If you don't think the seasons are changing then you must not live in Critter Cove. The signs are all there and I'm amused.

Every blue jay in the cove looks as if it stuck its head in a lit oven. They are all bald as, well, jays. Here's a beautiful bird that undergoes the most unwieldy of molts. While the rest of his feathers retain the colors of an afternoon spring sky, his head is black and so devoid of feathers you can see his ears!

If the blue jays suffer an unsightly molt, the cardinals turn into outright mutants. They come in late evenings to the feeders, every one of them looking as if it has survived a serious fire. The adolescent males sport feathers in so many shades of orange/red/flame that they could mistaken for a calico bird. I'm guessing this is nature's revenge for being such beautiful birds; the transitions to same leave the blue jays and cardinals uglier than the plainest of birds.

Now there are the annual hummingbird wars and this is always a hoot. Most of the summer I usually have one hummingbird that regularly frequents my feeder. Comes the August month and the biological urge to fatten up for a long migration kicks in. Then there are many that fly to the feeder long owned and cherished by only one.

And he don't like it.

When hummingbirds fight it is more ferocious squeaks than horrific growls that sound the battle. What my little owner does, he hides in the tree. The feeder hangs seductively and unmanned. Along comes a female hummer that decides to partake.

Zoom, the red-throated male dive-bombs the unsuspecting interloper directly on the feeder and as she eats. Both birds, each no bigger than my thumb, then begin an aerial dance that has them darting and plunging at speeds quicker than the blink of an eye. On one occasions I had to duck from my porch perch lest I be hit by the warring birds.

There are certain birds that winter here in Critter Cove while others leave for different climes. This morning I heard the "yank, yank, yank" call of the white-breasted nuthatch, one of my favorite winter birds. It's also the time of the year of the great wren switch.

Merryland, being a more southern state, hosts Carolina wrens in the summers. Their cousins the house wrens take over in the winter. In late August the switch takes place but not without some amount of wren angst.

The air is filled with dueling wrens, accompanied by that peculiar wren chatter that sounds like staccato sound bullets. One little house wren took such a liking to the hanging planters under the eaves of the Critter Cove porch that he chose one planter for his night time roost. Each evening as I sit and watch the sunset, the little fellow lights on the porch rail directly in front of my table. He gives me a perky wren bow then flies up to his planter bed. The little bird settles himself into the five inch diameter pot, once home to a cactus long dislodged by the Critter Cove puppy. Thus settled, he places his head atop the pot ridge in a manner that leaves his beak hanging over the edge.

Of course the nerve of the house wrens that come into the Carolinas' territory drives the lot's summer wrens to distraction. I thought I saw it all when the Carolina wren actually got into the house wren's night roost and attempted to trash his bed!

Many of the trees have already turned a light gold. The bushes and perennial plantings of the cove appear tired. Late August heat has left even the sprightly annuals a bit dejected. The chrysanthemums, asters and Autumn Joy are sending bloom signals that their time to shine is nigh.

Autumn is a beautiful season in this Merryland state. The weather is mild and kind, many annuals continue to shine for a few more months. The creatures and plantings in Critter Cove are sending their biological signals that despite the days of heat and humidity, cooler climes are but a fortnight away.

Patricia Fish
Pasadena, Md.
patfish1@aol.com


Bio: Patricia Fish

Patricia Fish was born in 1950 and she claims that while her body has aged, she has never really moved beyond the 1960s. Pat now grows flowers in her gardens instead of wearing them in her hair. She loves to write, especially about the gardens, birds, and critters in her surround. Pat lives in a bit of paradise on a pie-shaped lot wedged into a small cove off of the Chesapeake Bay. She is a regular contributor to Sunshine Street Sketches.

PatFish1@aol.com