Shining Robe

Did you know that "phainopepla" is greek for "shining robe?" This name was given to the characteristic desert bird, the male phainopepla, who flashes his white wing patches as he flies, a stark contrast to his glossy black feathers. His "shining robe" is a winter classic here in the Coachella Valley, as it is across the Colorado and Sonoran deserts.

As do all creatures, this bird has some fascinating behaviors.  It lives and breeds in the desert from winter to spring, then as the desert heats up and its food source dwindles, it flies to the coast where it has a second breeding cycle.  It is unknown if the same birds breed here and then again on the coast, or if different birds breed here than on the coast.  But regardless, they will all migrate west from here come May.

These distinctive flycatchers do sally for insects, but the primary food source for them here in our desert is the desert mistletoe berry, its main food from October through April. Some studies suggest a single bird ca eat at least 1,100 mistletoe berries in a day!!  As they eat, they are also spreading the seed of this parasitic plant through its favorite perch, the honey mesquite, a common site of the mistletoe.  These beautiful birds have digestive tracts that are specialized to handle the sticky, low-nutrient mistletoe berries.

Fall is marked by the return of that conspicuous crest in silhouette perched high on a mesquite against the brilliant blue autumn sky. It is not unusual for there to be 10 or 15 in a mile-long hike across the desert when mesquite hummocks are present.

Male Phainopepla

Fall Equinox

One can almost feel the turning of the seasons.  The scent of the air, the alteration of sound, the way the light touches the mountains, a touch of freshness in the summer wind...all these things give hints of the change.  The fall equinox is upon us, when the days are of equal length, when the sun, traversing through the seasons, crosses the equator and heralds the beginning of fall in the northern hemisphere. This year the equinox occurs on September 22, 1.44 pm PDT.  

It is one of my favorite times of year.  The nights start to cool off a bit, and the buzzing of the cicadas starts to die down.   Everything starts to senesce and slow down, migrants start passing through, and it is a time of reflection. So the equinox is a time of equality:  day and night the same.  It is about the slow winding down of growth to the sleep of winter. It is time to reflect on the year: what it brought, what was accomplished, what is still incomplete. 

Goldenbush blooming in the desert fall.
c 2008 Ginny Short

It is funny, reflecting on the change of fall.  One of the things that comes to mind is "fall colors".  I have seen the dramatic and lovely change both in pictures and in person, and there is no doubt it is fantastic. I have been told it is even more lovely in places I have never been. Ever since I can remember I have reflected on the changing seasons, and being a desert rat, have never lived in a place where the trees change on such a grand scale.  I have had friends and strangers remark to me that there are no seasons in the southwest, and note that as one reason they could not live here forever, as reason for their homesickness when the taste of frost should be on the air.  I had a plaque on my wall in my office as a graduate student:  We have four seasons here: fire, flood, wind, earthquake.  Other plaques say "fire, flood, wind and drought!".  

But we do have seasons.  Sometimes they come on soft and subtly, like now as the barest hint of change in the wind. Sometimes they come on hard and abrupt, like a cool, breezy spring jumping to the triple digits overnight. Each season has its own finery, from the goldenbush of autumn to the ghost flowers of spring, the quiet green of winter to the desert willows of summer.  Yes, seasons change even here.  One can almost feel the turning of the season from blistering summer to sultry fall.

Desert cicada

August brings the incessant buzzing of the apache cicada (Diceroprocta apache).  This is the quintessential sound of the desert summer, like a high wire buzzing through the atmosphere. It seems to resonate in the thunderhead laden air, as if the insect is the voice of  the cumulonimbus clouds skirting the horizon. The blue sky, the air thick with moisture - I can hardly breathe in this.  The heat lays on us like a wet towel,  and even the wind is hot and thick, not with the usual freshness that our desert winds bring. The cicada is the spirit of summer and the herald of fall.

Apache Cicada on mesquite trunk.

This amazing insect is not the same as the cicadas we hear about every 13 to  17 years on the east coast. That genus is "Magicicada" and are known colloquially as periodical cicadas.  While the apache cicada may live up to 3 years as a grub, feeding underground on roots and sap, they do not have the quirky and fantastic 17 year cycle, and we see them every year when they emerge in the hottest months of summer, their sound echoing on the landscape.

Cicadas are the only insects that have a true percussion mechanism for creating sound.  Unlike our cricket - another summer singer, that use modified forewings with a scraper and a file to create their song,  the cicada has a tympal that is vibrated by a large muscle.  This vibrant call carries up to 440 yards. There are 160 species of cicada in North America.  So let me join my voice to theirs in singing for joy in our desert summer, and in the anticipation of a glorious fall!!!

Desert Ants

Don't know about you, but this time of year my home gets raided by ants.  I decided to try to identify them this year, especially since I was invaded by a different species this year.  Most years I have this really tiny ant that comes up through the walls in my kitchen and finds anything sweet that it can eat. I believe this ant may be in the Brachymyrmex genus (I won't be so bold as to try to identify to species!!!), also called a Rover Ant.  It is a tiny ant, and all of the ants are the same size. It is a bit difficult for me to say for certain, as identification of ants - keys or no - is not an easy task.  According to a couple of sources, Brachymyrmex patagonicus is spreading.  So, that is what I think that one is.

It seems to have been displaced this year by another species.  This one, I believe, is a native ant, a native Solenopsis, a fire ant.  It started coming in to take pieces of the seeds left underneath the bird cages. Then is started coming up behind the stove and now it is coming up through the cabinets by the sink.  Persistent little bugger!!!

Well, its a bummer to have them in my house, but they are pretty cool insects. It has a pretty good bite, but not as bad as a pogy!  It has, up until now, been a rather unobtrusive denizen of my back (and front) yard, but decided for some reason this year to invade. The habit of seed harvesting is a cool adaptation to desert life.

Gambel's Quail in a rain-poor year

This has been a year of little rain.  Our average here in the Coachella Valley is around three inches, and last year, the 2012-2013 season, we saw about 2 inches of rain.  That might not have been so bad, but we hit some scorching temps in March, when the mercury hit triple digits, and most of the annuals that had sprouted just withered and died before any kind of wildflower show could manifest.  This seems to have a cascade effect:  no annuals, and no flowering perennials mean no seeds, which means no food for mice and rodents and ants, no flowers for insects, no insects for lizards and birds, fewer lizards and rodents for birds…well, you get the picture. I always see a reduction in the bird population the season following a lean-rain year, manifest in smaller broods, weaker and less healthy chicks, and scruffy-looking adult birds, scrambling to make a living for themselves and their chicks.

Quail tracks in sand.

Of the six quail species found north of Mexico, Gambel’s quail are perhaps the most adapted of them to desert landscapes, digging shallow scrapes in the shade of scruffy creosote or mesquite, limiting their activity to cooler morning and evening hours, scratching in the sandy soil for seeds and other bits of vegetation, or jumping up to snatch a tasty palm fruit, and getting their water from insects or succulent cacti when they can’t steal a sip from a backyard pool or earthquake seep.

I have had several calls from people this year, bemoaning the lack of coveys of babies this year and wondering what was wrong. These birds do require seasonal precipitation, in spite of the fact that they live in such an arid environment, as this is apparently an environmental signal that prompt breeding: the current thought is that some pigment in those fresh, spring greens causes the females to begin the breeding cycle.

So the seasonal ebb and flow of rain/no rain can cause the birds to limit breeding in low rain years, particularly if the fresh greens that spark the breeding cycle are “fried” by an early heat spell as we had this past March. So look for smaller, and fewer broods, and you will probably see them most in areas that do have a bit of water.

Chicks out foraging with the parents.

Common yellowthroat

I was talking to a visitor the other day who was asking me if there were any birds of note.  He had just seen the white-throated sparrow that seems to be hanging out with us this year.  I said, no, nothing spectacular or rare, although, I said, there is a common yellowthroat who seems to be wintering with us this year.  For that matter, a coot has taken up residence as well.  I know they aren't rare, but they are uncommon out here.  He shrugged and kind of looked at me as if I was crazy.  These birds aren't just not rare, they are downright common.  What on earth would be the value of these?

Common yellowthroat

Interesting question.  I find it absolutely delightful that our little coot has decided to stay.  He is probably being fed by the visitors (please don't feed the wildlife!!!) and the yellow-throat is not common here even during migration.  So to me it is a treasured find: just to find it where it is usually not!! It seems to me that a common bird in an uncommon situation is almost as exciting as an uncommon bird in an uncommon situation. And for that matter, a common bird in a common situation is still eye candy!

I hope it means that the pond is slowly recovering.  It certainly means there is enough vegetation for the coot to eat, and enough bugs for the yellowthroat to eat. Well, and the coot also seems to have a taste for dragonfly naiads. So, what is it that makes some birds worth looking for and some not?  We have numerous phainopeplas, cactus wrens and gnatcatchers, and yet each one is worth watching.  I heard a phainopepla song for the first time this year, and it was a delight.  It will be next time I hear it. We have house finches, northern flickers, and great horned owls, white-crowned sparrows, sage sparrows, cooper's hawks, sharpies.  Look for fun ones like the white-throated sparrow and juncos, townsends solitaire, and even uncommon birds like thrushes and thrashers.