DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — So, things have been pretty quiet on the blog front lately. Sorry about that. Birders always notice birds — we can’t stop that — but sometimes life prevents us from actively seeking them out. I’ve heard crows through the windows and seen Mourning Doves on the wires, but it’s been awhile since I really went birding. My plans for a birdy Labor Day weekend evaporated for a variety of reasons. The Fan-tailed Warbler is still being seen regularly, along with a host of other awesome species, but my hopes for getting out to Big Bend have pretty well died.

By this afternoon, I’d had it. It was time to bird. So after work, I went. It was a gray evening; there were raindrops in the air.

Rarely have I encountered such a birdless wilderness. Everyone else in the state is reporting great numbers and diversity of warblers, shorebirds, first state records, etc. I, on the other hand, heard a couple of chickadees, a few Carolina Wrens, and a Killdeer. Instead of Buff-breasted Sandpipers, there were crows. Instead of warblers, large grasshoppers.

It’s not that I’m feeling sorry for myself … OK, yeah, I guess that’s it after all. Hmm.

In the absence of birds, there are of course many other beautiful and interesting things to look at. Take for instance this lovely Giant Swallowtail (Papilio cresphontes), which was feeding in a patch of gumweed (Grindelia squarrosa).

Or how about this dewdrop spider (Argyrodes sp.) with a metallic silver abdomen? Astute readers may recall that I saw and photographed a related species in Papua New Guinea.

The spiny, purple-and-green Leavenworth’s eryngo (Eryngium leavenworthii) is like some spectacular plant from space. What? Audrey?

I almost missed this inconspicuous, weak-stemmed milkweed (Asclepias sp.). At first I thought that the small flowers were still just buds. Any thoughts on the species? The flower structure looks similar to Asclepias viridiflora (green comet milkweed), but can that species show pinkish flower parts? See various other photos in today’s photo album.

DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — Waders continue at the Joe Pool Dam. This morning, I found two Yellow-crowned Night Herons (one adult and one immature) in the northeast cove — the first time I’d had this species at the lake. I observed the immature bird holding its bill ajar and fluttering its throat skin rapidly in an exercise that resembled panting. The adult bird faced the sun, wings drooped and slightly spread.

Green Herons are the most numerous species. One bird had speared a mid-sized fish, and I watched it manipulate the fish around and swallow it headfirst. A couple of Great Egrets and one Snowy completed the list of feeding herons.

The two Willets that I observed two days ago were still present, to my surprise. I had assumed they would keep moving south. Today, they were feeding closer to shore on the hydrilla mat, so I had slightly better views.

A photograph from the shore cannot begin to portray the extent of the hydrilla (Hydrilla verticillata) mat growing in the cove. Again, this mat is so thick that willets and herons can walk on top of it. Hydrilla, a non-native noxious weed, was known to cover 116 acres of Joe Pool Reservoir in 2003. I’m wondering if this plant provided for the ducks and coots that wintered in this cove last year. Hydrilla dies back in the winter, so it would have been below the surface by the time I got back from PNG. Maybe that’s why there were always dozens of waterfowl in this location.

This is the reason all the herons are congregated in the cove — lots of fish! Anyone know which species this one is?

Gratuitous sunflower picture! Let’s say it together: Helianthus annuus.

As I mentioned earlier in the week, cardinals, Carolina Wrens, Bewick’s Wrens, and Indigo Buntings are singing a little bit. Again, I did not hear Painted Buntings singing. I did, however, hear a racket in the bushes, and I looked up to see two fledgling Painted Buntings following their mother, begging insistently. She seemed to be ignoring them mostly. They looked about old enough to start fending for themselves.

What, grasses? This is the Blackland Prairies ecoregion, after all, and this is the time of year that many native grasses bloom. This attractive species is sideoats grama (Bouteloua curtipendula), the state grass of Texas.

It’s been awhile since I saw a wheel bug (Arilus cristatus). That powerful beak (which is used to kill and consume insect prey) can do serious damage to a human, so wheel bugs are best enjoyed with the eyes, not the fingers. There are plenty more photos in today’s gallery.

DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — Brian and I took a farewell tour (for him, not for me) of our haunts around Joe Pool Lake this morning. Between the huge marijuana bust and news helicopter accident, there has been some recent excitement in this out-of-the-way corner of Dallas. All was quiet this morning, however — even the birds.

Water levels have not dropped far enough (as I hoped they would) to create good shorebird habitat. However, an extensive mat of vegetation in the northeast cove seems to be providing habitat for several species. We saw three or four Green Herons, two Great Egrets, one Little Blue Heron, a coot, and two large, distant sandpipers which I assumed were Willets. The matted vegetation was so thick that the birds were able to walk on top of it, even though it undulated lightly with the waves.

Here’s the plant that’s taken over much of the northeastern cove. As far as I can tell, it’s not a native Elodea but rather the invasive Egeria densa or Hydrilla verticillata. Any thoughts?

These attractive green filaments grew thick in the shallow water. Is it possible to tell from this image (click for a larger size) whether this is a green algae (chlorophyta), a cyanobacteria, or …?

Painted Buntings were around, but I did not hear even a brief snatch of song. I wouldn’t be surprised if males have stopped singing now. I did hear a few phrases from Indigo Buntings, however, so I’m not jumping to any conclusions just yet. Bewick’s and Carolina wrens are singing, as cardinals are of course. But overall, things are very quiet. It’s the arthropods, not the birds, that will catch your attention this month.

Common sunflowers (Helianthus annuus) are in full bloom, and nearly every other flower seems to hold a green lynx spider (Peucetia viridans) lying in wait for prey. This individual had caught some sort of small dipteran.

These brilliant little damselflies were numerous around the dam. There are more shots of insects and spiders in today’s gallery.

Snow-on-the-prairie (Euphorbia bicolor) is a tall, rather striking euphorbia that’s in full bloom at the moment.

DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — It’s July. Young Scissor-tailed Flycatchers haven’t got any tails, and fledgling White-eyed Vireos are, well, dark-eyed. Adolescent crows give strange cries. Weary adult songbirds sing weak fragments of their songs. Already, shorebirds have begun trickling back across the continent, clad in a who-knows-what assortment of unfamiliar feathers.

This is the time — when everything is at its slowest, its drabbest, and its most confusing — to bird! This is the time to cultivate a deep intimacy with the birds, to push your knowledge to its limits, and then just a bit beyond.

Your senses are more powerful than you know. Learn to use them! Don’t treat birding like a flashcard exercise in school. “What does a Carolina Wren say? Tea-kettle, tea-kettle, tea-kettle.”

No, no, no!

Learn to bird in ways that transcend your ability to reason and verbalize. Begin responding to clues that enter your brain at nearly a subconscious level. You must learn to hear the wren — to really hear it. Not to try matching the rhythm of its notes to some nearly useless mnemonic from your field guide. Not to concentrate on the rise and fall of the pitch, struggling to remember whether the phrase should ascend or descend. Hear the wren sing! Let the sounds sink so deeply into your brain that you no longer simply recognize the song but that you know it — anytime, anywhere, under any circumstances.

Watch a thousand Cattle Egrets flying in the distance. Watch another thousand, and maybe even another. And then, something deep and inexplicable will happen when you see the next white dot in the sky. You will know that it is not a Cattle Egret. Just know, that’s all. And you will raise your binoculars, and you will see the lone White Ibis flying over the dam.

This is July, and you have two choices. You can stay at home, wishing for the gaudy days of spring or the halcyon fall. Or, you can go outside and face the heat, the chiggers, and the poison ivy, and you can learn to know birds.

Let me know what you choose. Let me know what you learn.

DUNCANVILLE, TEXAS — There is a curious pleasure in summer’s powerful, enervating heat — if it is imbibed in small doses. It feels good to step outside the refrigerated boxes we favor, to let the heat press heavy against bare flesh, squeezing out moisture. In the stillness, grasshoppers and cicadas sound like an army of aliens assembling themselves from sundry springs and cogs. Birds mutter softly, as if to themselves — cardinal, chickadee, Dickcissel.

Crows and scissor-tails tend demanding offspring, and Painted Buntings sing from inconspicuous stages.

I can hear one male singing close, and then I hear an echo. The second song is shorter, less sophisticated, not as good. It comes from a young male, whom I finally glimpse in the underbrush. He is learning his song, evidence of his proud oscine heritage, and I am hearing him practice.

Summer.