The fall semester has started this week, and the last few weeks leading up to it have been a whirlwind of getting set up for teaching, putting in conference proposals, and continuing to chip away on my visualization project. As a consequence of the latter, I am learning much more about birds than I thought I would. (Did you know that there is an Indonesian bird called the Satanic Nightjar? Now you do.)
All together, it has been a busy time. So, in an effort to at least keep posting occasionally on this blog, here are three recent bird-related links of interest:
First, a pretty cool story about a woman who built an outdoor run/play area for her cats, so that they would not kill songbirds, get hit by cars, mauled by dogs, or have to deal with other outdoor hazards. Cats- both feral and domestic- are actually quite a large threat to bird populations: the USFWS estimates that domestic outdoor cats kill upwards of 39 million birds a year! So this is a creative solution, and I have to say looks pretty fun for the cats.
Next, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology is building bird-recognition software that will ultimately be used to create a “smart” ID/advice system for people who need help IDing a bird. They’re asking for help from the public to help build the software by taking a “color challenge” that matches a color to a bird. The results will be used to help figure out how we see color when looking at birds. If you’ve maxed out your levels on Angry Birds, this might be a good substitute 🙂
Finally, a research blogging post on a study looking at the relationships between songbirds and parrots. The researchers studied retroposons (“jumping genes”) in several different types of birds, and confirmed another study a few years back that surprised people when it suggested that songbirds, parrots, and falcons were all closely related. The post gives you a good breakdown of the study and its importance.
One of the things that’s a bummer about living in an apartment building is not being able to garden. Sure, we have some things growing on the porch, but we’ve had little success with that route. The two big challenges are the rabbit (who eats any plant not elevated above jumping level) and the sheer number of pests we have in Florida (our screened-in porch seems perfect for letting aphids and whiteflies in, while keeping their natural predators out). We’ve had success with chives, onions, oregano, and marjoram, but it’s hard to make a meal out of those.
At any rate, one of the things we did while visiting my father this spring was admire the gardens, and help out a bit. I use the plural because he has plants both growing around the yard and in the neighborhood community garden a few blocks away.
Right before we visited, Minnesota was named the “Most hipster state” in the US, in part because of the number of community gardens, farmer’s markets, food co-ops, and bike trails in the Twin Cities. Debate ensued, centered on whether these things were indicative of hipsters or hippies. Whatever the reason, there is plenty of fresh locally-grown food (other than during winter).
Some summer, we’ll have to time our visit to when the raspberries are ready to harvest. This year, we admired the raspberry patch, but it was way too early to sample the berries. Dad has this annoying habit of calling me in mid-summer and sighing about how he has so many raspberries that he has to bake with them or freeze them- there are just too many to eat fresh:
I'm sure they will be yummy!
A surprise- while we were in the back yard, planting a tree, a flock of wild turkeys came cruising by. These were big birds: two toms and a hen. They walked buy us, about 10 feet away, and obviously weren’t too fazed by our presence. They probably roost in the big cottonwood trees near the railroad track nearby.
They may have been hipster turkeys, because they were too cool to acknowledge us.
There was very little rain while we were there, so one order of business was to water the community garden plot. This garden is located on the property of a local church which is using most of its lot for a prairie restoration project. The prairie area is always swarming with butterflies during the summer. As you can see, most of the garden plots are still in the early stages of spring planting.
Dad, watering the garden.
One of the big questions while we were there seemed to be when the beans would sprout. We probably went to check on them every day:
The onions are doing fine, but where are the beans?
There were apparently at least two varieties planted, but I must confess that I don’t recall which, since I will not actually get to taste them. Oh well.
On our Great Lakes trip, we did some birding at the Minnesota River National Wildlife Refuge near Bloomington. This spring’s flooding put a bit of a damper on it, in that several trails at the refuge were flooded out. But we saw some cool things anyway. Warblers, flycatchers, and woodpeckers at the visitor center, and more warblers, geese, and swallows elsewhere. There were also a fair number of mammals- including white-tailed deer and muskrats.
The muskrats were just concentrating on eating, and pretty much tolerated our presence.
After visiting the visitor center, we took a trail near the Old Cedar Avenue Bridge, unsurprisingly called that because it has been replaced by the new Cedar Avenue Bridge.
The Old Cedar Avenue Bridge, with the new bridge in tha background (Y. Fernandez)
There’s a boardwalk on this path with a viewing platform in the river. The high water level made this a really interesting experience. I’m assuming that the water level is usually lower, and the area seems more marshy. There was no way to escape the feeling that we were actually walking through the river.
Cliff swallow resting on the boardwalk (Y. Fernandez)
There were quite a few swallows flying around, as well as the ubiquitous red-winged blackbirds.
Blackbird staking out his claim on some pretty soggy territory (Y. Fernendez)
At the end of the boardwalk, the river had covered the path, making the observation deck seem very much like an island in all the water.
Floating in the river.
We were surrounded by slowly-moving water, with swallows and damselflies swooping around us constantly. The experience really reminded me of the sequence in Ponyo in which the sea floods a coastal village and everyone gets around by boating along over the roadways. However, we didn’t see any Devonian fish or trilobites coming up underneath us, like in the movie. Which admittedly was a good thing!
The platform had obviously been used as a goose resting area recently...
On the way out, Yan stopped to take some photos of damselflies, while I was trying to identify a duck seen really far off. I’m not sure what species they are:
Female damselfly? (Y. Fernandez)
I do think they’re a male and female of the same species, though. Any suggestions?
Male damselfly? (Y. Fernandez)
Unfortunately, we had to cut our time there short because we had dinner plans (which turned out to be excellent, so we really didn’t complain). I will say that I had one of my weirder birding bathroom experiences on this excursion. Because the NWR visitor’s center closed while we were there, we stopped at a Nordstrom’s in the Mall of America to use their facilities. The juxtaposition of the muddy river and the biggest mall in the U.S. was a bit of a strange experience, but certainly more pleasant than the alternative.
I never managed to identify that duck, though... (Y. Fernandez)
While at Interstate State Park, we witnessed a dramatic rescue of a gosling, swimming through the rapids of the St. Croix River. We were taking photos of the river when we started to hear agitated honking by what sounded like a flock of goslings. The water was pretty choppy, and we had trouble spotting them at first.
High water on the St. Croix (Y. Fernandez)
Eventually, we saw two adult geese, on a shallow ledge just upstream of a fenced-off boat ramp at the water’s edge. There seemed to be one gosling with them, looking exhausted. But where was the noise from the other birds coming from?
You can see the geese behind the fence. (Y. Fernandez)
It turns out that the other birds were on the downstream side of the fence, paddling together in in an eddy. It looks like what happened is one of the goslings got separated from the rest, and the parents went to fetch it while the other babies stayed put. They were making a lot of noise, so clearly they weren’t happy with the situation.
The parents collect the straggler (Y. Fernandez)
After the lone gosling was collected, the parents launched into the choppy water, and the other goslings swam out to meet them. They formed a tight flotilla as they were buffeted downstream by the waves. Rescue complete!
Stay close together! (Y. Fernandez)
Be well, geese, and may you find calmer waters downstream.
Metaphors in science can be powerful things- they can provide unifying frameworks for thinking about the world, suggest exciting new insights, or at times color our interpretations so that what we see is what we expect to see. Science is communicated to non-scientists largely through metaphors. Sometimes these communication strategies work, and at other times they don’t.
One of the key metaphors used to describe the pattern of descent with modification or evolution over time is the image of a branching tree. I’ve discussed some of the limitations of the tree metaphor in a previous post; essentially, it’s difficult for us to discard the misleading aspects of the tree metaphor while using other associations to communicate about the pattern of evolution. A current PLoS Biology paper by David Penny points out the problems of conflating a branching pattern of evolution in general with cultural associations of a “tree of life” (an image found in varying forms in several cultures), and points out that the tree metaphor only gives us part of the picture.
But do we have to use a tree metaphor at all? Certainly, the tree does a good job of illustrating common descent, and an okay job of showing the formation of new species (species can form through mechanisms like hybridization that the tree isn’t good at depicting). But no metaphor is perfect. Biologists have used other visual metaphors in the past, such as complex systems of symmetry-based relationships, or maps based on ecological affinities of species, but these have their problems as well.
In my graduate work, I’m using digital tools to expand the range of metaphors we have to communicate about evolution, by creating a dynamic evolutionary map. I’m focusing on avian evolution and the pattern of diversification of bird orders over time. I’ll be writing more about this project in the upcoming months, but in this post I want to share the basic draft pattern of the visualization.
The visualization spans a time period from the Cretaceous (in which we see the hypothesized origin of birds) to the present. This series of gifs is the draft version of the evolution of bird orders over time; each dot represents an order (with some exceptions). When the project is finished, viewers will be able to animate the orders forward in time, as well as examine relationships among orders and the evidence for shared descent. I’m already planning some changes near the beginning of the sequence, based on recent molecular studies. The numbers and cross-hairs will also not be in the final version (I’ve been using them to help me keep track of all the orders as I animate it). You should be able to get a sense for how the animation progresses by clicking through this slideshow:
First, can the insanely popular Angry Birds game get people into birding? The folks at 10,000 Birds point out some real-life angry birds:
First is a small bird that is almost universally described as cute.  This might explain its anger.  Or perhaps it is angry because it is called a Bushtit.  And, no, I am not kidding about the name.  If you were referred to as “Bushtit” wouldn’t you be angry too?
Just yesterday, I watched a pair of Northern Mockingbirds repeatedly dive-bomb a Red-Shouldered Hawk, who was trying to hide in a tree in our apartment complex. Yes, there are dramatic examples of angry birds out there. Here’s a Cooper’s Hawk who’s apparently unable to comprehend that this is not a real owl in its territory (via):
Next, Daren Naish takes a look at lagomorph evolution- the family that includes rabbits- in light of a recent discovery of a giant fossil lagomorph on the island of Minorca. Here’s an artist’s depiction of the species, Nuralagus rex. Note the European Rabbit for comparison:
Artist's conception of Nuralagus rex. (Image: Meike Köhler, via National Geographic)
In his post (“You have your giant fossil rabbit neck all wrong“- and that is an awesome title!), he discusses the lack of study that’s been done on lagomorph phyolgeny, as well as addressing the title of his post. Check out his discussion if you’re interested in lagomorph evolution (and not just adorablebunnyantics).
Apparently, German police have been attempting to train turkey vultures (imported from North America) to detect bodies while flying. The idea actually seems reasonable in principle- turkey vultures have excellent senses of smell, and could detect the scent of corpses from far away. They’re also closely related to hawks and falcons- two groups of birds that have been trained to be handled by people and use for hunting for centuries.
The problem here seems to be that the first bird the German police have been training is both lazy and shy. From a BBC report:
But according to Spiegel: “Sherlock’s success has been limited.
“While he can locate a stinking burial shroud, which the police gave the bird park to use for training purposes and which is clearly marked with a yellow plastic cup, Sherlock doesn’t approach the shroud by air.
“He prefers to travel by foot.”
Furthermore, the bird is yet to perform outside the familiar confines of the zoo.
“The bird is naturally anxious, and he would hide in the woods or bolt,” according to his trainer.
I don’t know if they’re going to try to train another vulture, but it sounds like they’re pretty disappointed by the first vulture’s failure. Oh well.
A few weeks ago, I came across a dead parrot on the side of the road. Not right on the road, but near a hedge bordering the rear end of the local mall. As I was walking, I spotted a brilliant turquoise and gold colored object, crumpled under the hedge. I was sure it must be an article of clothing- maybe someone’s shirt, or a scarf. The colors were so vibrant- at first, I though it must be something made out of silk, or maybe satin. But when I got closer, I saw it was a dead macaw.
It was very hot that day- in the mid 90s- and had been hot for several days. The bird’s body wasn’t stinky- I actually couldn’t smell any rot at all. It was just lying on the ground, wings slightly outspread to reveal its brilliant sea-turquoise and cobalt plumage. Its long tail feathers trailed off behind it. Its feathers seemed strangely smooth and unmarred- there were no ants crawling on them, and none of them were broken. It was lying slightly on one side, so its brilliant gold chest feathers were also visible.
How had it died? And when? It had been a few days since I had walked that way, so its body could have been there a few days. Its eye was sunken, and the white-and-black pattern of feathers on its face was shriveled. I didn’t go up and poke at it, but it didn’t look particularly damaged or like it was in an advanced state of decay. Had it broken its neck by flying into the tree near it? Did it die of thirst, or disease? Was it attacked by our neighborhood red-shouldered hawk? I suppose if I had examined it more closely, there would have been some clues. But at that point, I was really just disturbed at finding it there.
Suburban Orlando is not the place you expect to find the body of a blue-and-gold macaw, just lying on the side of the street. Was it someone’s pet, and escaped in a bid for freedom? Did it escape from a pet store? Was it released because it was too expensive to care for, or because it was aggressive or insane from a life in captivity? Did it enjoy a few days of freedom, or did it starve to death in terror, not knowing how to forage for itself, or did it expire from the heat? Sure, you see plenty of dead birds on the side of the road in Florida- but not giant tropical birds with silken feathers in the colors of the ocean, shining in the sunlight even after death.
The macaw didn’t look like it had been detected by any predators- at least, it wasn’t partly eaten. And, over the next week or so, its corpse just continued to lie there. Was it too dessicated to attract any vultures? Did no feral cats or coyotes happen to pass by it? Maybe the little fence lizards enjoyed feasting on it, but if so, they went at it from underneath. For over a week, the bird just lay there, slowly drying out in the heat.
I kept expecting to find it one day, torn apart by scavengers- maybe missing a wing, or maybe its various limbs scattered under the hedge. But its position never changed.
Another thing I wonder is if anyone else saw it. How could you possibly miss a gloriously-colored bird like this, lying under a bush as it was? Are people so habituated to roadside trash that they avoid actually looking at what lies there? I wonder about this because the bird just lay there. No one came to pick it up and put it into a dumpster, or to gather its feathers for decoration. Granted, I didn’t mention it to anyone, or remove it myself. But clearly I’m the sort of person who has a morbid curiosity in checking up on the slowly decomposing carcass of a large bird from time to time. I’m surprised that no one else did anything about it.
About two weeks after I first saw it, I walked past the bird again, and the groundskeepers were trimming the hedges of the mall. Surely, they would remove the bird’s body? In fact, they did not. They just rolled it further under the hedge.
As of today, the macaw still lies there. The feathers are starting to look disheveled, but they still keep their brilliant colors. It can’t be long until the colors begin to fade, and what is left is a skeleton covered with dried-out skin and dangling feather shafts, leached of their color.
I’d like to think that this bird was at least happy in its few hours or perhaps days unconfined. But I just can’t tell myself that it was. But maybe it had at least some pleasure from flying free, if only for a time.
Birds: so many reasons they are cool, but here’s another one- they’re the only modern surviving dinosaurs. Yes, really.
Crocodiles, turtles, Komodo dragons- all related to dinosaurs, but not descended from dinosaurs. In fact, recent paleontological work has uncovered many new dinosaur species that share features we think of as “birdy.” Things like feathers, specialized bird-like lungs, and bipedalism. These features are found in a group of dinosaurs called maniraptorans, which are in turn cousins to the dinosaur group that includes Tyrannosaurus rex.
Artist's interpretation of a Scansoriopteryx hatchling, a "birdlike" maniraptoran dinosaur. (Image: Matt Martyniuk, azhdarcho.com)
Most of the time when we think of birds, we think of the things that make them birds, and not the things that make them dinosaurs. But that is because we often have the relationship between dinosaurs and birds reversed in our little primate minds; Much of what is bird-like is not exclusive to birds, but rather, to a larger group of dinosaurs. Birds have taken these particular traits in novel directions, but these traits existed independently of all the birdiness we usually attribute to our feathered, flying, bipedal friends, long ago, before the Great Extinction.
Check out his entire post- it’s worth reading.
And here’s a mediocre photo of an excellent museum display, from the American Museum of Natural History’s dinosaur fossil halls. It’s a 3-D cladogram (somewhat like a family tree) of dinosaur relationships. If you look at the upper right corner of the photo, you should be able to just make out the words “ALIVE TODAY.” This is where modern birds fit into the picture: our living dinosaurs.
Dinosaur cladogram from the AMNH. (Image: S. Stephens)
This year, two sets of ducklings are being raised in our pond. Two years ago, another duck raised a brood of ducklings- I wonder if either of these females is from that brood?
The older brood is on the bank, and the younger brood is in the water. (Y. Fernandez)
These are wild ducks- possibly Mottled x Mallard hybrids, or just plain Mallards. At least, the male who’s been hanging around and is probably the father is a hybrid, so we’re assuming the babies are. The first brood had 9 ducklings at first, though it’s just asking to be disappointed if we count them, since there are any number of predators around here. In these photos, they’re all mostly transitioned into adult feathers.
Trouble on the horizon... (Y. Fernandez)
The second brood hatched a few weeks later and is smaller- but the mother makes up for it by being seriously aggressive to the older ducks. It makes sense- her babies are younger, and if she didn’t defend them there would likely be trouble from the larger ducks. Our pond’s not that big, so space gets to be a factor.
Brood #2 paddles in. (Y. Fernandez)
The amount of biting, quacking, splashing, tail-pulling, and hysterical peeping would probably be less if people didn’t feed them. But when one parent sees the other ducks being fed, they swim over as fast as they can. The result: duck drama.
The duckling raft breaks up as they reach land. (Y. Fernandez)
I won’t post any dramatic photos here- let’s just absorb the cuteness and pretend they’re not pushy, loudmouthed jerks. And it is cute to watch them paddle around in tight duckling rafts. Even cuter when they sleep in little duckling piles at night. …And yes, the two families do sleep on opposite ends of the pond.
They're surprisingly good at synchronized swimming. (Y. Fernandez)
