Tag Archives: Mourning Dove

Mangrove birds

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A Northern Cardinal among the mangroves? Wonders never cease.

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I was walking on this boardwalk next to a creek that flows into Manatee Pocket in Port Salerno a couple of days ago.

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I saw this immature cardinal hopping around in the mangroves with an adult. I guess cardinals really can live pretty much anywhere.

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Also in the mangroves: a Green Heron.

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Green Herons are common and widespread, but they can be hard to see at first. Whereas larger herons tend to stand prominently in open parts of wetlands, Green Herons tend to be at the edges, in shallow water, or concealed in vegetation. Visit a wetland and carefully scan the banks looking for a small, hunch-backed bird with a long, straight bill staring intently at the water.

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Across the creek, some sailboats. I am a collector of boat names and places.

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Did this one sail across the ocean??

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A short walk away, a large boat shed with a cool mural.

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Wikipedia Port Salerno

In the 1920s, a small settlement was created in the southern shores of St. Lucie river inlet. It was named “Salerno” because the main settlers were emigrants from the Italian city of Salerno.

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Also out for a walk, a couple of Mourning Doves.

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I do love a nice little stroll with my bird camera!

We ought to take outdoor walks, to refresh and raise our spirits by deep breathing in the open air. — Seneca

When the warblers were in town

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Wednesday morning I went out with my camera to see if the warblers that stopped over after the storms on Tuesday were still here. First, a cardinal in our driveway reminded me that resident birds are special too.

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Mourning dove on a morning walk through leaf litter.

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Red-bellied Woodpecker was dipping his beak into a giant white bird-of-paradise flower… for a drink of water? for insects?

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Black-throated Blue Warbler, a bird-photo first for me!

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A uniquely colored, midnight-blue bird of tangled understories, the male Black-throated Blue Warbler sings a relaxed, buzzy I-am-so-la-zee on warm summer days in Eastern hardwood forests. He’s aptly named, with a midnight blue back, sharp white belly, and black throat. The olive-brown females, while not as dramatically marked as the males, have a unique white square on the wing that readily separates them from other female warblers. This warbler breeds in the East and spends the winter in the Caribbean.

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Black-throated Blue in morning sun. Oh, you beauty.

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Another resident made an appearance on our fence, a Carolina Wren.

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In the banyan, a flash of color that can only be an American Redstart.

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Strike a redstart pose.

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Northern Parula, also a photo first for me.

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An acrobat.

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A small warbler of the upper canopy, the Northern Parula flutters at the edges of branches plucking insects. This bluish gray warbler with yellow highlights breeds in forests laden with Spanish moss or beard lichens, from Florida to the boreal forest, and it’s sure to give you “warbler neck.” It hops through branches bursting with a rising buzzy trill that pinches off at the end. Its white eye crescents, chestnut breast band, and yellow-green patch on the back set it apart from other warblers.

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I think this is a female or immature male Cape May Warbler.

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A few blocks from home, this big tree, banyan or strangler fig, was full of warblers.

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Northern Parula.

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  • Before this species received the name Northern Parula (a diminutive form of parus, meaning little titmouse), Mark Catesby, an English naturalist, called it a “finch creeper” and John James Audubon and Alexander Wilson called it a “blue yellow-backed warbler.”

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This Cape May Warbler was a bit disheveled. Molting?

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Like a teenager who just rolled out of bed.

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Northern Parula-palooza.

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Cape May.

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N.P.

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Cape May in a magnolia.

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Another Black-throated Blue Warbler.

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B-t B.

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That was a fine hour of bird watching.

Local doves

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Birds on a wire. I saw these Mourning Doves on a morning walk yesterday.

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A graceful, slender-tailed, small-headed dove that’s common across the continent. Mourning Doves perch on telephone wires and forage for seeds on the ground; their flight is fast and bullet straight. Their soft, drawn-out calls sound like laments. When taking off, their wings make a sharp whistling or whinnying.

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I see Mourning Doves regularly in my neighborhood, but not in large numbers. Just one or two, here and there.

Appreciating our daily dog walks

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A walk along the edge of the red maple swamp in our backyard, and a dove is watching us.

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Intrepid explorers are we. Snow and ice but the swamp is not all the way frozen yet. Soon.

Radar is 5 months old now. From our mudroom door out through the woods, to the field by the pond, then along a path as far as we can go into the red maple swamp and back is a half mile, a nice morning walk for the pup and us.

He knows the word “birds” and looks up to see them fly.

Autumn color

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Northern cardinal is molting.

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All About Birds: The Basics: Feather Molt

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For the past month or so, we have had more cardinals visiting the feeders than I remember being normal.

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Female cardinal and mourning dove.

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The weather has been very dry, but yesterday we had monsoon-like rainstorms. The autumn color has been lagging but maybe it will catch up now… and soon the leaves will “molt” too.

Dove time

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Evening is dove time.

They come and sit in the feeder, maybe nibbling a few seeds.

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They perch on the rim of the heated bird bath, sip a few sips, and sometimes sit right in the water like they are in a dove hot tub.

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They can be very still for a long time. Sometimes they face the sunset through the trees and seem to be watching and enjoying the last light.

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A peaceful bird is a peaceful sight, a visual lullaby before the night.

The mourning dove (Zenaida macroura) is a member of the dove family (Columbidae). The bird is also called the turtle dove or the American mourning dove or rain dove, and formerly was known as the Carolina pigeon or Carolina turtledove.

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The Dove announces the approach of spring. Nay, she does more:–she forces us to forget the chilling blasts of winter, by the soft and melancholy sound of her cooing. Her heart is already so warmed and so swelled by the ardour of her passion, that it feels as ready to expand as the buds on the trees are, under the genial influence of returning heat. – John James Audubon