Getting Intimate With Gallinules

Back behind the busy winter beaches, Common Gallinules (aka moorhens) go about their lives largely undisturbed. Except when prying photographers invade their space, and maybe get overly involved in their family business. 

 Last November, I was sitting quietly near a flooded wetland area, after a couple of weeks of rain. You might think that’s a messy place to have a meditative moment, and in fact I later realized that the log I was sitting on was full of termites (when they started crawling on my legs). But some birds prefer hidden, muddy places like this, and it has become one of my favorite birding and resting spots. Though it’s better if I bring something to sit on. 

 

After a little while two gallinules came into view from different directions, and I noticed that they were approaching each other. Since I had my camera with me, I thought it would be good to get a picture of two of them together, with their bright red bills and face shields.   

 

When they met up, they seemed to quietly bow to each other. 

 

 

Then after about a minute or so he put his foot on her back and began to climb up. Oh. Even with a telephoto lens, behind some bushes, I felt like I was maybe intrusive. They didn’t seem to notice me though, and I didn’t want to disturb them, so I stayed put and observed their intimate moment. (And then, of course, I couldn’t resist putting the photos in the newspaper.) 


 

 

After a few weeks I returned and started looking around for their nest, since the eggs usually hatch after about 3 weeks, and gallinule nests are sometimes pretty much out in the open and easy to spot. 

 

 

When the gallinule chicks are very small, they stay in the nest under the protection of the mother’s feathers. They have dark, fluffy feathers and red bills, and are partially bald, with red patches on the tops of their heads. Both parents feed and care for them. But very soon the chicks were ready to come out and start swimming around the pond, foraging with their parents. 

 

 

As it happened, by the time the chicks emerged the small pond was almost entirely covered with tiny, floating aquatic plants. It looked at first like green algae but was actually a type of duckweed. It didn’t seem like a good environment for the little chicks to try to swim through. However, it turned out that the gallinules liked to eat the tiny green plants, and swam through them easily, gobbling up the weeds as they went along.     

 

By early February the chicks were getting pretty big. Their bills had turned yellowish, and their feathers had grown in, now gray and brown, with no bald spots. They seemed to be thriving on the duckweed, and were almost as large as their parents.  

 

 

 

When I returned in late February, the pond water had cleared. Did they eat all those little plants? 

 

The chicks were close to being adults now, but still seemed to be pestering their parents for food. Or maybe just arguing, like teenagers do. 

 

 

The next step towards adulthood is to grow dark feathers, and a red shield above the bill, which is the trademark look for Common Gallinules. 

 

 

The shields may provide some protection to the birds’ heads, but will also swell up and get redder and shinier during breeding season, in part to attract mates. Fortunately, the birds don’t seem to mind that their red heads also attract curious pond paparazzi. 



















 

The Birds and Bees, and Love in the Trees

 

A Pearly-eyed Thrasher holding out a Ginger Thomas petal 

 

Even the birds offer gifts of love, while native bees embrace their favorite flowers. 


A female carpenter bee embraces a Ginger Thomas flower 

  

For people, flowers are widely viewed as symbols of romance, whereas birds and the bees are more often associated with learning about the mechanics of human reproduction. Which is quite odd because neither birds nor bees have all that much in common with humans when it comes to sexual reproduction.

 

It’s true that, like people, certain types of birds do form pair bonds with their mates that are enduring and look pretty romantic. 

 

A Common Ground Dove couple smooching

 

 

Some birds may also engage in frequent and enthusiastic reproductive activities. However the actual mechanics are not the same as for humans.  

 


American Kestrels mate enthusiastically 

 


And they more often demonstrate their devotion with gifts of food rather than flowers. 

 

A male kestrel offers his mate a mouse 

 

 

Meanwhile, for the large, black female carpenter bees mating is a once in a lifetime thing. They will seek out the smaller brown males for a brief liaison, but do not engage in any long-term bonding. 

 

Instead, these bees are intimately involved in the mechanics of plants’ sexual reproduction, carrying packages of male pollen to female receptors in flowers, facilitating the development of seeds, and new plants. 

 

The intimacy of this co-dependence is often touching to see. 

 

Female carpenter bees will wrap themselves in a tight embrace around the pollen-laden stamens of the passionfruit flowers. In exchange for pollination services, the flowers offer food for the bees, and for their offspring.


A Passionfruit flower attracts a female carpenter bee 

 


The smaller Canker Berry flowers also receive enthusiastic hugs from the female carpenter bees.  

A female carpenter bee hugs a canker berry flower

 


 

Some birds have special pollination relationships with particular flowers as well. The shape and colors of the heliconia flowers are specially adapted to attract hummingbirds. And don’t they look gorgeous together. 

 

A Green-throated Carib hummingbird with a heliconia flower

 

I’m not exactly sure what lessons we should be learning from watching the birds and the bees, but it certainly is entertaining to look and wonder.  

    

 

















 

 

Building Community by Looking for Birds

St. John birdwatchers (l-r) Nancy Senger, Oskar Beasley-Lassen (holding Nancy’s cane), Victoria Beasley and Gail Karlsson (Photo Nancy Borowick)



The annual December bird count on St. John is one of my favorite activities. It is sponsored by the Virgin Islands Audubon Society, and represents our local contribution to a widespread ‘citizen science’ bird census that was started by the National Audubon Society in 1900. The reports we file on our bird sightings are put together with others from across the Western Hemisphere and the results are used to support a variety of research and conservation activities.   

 

The bird count on St. John brings together a loose group of bird lovers, some of whom snoop around in hidden ponds, or scan offshore islands by boat. Others stay closer to home and report on bird sightings in various neighborhoods around the island. The information helps us get a sense of how well the different birds are doing. (I was first invited to join a bird count walk 25 years ago by my neighbor Beverly Biziewski, who recently passed away, and will be greatly missed.) 

 

Laurel Brannick, who was a National Park Ranger on St. John for 30 years, has been leading the count team, and tries to get people organized to cover as much territory as possible, including  some of the offshore cays. There were 44 counters this time, compared to 33 last year. Some people walked out alone or looked from home, while others paired up, or went around in a small group. 

 

The count team reported 66 different types of birds. The species with the highest number was the Gray Kingbird again (244 total, compared to 236 the year before). Several of us showed up at the dock in Coral Bay at daybreak near where many of the Gray Kingbirds roost for the night. When the sun came up, we counted the birds as they flew up and went off to search for breakfast.  

 

Gray Kingbirds fly out from the tops of trees to catch insects

 


Gray Kingbirds can be seen all around St. John. Also Bananaquits, which had the second highest number counted (167), though this was relatively low compared to the past couple of years, probably due to the rainy weather. The pesky, fruit-stealing Pearly-eyed Thrashers (122) are also widespread. Whether you realize it or not, these birds often share your space and provide a background of natural sounds you can hear during the day. 

 

Some common birds perch on treetops, or the power lines outside your house, including Scaly-naped Pigeons (who, hoo, hoo, hooooo), White-winged Doves (who cooks for you), and Zenaida Doves (who are you you you). The forest-dwelling Bridled Quail-Doves (who-whooo) are much more reclusive. 

 

Brown-throated Parakeets (also known as St. Thomas Conures) came to St. John with the 2017 hurricanes and have now spread out around the island. Though there aren’t all that many, they call attention to themselves by chattering very loudly wherever they go.

 

Some St. Thomas Conures (Brown-throated Parakeets) have moved over to St. John

 


Hummingbirds are precious companions found around many homes, but they are pretty quiet except for the whirr of their wings as they hover. The Green-throated Caribs are more numerous now (48) after recovering from the effects of the hurricanes of 2017. However the Antillean Crested hummingbirds are still relatively scarce (only 8 reported, the same as last year). 

 

Certain birds, like the native White-cheeked Pintail Ducks (116), are quite numerous but only visible if you go out and look into the ponds and wetlands. 

 

White-cheeked Pintail ducks raise their families in island ponds

 


There were only 23 Great Egrets counted on St. John, but they are generally much more noticeable because they frequently come out and hunt for lizards along the roadsides. Mangrove Cuckoos mostly remain hidden in the wetlands and are still scarcer than before the hurricanes. They can sometimes be heard in the wetlands making their distinctive drawn-out song (dat dat dat dat dat dat dat), which is somewhat similar to the vocalizations of the also secretive Clapper Rails (kek, kek, kek, kek, kek, kek), though not nearly as loud. 

 

Clapper Rails are hard to see, but make very loud klacking sounds when they are disturbed. 

 


At the beaches, you can see Brown Pelicans out fishing (87 counted) along with the larger, soaring Magnificent Frigatebirds (32). It is particularly fun to be in the water and have a Brown Booby fly by low over the surface looking for a fish for dinner. 

 

Migrating warblers that come for the winter are very difficult to spot unless you know what to look for and are willing to dedicate some time to sitting patiently in a wooded area. This time there were new records set for American Redstarts (23) and Ovenbirds (5), plus reports of a few Prairie Warblers, Black-and-white Warblers, Northern Waterthrushes, and a Palm Warbler. 

 

There were more wintering American Redstart warblers reported than usual. 

 

There were no lingering Laughing Gulls this time. For the past couple of years there were a few that stayed late into the winter, but that was unusual. They are mostly around St. John in the summer, when they come to breed on the offshore cays and cause a noisy ruckus as they go fishing along the popular beaches. 

 

Sadly, there were also no American Flamingos seen on St. John this time. There was one recorded in the last bird count, and about 16 others appeared in south shore ponds later in the winter, most likely having come over from the British Virgin Islands. We are hoping that one day a group of them will come back to St. John and decide to stay.

 

We did have a couple of sightings of rare migrant birds. A Whimbrel (a large shore bird with a curved bill) was spotted out past Coral Bay - a first for the Christmas bird count. And two Indigo Buntings (small finches) showed up at Francis Bay. The males are bright blue during mating season in the spring up north, but are mostly brown in the winter, with just a few tell-tale blue feathers.    

During the winter, Indigo Buntings are more brown than blue. 

 


In order to record a Scarlet Ibis for the count, I had to make a special scouting effort around the Fish Bay wetlands. A few weeks earlier my neighbor had said he saw two of them fly up at the same time, and I was hoping to spot a pair. Other neighbors with a view over the pond showed me photos from last summer when there were clearly two red ones there, and another paler one that looked like a juvenile. Maybe a mating pair and a baby? Too bad I was away over the summer and couldn’t document it. 

 

When I did spot one Scarlet Ibis to include in the count, it was not with a mate, but instead walking around with a Snowy Egret. I couldn’t help assuming they were the same two birds that have been keeping company consistently for the past few winters. Where are the other Scarlet Ibises? 

 

A resident Scarlet Ibis and migrating Snowy Egret seem to be reunited again for the winter

 


In my neighborhood, discussion about the Scarlet Ibis drama has definitely brought people together. And so has participating in the annual bird count. 

 

When we look closely at the birds and other wildlife around us, we are more likely to want to also look out for them, to wonder about how they experience the places we inhabit, and to deepen our connections with life force we all share. We might even feel a bit more grounded in the world as we approach the challenges of the new year coming.

 

One member of the St. John count team, Beverly Melius, is also a poet and sent me this poem to share: 

 

if birds are we are

 

what is it about counting birds? Perhaps

it’s about turning busyness to patience

unwording ourselves, becoming birdlike

growing wings, lifting from heaviness

taking flight into the unknown or maybe 

it’s about hope that we can sidestep our 

vanishing because they say we are in the

throes of the 6th Extinction, maybe it all 

comes down to a lucky number but what 

about the two rainbows weaving among 

those feral storm clouds, maybe it's about 

peace descending with the first sighting 

of the day or that stillness when suddenly 

something new flies into your vision or nine 

joyful Pelicans swooping in the surf, or the

moment a fleeting sliver of sunlight sends six

Pintails sparking with iridescence as they 

skim across the pond inches above the water

or maybe it’s the soft drizzle of rain on 

bare skin while bewitched by Grebes

and Grassquits, quite possibly though it’s

about huddling in a thicket taking cover 

from the downpour and being mesmerized 

by a Great Blue gripping the tip of a snag

twisting her long neck to see what the 

Christmas winds are kicking up, turning back

then hunkering down into herself

waiting and watching together 

                                     beverly melius  

                                      Christmas Bird Count 12-16-23 

Celebrating Tamarind Trees This Season

  




















The tamarind tree by our house on St. John has grown remarkably tall and bushy recently. It is also ­­­wonderfully full of life even around the winter solstice.

 

The hummingbirds that come to my sugar water feeder in the morning will go over and rest in the shade of the tamarind’s feathery leaves. 

 

      

A Green-throated Carib hummingbird takes a break from its search for nectar. 

 

The strange black Smooth-billed Anis explore the top branches, and sometimes snack on the wasp nests lower down. They have communal nests and usually move around in a pack of five.


Smooth-billed Anis are related to Cuckoos but have much thicker bills.

 


My Swedish ancestors endured long days of darkness surrounding the winter solstice, but also found solace in the evergreen firs and spruce trees filling the northern forests. Bringing cut trees inside and hanging lights and decorations on them has remained a beloved holiday tradition for many families. 

 

Here in the Virgin Islands we can enjoy an outside tree with live decorations.

 

The tamarind tree has tiny delicate flowers for such a big tree. 

 

I recently learned about a different Scandinavian tradition, which appears to date  back to the Viking age, or even earlier. It involves planting a special tree in the middle of the yard on a family farm - a Vårdträd, or guardian tree - which was viewed as sacred. Some of them can still be seen by farms across the countryside. Caring for these trees is a way of showing respect for the ancestors who have lived on the land, as well as the nature spirits thought to dwell within the trees.  

 

With roots deep underground and branches reaching into the sky, trees have held social and mystical significance in many cultures, including in the Virgin Islands. Large trees, especially, can be seen as representing deep connections between the land, human societies, ancestors and the spirit world, even as they support today’s people and wildlife. 

 

 

A Hammock Skipper butterfly examines the tamarind flowers. 

We didn’t plant the tamarind tree in our yard ourselves. It was fairly small when we started building the house almost 20 years ago, and probably grew from a seed dropped by a bird or animal. 

But we have nurtured it. Early on, my husband spared the young tamarind tree when he was out with his machete trying to clear out the somewhat similar-looking false tamarinds or tan-tans (Leucaena leucocephala). The tan-tans were originally introduced in the mid-1800s to feed cows on St. John. They will grow quickly on disturbed land, producing foliage for fodder and large quantities of seeds, but no tasty fruit. 

Tamarinds (Tamarindus indicaare native to Africa, are widely naturalized in Asia, and have been transported around the world. They were probably brought here around the mid-1600s, because people enjoyed cooking with their tart (sometimes sweet) fruit. They are not as widespread as the tan-tans, but can get much larger and live longer. 

Unfortunately, as the trees get taller, it gets harder to pick the fruits. Sometimes only the birds can reach them. 

 

A Pearly-eyed Thrasher has its pick of the high tamarind fruit. 

 

The tamarind tree has definitely become a cherished feature in our yard. And fortunately it’s not right in the center, so it doesn’t block the walkway - or my view into the wetlands pond below the house.

 


Have You Found Birds Nesting­ on Your Deck?


Two bullfinch babies quietly opened their mouths hoping for food

 

When we came back to our house late last month, I saw that there was a nest in the corner rafters of our screened-in deck downstairs. We had left a door open at one end while we were gone so it wouldn’t be blown out if a bad storm came by. We soon discovered that a couple of Lesser Antillean Bullfinches had used the cozy deck area during our absence. 

 

When I first noticed the nest, I assumed it was empty. I didn’t see any birds around, and it was right above where we usually sit to eat dinner, so I was planning to remove it. 

 

However, when I stood up on a chair and peeked inside, I thought I saw something moving down in the bottom. I looked more closely, and saw a small, gray, slightly twitching pile, and an unopened eye on what seemed to be a newly hatched chick. Oh dear.

 

When there is consistent warm weather and an abundance of food, most resident birds can breed throughout the year. In the past we have come back in the fall and seen remnants of nests around the house, but mostly by late October the birds were finished, and the nests had fallen down. They never really seemed very sturdy anyway.

 

You can see both the parents gathering material to build nests and working on it clumsily, apparently without a lot of construction expertise. Still they do manage to reproduce successfully and are abundant on many of the smaller eastern Caribbean islands. 

 

The females are light colored, with a mix of tan and beige feathers. 


A female bullfinch gathered nesting material from a pygmy date palm tree

 

The males are black with red patches on their throats, above their eyes, and under their tails. They are quite aggressive, at least about boxing out the Bananaquits at the sugar feeder when I fill it. Yet it turns out they are good partners and providers when it comes to parenting.  

 

Male bullfinches also bring sticks for the nest.

 

We mostly stayed off the deck after I looked into the nest. From inside I saw both parents through the screen. They seemed to be consulting, and then decided that it was okay to fly across the deck to the nest. We were hot and dark inside, though, so I did sometimes open the door from the kitchen to get some more air and light. 

 

One day about a week later I looked out and noticed something moving in the nest. Of course my first thought was to get my camera. Sitting far back inside the house, I used my telephoto lens to check things out from a distance. Now the nestlings had gotten bigger, and I saw two mouths sticking out of the nest, not making any noise yet, but obviously hoping one of the parents would come with food. The babies’ mouths have yellow lines around the outside, and are bright red inside, so the parents have clear targets for dropping the food.   

 

I figured that one of the parents would show up soon, so I sat there very quietly, holding my camera. I actually had to wait for almost an hour. A wildlife stakeout operation in my own kitchen. Then suddenly the dad appeared with some food in his beak, and when I raised the camera to take a photo, he turned and gave me a hard look. 

 

The bullfinch father came by to feed the babies

 

After that look, I kept all the doors to the deck closed. I didn’t want the parents to get scared off and abandon the nest. I couldn’t see very much from inside, so I wasn’t sure what was happening. At one point the nest seemed to be falling apart, and I wondered if the parents were still coming.  

 

Then about two weeks after we got back, I saw some movement outside the nest. I opened the door to the deck, and just then a baby bird dropped onto the chair below the nest, and then flopped onto the floor. 

 

When the baby bird dropped out of the nest it couldn’t fly

 

I was worried about its safety, but the dad quickly appeared and gradually led the baby along the deck and out the door into the low bushes next to the house. I was very relieved. 

 

There was no further activity around the nest after that. I hopedt that the other baby had already fledged while I wasn’t around. I was also happy to be able to open the doors so we could use the deck and cool down the house a bit.  

 

I could still hear them calling to each other outside though. Like many other young birds, the bullfinch babies will beg for food from the parent for quite a while, even after they have learned to fly.  


A hungry bullfinch chick appealed to its mother for food 

 


It would be interesting to hear about any birds that have chosen to nest on your decks.