unique adventure. On this occasion, my long-time hunting buddy and two labs, after a 4-mile hike with 2000 feet of vertical climb, were setting up tents in the dark with pelting graupel, lightning, and rain, at nearly 11,000 feet elevation. After getting the dogs and gear under a second rain fly we bring for just these occasions, we scrambled into our tent for a long, lightning-rattling type of Night.

The alarm began its rude song at 4 AM. We woke, worked on our gear, and made our way out of the tent to be greeted by the endless galaxies above. Those black mornings in the mountains, warming water for oatmeal and an instant cup of joe over a single burner portable stove, preparing to take off into the night, are cherished memories never forgotten.

We had our gear, guns, and dogs, and under the dim glow of headlights, started up the mountain towards the peak.

Sun barely began to illuminate shadowy surfaces when we reached our destination. We had come on this High Uintah adventure with two goals in mind, one being this. We had come to look for elk.

Elk are crepuscular, meaning they are most active in the morning and evening, so we needed the right vantage point at the right time of day. It wasn’t long after the east-facing hills slowly gained contrast and color that we started seeing elk. Nearly all of them enjoyed the steep slopes of the mountainsides, rather than valley bottoms. We watched as they meandered through the vegetation and lazily ate as they soaked in the morning rays. At about 9:00 AM, when most of the elk had found their way to timbered cover, it was time to pursue our next goal, which was why we had my two trusty dogs by my side.

Bouldery Slope of the Uintas with Snow Courtesy & Copyright Joseph Kozlowski, Photographer
Bouldery Slope of the Uintas with Snow
Courtesy & Copyright Joseph Kozlowski, Photographer

As we slowly worked back down the bouldery slopes of the peak and the terrain turned to rocky plains with short willow, I prepared myself, my friend, and my dogs. I knew this was going to be our best chance, and it didn’t take long for my suspicions to be realized. My older and wiser black lab named Josi alerted me of strangers as we approached the first patch of shin-high willows. Her nose went down, her pace quickened, and her fast jerky movements gave me no doubt that it was time. And, like flashes of white lightning in a clear sky, they were in the air, flying this way and that, dogs chasing and yipping at tail feathers, shotguns raising and blasting. After the moment settled, only one of the elusive birds had been brought down and my younger lab, Blue, was proudly pouncing to bring back the mottled white and brown bird in his slobbery mouth.

Joseph holding a White-tailed Ptarmigan while his Lab Blue ensures the bird is secure Courtesy & Copyright Joseph Kozlowski, Photographer
Joseph holding a White-tailed Ptarmigan while his Lab Blue ensures the bird is secure
Courtesy & Copyright Joseph Kozlowski, Photographer

The bird was a White-Tailed Ptarmigan, a prize upland bird that few hunters have ever seen. Biologists introduced about 50 of these birds to Utah in the mid-1970s as an experiment to see if they could establish a successful population, and the experiment was a success. Ever since, Utah’s High Uintah Mountains have been one of the only places in the lower 48 states where one has a reasonable chance to see the magical bird, a bird who loves the cold, high places, rocks, and willows.

The day continued, and although the fickle weather constantly changed from snow, to rain, to lightning, to blowing, to sun, and to graupel, we were successful in harvesting a few more birds from the majestic landscape.

As we finally made our way back toward camp, tired, wet, and carrying a few hard-earned birds, I found myself thinking less about what we had harvested and more about our experience. Hunting, to me, has been a way to experience nature more fully. It has taken me to wild places I would never otherwise have been, introduced me to natural phenomena I might have overlooked, and has helped me build relationships with people, places, and animals, that have positively shaped my life. There is something about spending a day trying to understand wild animals that changes my appreciation for the world, from the elk moving across the slopes, to the ptarmigan flashing through the alpine air; they all become part of the living landscape, and this may be what keeps calling me back; the opportunity to slow down, pay attention, and appreciate the remarkable beauty and wonder of a world that is so much bigger than myself.

This is Dr. Joseph Kozlowski, and I am wild about Utah!

Credits:

Images: Courtesy & Copyright Joseph Kozlowski, Photographer, Used by Permission
Featured Audio: J. Chase and K.W. Baldwin and lwdickens (freesound.org)
Text: Joseph Kozlowski, Edith Bowen Laboratory School, Utah State University https://edithbowen.usu.edu/
Additional Reading Links: Joseph Kozlowski & Lyle Bingham

Additional Reading:

White-tailed PtarmiganLagopus leucura, All About Birds, The Cornell Lab of Ornithology, https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/White-tailed_Ptarmigan/overview

Locating ptarmigans in the Uinta Mountains, Utah Division of Wildlife Resources, https://wildlife.utah.gov/ptarmigan

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Bees in the backyard

Richard Nelson and Mary Heers Inspecting Honeybee Hives Courtesy & Copyright Mary Heers, Photographer
Richard Nelson and Mary Heers Inspecting Honeybee Hives
Courtesy & Copyright Mary Heers, Photographer
In the wild, a swarm of bees looking for a new home will often settle into a hollow in a tree. In some Cache Valley backyards, however. some bees will be quite content to move into a white 12×8 inch box sitting a few inches off the ground.

This is how my friend Richard got started keeping bees in his backyard with a single box full of worker honeybees and a queen.

Richard’s worker bees got busy building an interior wall of wax. This wall is an engineering marvel of tightly packed hexagonal cells that allow the bees to create the maximum amount of storage space with the minimum amount of wax.

While the interior walls were going up, other bees flew out of the bottom of the hive and into the flowering alfalfa fields nearby. The bees returned to the hive with bellies full of sugary nectar. The bees seemed to be thriving. Richard added another box.

Now, five years later, Richard has six hives and is harvesting gallons of honey. This year I invited myself over to watch the honey harvest.

We both suited up in bee suits. Richard lifted the top off one of the boxes. The bees were not pleased. The buzzing took on an angry edge as they flew right at us. I was very, very glad I was wearing the bee suit. I leaned in to get a better look and was surprised to see the bees had laid down a thin layer of wax capping the honey filled hexagonal cells. They had created a honey storage facility completely protected from moisture and air.

Bees are the only insect that produce wax. People that study bees tell us the honeybees secrete 8 tiny drops of wax out of their abdomen every 12 hours. The drops solidify into tiny flakes which the bees gather up. It takes 11,000 flakes to make 1 gram of wax. The bees keep the temperature inside the hive between 92-95 degrees Fahrenheit, so the wax stays flexible.

Later, when Richard got the harvested honey into his workshop, I watched him scrape off the layer of capping wax before putting the honey trays in the centrifuge. “Not to worry,” he said. He’d save the wax and make candles out of it later. Beeswax candles are ideal because they produce very little soot as well a few ions that help clean the air.

In 2013 the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris put 3 hives on their rooftop so they could make clean burning candles that could be lit inside the church.

Richard and I didn’t see the queen during the harvest, but Richard assured me she was there. Without a queen bee, the hive ceases to function. When Richard lost a queen awhile back, he quickly ordered one on the internet. The queen arrived in a small wood box (about the size of a matchbox) with a candy cork. It was up to the worker bees to open the box by chewing through the cork. Then, after the bees accepted the queen into their hive, they got to work feeding her an exclusive diet of Royal Jelly – something they produced out of their heads. In return the queen laid 1,500 eggs each day.

The queen becomes the mother of most if not all the bees in the hive. All the worker bees are female. Any drone lucky enough to mate with a virgin queen drops dead immediately afterwards. It’s a matriarchal society all the way.

I wonder if Brigham Young and the early pioneers knew this when they put the bee on the Utah flag in 1847.

This is Mary Heers and I’m Wild About Utah

Credits:

Images Courtesy & Copyright Mary Heers, Photographer, US NPS, Pixabay and Wikimedia
Featured Audio: Courtesy & Copyright Anderson, Howe, and Wakeman.
Text: Mary Heers, https://cca.usu.edu/files/awards/art-and-mary-heers-citation.pdf
Additional Reading: Lyle Bingham, https://bridgerlandaudubon.org/

Additional Reading

Wild About Utah, Mary Heers’ Postings

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A Close Encounter of the Cricket Kind

Jerusalem Cricket (Orthoptera: Stenopelmatidae) Courtesy & Copyright Marty Reeder, Photographer
Jerusalem Cricket
(Orthoptera: Stenopelmatidae)
Courtesy & Copyright Marty Reeder, Photographer
“Dad, what kind of bug is this?”

Normally, I try not to get distracted when going up as steep an incline as the Wellsville Mountains—stopping and starting again is as much work as slowly plodding on—but, I decided that a side quest to look at a bug might give me an excuse for a much-needed breather. Besides, I probably did the same when my dad took my siblings and me with him on hikes up the Wellsvilles when we were little. He sure loved those mountains, and the long hike gave him an excuse to dispense little morsels of life wisdom along the way.

When I approached the spot the kids were huddled, I was expecting to supply some wisdom myself on this bug.

A second later, I stood perplexed. I was looking at an insect I had never seen before. The bug was the size of my thumb and shifted awkwardly in what little dirt could be found just below the bare ridge of the Wellsvilles. Its dark abdomen was covered in scaled layers that became light on the edges, making it look something like the stripes of a bee. Unlike a bee, it had no stinger or wings. Its head was the size of a small cherry, with the color similar—an off-red or even orange. The six yellow, almost translucent, legs were hefty enough to support the massive body.

The kids repeated their question. My first instinct, thanks to the tones of red and orange and never seeing anything like it before, made me want to quip that it was clearly from Mars. I checked myself when thinking how this comment would compare to the boundless wisdom of my dad. In a moment of rare restraint, I told them that I had no idea and would have to research it. I snapped a photo, and we continued our march.

After surviving the Wellsvilles, I searched and discovered that we had observed a Jerusalem Cricket. Information on these insects is almost as scarce as a cricket sighting itself, so I decided to talk to someone with more experience.

Doctor James Pitt, an entomologist at Utah State who studies mathematical population models of various insect species, assured me that not only is the Jerusalem Cricket not from Jerusalem, it’s not even a cricket. Maybe my Martian bug idea was not too far off!

And while I thought its large and exotic, bee-like appearance signified danger, Dr. Pitt said that it was probably harmless unless provoked into a bite. I gathered from him that it was not prone to the large scale booms and busts of other locust-type insects—it was not even of the same family as those swarming pests. Instead, this is a bug that lives fairly solitary life cycles, mainly staying underground and only coming up occasionally. It seems as though our daytime sighting, and up in this high mountain environment of rocks and little vegetation, was somewhat rare. How did that cricket end up in such a place?

I decided to keep researching. Facts about females cannibalizing the males after mating or being known for feeding on potatoes did little to explain its presence on this high point (unless we were looking at a male determined to live a hermit-like bachelor life?). Besides, there were no potatoes on the Wellsvilles, and even the potato farmers I talked to were just as curious about this insect as I was. Chalk up another tally for Martian origins!

Still, I was not ready to give up. The more I learned, the more clear it was that, as foreign as the Jerusalem Cricket was to our modern heritage, some cultures with deeper roots in the region are much more familiar with it. Native Americans, ranging from the Yuma to the Navajo to the Hopi all included legends associated with the Jerusalem Cricket. I realized that my ignorance of them might have had more to do with what one article mentioned: urban development and roads tend to hamper these soil-burrowing and wingless bugs more than other, more mobile insects, limiting their range and visibility to people like us.

Thinking back to the moment my kids and I crowded around the Jerusalem Cricket, I started to feel as if the alien nature of this close encounter had more to do with us than the cricket. Perhaps we had something to learn from this subtle but persevering veteran of the West.

While learning about the Jerusalem Cricket helped provide me with this important perspective, it still did not reveal the mystery of what this particular cricket was doing way up on the Wellsville Mountain Range.

I just about gave up on making sense of the cricket’s location—hadn’t I learned enough by now? However, I thought I would read one more academic work before wrapping up. I discovered that the Hopi created figurines and masks of the Jerusalem Cricket for rituals, and they equated it with certain human-like traits. To them, the cricket represented human runners or racers, particularly over long distances. This was more in relation to their ceremonies, since Jerusalem Crickets barely achieve more than a crawl at the best of times, but the comparison stuck out strongly to me.

My mind went back to the Wellsvilles Ridge. I remembered that, when I was still very young, my dad participated in a Wellsville Ridge Race—a long distance run that went from one end of the Wellsvilles to the other. He would later go on to be the Cross Country Coach at Utah State for decades and just before he passed away over ten years ago, Utah State named their distance course after him and my mom: The Steve & Dona Reeder Cross Country Course. He is a distance running icon.

What was the Jerusalem Cricket doing up there? Something in me now thinks that perhaps the Wellsvilles are a place where distance runners go to dispense wisdom and perspective. I am glad that on the high slopes of the Wellsville Mountains, I got to have one of those runners give me wisdom for living life respectfully and responsibly. And I am glad to later meet another “runner” that offered perspective on the long legacy and hardy endurance of the wildlife that surrounds us.

I am Marty Reeder and my kids and I, and I’d like to think my dad, are all Wild About Utah.

Credits:

Image: Courtesy and Copyright Marty Reeder, Photographer
Featured Audio: Courtesy and Copyright Anderson, Howe, and Wakeman
Text: Marty Reeder, https://skyview.ccsdut.org/
Additional Reading: Marty Reeder and Lyle Bingham, https://bridgerlandaudubon.org/

Additional Reading

Wild About Utah Pieces by Marty Reeder

Stoffolano, John G., Jr., and Barton Wright. “Sösööpa—Jerusalem Cricket: An Important Insect in the Hopi Katsina Pantheon.” American Entomologist 51, no. 3 (2005): 174–79. https://doi.org/10.1093/ae/51.3.174.

Strand, Holly. “Cricket or Cootie?” Wild About Utah. October 17, 2013. https://wildaboututah.org/cricket-or-cootie/.

Weissman, David B., Amy G. Vandergast, and Norihiro Ueshima. “Jerusalem Crickets (Orthoptera: Stenopelmatidae).” In Encyclopedia of Entomology, edited by John L. Capinera, 2nd ed., 2054–61. Dordrecht: Springer, 2008. https://www.amazon.com/Encyclopedia-Entomology-Set-John-Capinera/dp/1402062427/

Weissman, David B. “JERUSALEM! CRICKET? (Orthoptera: Stenopelmatidae: Stenopelmatus); Origins of a Common Name.” American Entomologist 51, no. 3 (2005): 138–139. https://doi.org/10.1093/ae/51.3.138.