Hedge bindweed, another pesky weed at Ashbridge’s

Hedge bindweed (Calystegia sepium) brightens a corner near Dog Beach at Ashbridge’s Bay last week. © BCP 2010

Today’s quote: A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.  — Walt Whitman


You have to look pretty hard to find these attractive blooms at Ashbridge’s Bay. And according to the various sources I consulted, that’s a good thing. For hedge bindweed, as Calystegia sepium is commonly known, is classified as a noxious weed.

According to wikipedia, this plant is distributed widely throughout the globe; it’s found in Europe, Asia, northwestern Africa, and North America in the northern hemisphere, as well as Argentina and Australia in the southern hemisphere.

Hedge bindweed is part of the morning glory family of flowering plants, the Convolvulacaea. They are a family of trees, shrubs and vines known for showy, funnel-shaped flowers. Many of the species (of about 1,500 in the family) are cultivated for their flowers. But then there’s the pesky bindweed.

Here’s what my favourite wildflower handbook, National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Wildflowers, says about hedge bindweed:

“It can be a pest, twining among and engulfing desirable ornamentals, and it is difficult to eradicate without removing the fleshy, creeping roots.”

Wiki goes on to say that this herbaceous perennial twines around other plants in a counter-clockwise direction. (I wonder if it goes in the opposite direction in the southern hemisphere?)

At any rate, we can enjoy the big, pink blooms of hedge bindweed for a while. There’s so little of this weed at our bay — so far, at least — that it doesn’t seem to pose an imminent threat to its ecosystem.

© BCP 2010

Tyrants catch flies at Ashbridge’s Bay

An adult eastern kingbird, (Tyrannus tyrannus) left, feeds its baby high above the boardwalk at Ashbridge’s Bay in the pink rays of a beautiful sunset on Tuesday night. If you look closely, you can see the fly. © BCP 2010

You and I know the grey and white birds above as eastern kingbirds. But since 1758, when the brilliant Swedish scientist Carl Linnaeus classified this species, this  bird has been known scientifically as Tyrannus tyrannus. The Tyrant tyrant.

Zoologically, this kingbird is a member of the tyrant flycatcher family. Its classification is a bit tricky. The kingbird is a passerine (commonly known as perching birds) but it isn’t a songbird. It’s a member of the suborder Tyrrani — birds that don’t have the sophisticated anatomy of voicebox (syrinx) that gives songbirds their ability to sing.

The kingbird can vocalize, but instead of singing a clear song, it produces a rapid series of high-pitched squeaks that sound like the audio equivalent of Morse code. You can listen to it at the truly wonderful Cornell Lab of Ornithology by clicking here.

Close-up of one of the kingbird adults I saw Tuesday evening. © BCP 2010

In the waning (but very pink) light just before sunset Tuesday, I spent a fascinating hour or so watching a family of kingbirds at Ashbridge’s Bay. There was a solitary fledgling, and what appeared to be two parents — and numerous other adults — perched at the very top of a dead tree by the boardwalk. The adults were doing what flycatchers do — swooping about, catching flies in a very dramatic fashion. While the fledgling waited in the centre of a dead branch, easily 50 feet up, the adults took turns leaving their perch, flying out into an easy swooping loop, then landing back on the branch beside the chick to feed it.

The patience of the chick was nothing short of remarkable. It just waited, sometimes with its mouth open, sometimes not, absolutely confident that within minutes, if not moments, it would have a nice fresh mouthful of fly.

Such good parents. So why did Linnaeus call these birds tyrants? (After all, the truly terrifying T. rex derives its name from the same root.: Tyrannosaurus means tyrant lizard.)

Perhaps it is the kingbirds’ habit of aggressively defending their young and their turf that prompted Linnaeus to dub them so.

Clearly more research required.

© BCP 2010

Another bug in the Beach — of the computer kind

An as-cute-as-they-come mallard duckling (Anas platyrhynchos) at Ashbridge’s earlier this week. © BCP 2010

Arrrgh! And superarrrgh!!

Just when I was getting ready to do  today’s post — which was going to be about how I spent a fascinating half hour right near dusk watching a family of eastern kingbirds feeding one hungry chick — my photo program crashed. AGAIN!

This is definitely not a good sign, since I recently upgraded my computer. Maxed out the memory, in fact. I can’t go any bigger. All the slots are filled. And I’m pretty certain the problem here is too many photos for the computer to handle happily. I’ll be calling tech support first thing tomorrow a.m., that’s for sure. Maybe a reboot is all that’s necessary?

Nah, that’s just wishful thinking.

Well, since I can’t post the kingbird pictures I was planning to do tonight, I’ve put up a close-up of one of the mallard ducklings at Ashbridge’s Bay earlier this week. Why? First of all, because this little guy is so darned cute! And secondly — and ultimately, in the case of a massive computer failure like I’m just experiencing, because I had already scrunched this image for the web, and I didn’t have t o rely on my photo program. (iPhoto ^$*&^!!!**^?+&#!!)

Ditto with the picture of the chicory blooming in profusion along one of the paths at the park — as promised in an earlier post. Already processed for the web, so up it goes.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some serious trouble-shooting to do.

© BCP 2010

Morning ramble, Ashbridge’s Bay

Sea buckthorn bushes (Hippophae rhamnoides) create a canopy over the path at Ashbridge’s Bay. ©BCP 2010

I actually took the photo above last week, on one of the hazy humid days that could make you damp just thinking about going outside for a walk. So this photo should have been posted last week. But somehow or other, my posts have gotten out of order. Too busy, I guess. Can you have too much life in your life? Perhaps I should slow down.

At any rate, here is a photo of one of my most favourite spots at Ashbridge’s Bay, a place I call the nursery. Why? Because each spring it’s here in the tangled branches of some gnarly old sea buckthorn bushes that the starling parents leave their nestlings while they go off to hunt for food to bring back to them. The babies  — dozens of them — squawk and squeek and generally make all the symphony of sounds the starlings are famous for.

I’ll have to make another trip to the bay to confirm this, but I’m thinking that the European starlings (Sturnus vulgaris) are having another brood of chicks, too, as we head into late summer. Just checked in Wikipedia and found that starlings can, in fact, raise up to three broods per season. I thought I saw a very young starling at the bay last week.

Right now, both sides of this path are a sight to behold, abloom as they are with chicory (Cichorium intybus) and Queen Anne’s lace (Daucus carota).  I’ll see if I can dig out another image that shows the profusion of blooms more clearly than the photo above.

© BCP 2010

A merlin in the Madawaska Valley

A raptor surveys his domain overlooking a small, wild lake in the Madawaska Valley on Friday.  © BCP 2010

Wild About The City was off on a jaunt to the Madawaska Valley recently and, on a solo paddle into a completely wild and undeveloped lake, found this raptor atop a snag right by the edge of the water. I paddled quietly and was able to get quite close to him, but he was very, very high up, so the photos I took ended up all being quite distant.

The entire time I watched this bird, he appeared to be concentrating on a spot in the lake — hunting for what?

At the time I was shooting, I thought the small size of this raptor meant it was a peregrine falcon, perhaps. But once back on shore, with my reference books at hand, I realized I was wrong. I’m now wondering if perhaps this bird is a youngish merlin.

If anyone has any ideas, I would appreciated hearing them. You can use the comment section below, or send me an email by clicking on the contact button in the menu at the top of my website.

Thanks to all in advance.

Friday, August 13 update: Two kind and knowledgeable folks have let me know that my unknown raptor is a merlin. Thanks for the help.

© BCP 2010

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