Birds in Big Lake while away waning summer days

Perlman's pearls

You can feel it, almost hear it, the creeping in of autumn. A yellowing shrub here, a falling leaf there, fireweed grows tall, and the lake is dotted with lily pads and aquatic vegetation. It is quiet without the chirping swallows and the early warning calls of the querulous terns, all hatched and gone now.

But there are many other baby birds around, and they are fascinating to watch. The large hairy woodpeckers, and similar but smaller downy woodpeckers, call loudly as they move through the woods near my cabin, latching awkwardly onto my suet and peanut butter-filled log feeders. They peck experimentally at wood bark, fallen trees, or roofs and chimneys, learning which will provide a seed or an insect.

The redpolls and pine siskins travel together, in large mixed flocks that often include other small birds like nuthatches, chickadees and juncos. They are noisy and move quickly from tree to tree, and land on my feeders en masse, seeking sunflower or thistle seeds. Ropes and ribbons festoon my windows, but they are not party decorations. Hopefully they will keep the young, inexperienced birds from flying into the windows and injuring themselves.

Young gray jays, magpies and ravens make their presence known noisily, and look for any food they can scavenge, while immature robins with speckled breasts mimic their red-breasted parents as they search the ground for worms and insects. No chick follows the pair of cranes in the wetlands this summer, busily feeding as they fatten up for their long migration south. And the loon chick grows larger every day, with careful attention from both parents, making me hopeful that it will survive the summer and fly away in September, despite the young eagle's attempts to change that.

There is drama on the lake, and summer is barely time enough for the young to grow large and strong, to make it through the winter and return again next year. But somehow, they always do, and I am always grateful.