"Plant it and they will come," is a rough paraphrase borrowed from a famous late 1980's movie. These words are an apt recommendation to attract birds to a backyard: landscape with native flora and you're guaranteed to have local species visit your garden.
As I've watched a newly planted palo verde tree mature over the last two years, I've seen verdins - some of the tiniest of desert birds - regularly visit it as they hunt for miniscule insects between its leaves or drink nectar from its spring blossoms. And recently, juveniles have joined their parents in these forages, reminding me that not only does a well-placed tree encourage visits, it might just nurture a family.
When you first encounter a verdin, it's usually their peeps you notice before you spot them. Peep, hop, peep, hop: their nonstop performance is choreographed to a fast metronome. They're tiny, even smaller than a chickadee, probably closer in size to a bushtit. But they're not New World tits at all, instead they're the only North American members of a separate Old World avian family.
Early in the spring, Abert's towhees scavenged through my yard's undergrowth as they collected food for their young. I can still hear the raspy calls of the recent fledglings as they begged for morsels. But a few weeks ago, high-pitched tweets alerted me to brand new backyard visitors: juvenile verdins trailing their parents as they pecked through my palo verde tree.
When you do see a verdin, its bright yellow head and red shoulder bars might be its only distinguishing features. But without the right light, the bird looks plain and gray. In fact, that's exactly how the juveniles looked in full sun in my backyard: no color at all except for orange mandibles.
It's currently white-winged dove nesting season, when these large birds invade my Phoenix neighborhood. Scores of them seem to supplant the mourning doves, starlings and house finches as the most populous avian resident on my street. I haven't figured out exactly where these birds spend their winters, but I know around this time of year they like to nest in a lysilomo tree - another native tree - that I planted many years ago in my backyard.
However it was two completely different birds I noticed high in that tree just last week. They were a pair, drably colored, and quite still; I had enough time to look at them, hurry into the house to fetch my camera, and return some moments later to snap a few shots. It turns out the plain visitors were juvenile vermilion flycatchers, hunters easily found on a nearby golf course, but rare backyard guests.
I didn't observe doting parents, like I did with the verdin family in the nearby palo verde. Flycatchers tend to hunt in open spaces, foraying from high perches to snatch insects seemingly out of thin air. The inexperienced juveniles might have just been patiently waiting - for what, a meal from a distant mother or father? - taking temporary shelter in the lysiloma's shady canopy. Yet one more useful purpose for a backyard tree.
As I've watched a newly planted palo verde tree mature over the last two years, I've seen verdins - some of the tiniest of desert birds - regularly visit it as they hunt for miniscule insects between its leaves or drink nectar from its spring blossoms. And recently, juveniles have joined their parents in these forages, reminding me that not only does a well-placed tree encourage visits, it might just nurture a family.
When you first encounter a verdin, it's usually their peeps you notice before you spot them. Peep, hop, peep, hop: their nonstop performance is choreographed to a fast metronome. They're tiny, even smaller than a chickadee, probably closer in size to a bushtit. But they're not New World tits at all, instead they're the only North American members of a separate Old World avian family.
Early in the spring, Abert's towhees scavenged through my yard's undergrowth as they collected food for their young. I can still hear the raspy calls of the recent fledglings as they begged for morsels. But a few weeks ago, high-pitched tweets alerted me to brand new backyard visitors: juvenile verdins trailing their parents as they pecked through my palo verde tree.
When you do see a verdin, its bright yellow head and red shoulder bars might be its only distinguishing features. But without the right light, the bird looks plain and gray. In fact, that's exactly how the juveniles looked in full sun in my backyard: no color at all except for orange mandibles.
It's currently white-winged dove nesting season, when these large birds invade my Phoenix neighborhood. Scores of them seem to supplant the mourning doves, starlings and house finches as the most populous avian resident on my street. I haven't figured out exactly where these birds spend their winters, but I know around this time of year they like to nest in a lysilomo tree - another native tree - that I planted many years ago in my backyard.
However it was two completely different birds I noticed high in that tree just last week. They were a pair, drably colored, and quite still; I had enough time to look at them, hurry into the house to fetch my camera, and return some moments later to snap a few shots. It turns out the plain visitors were juvenile vermilion flycatchers, hunters easily found on a nearby golf course, but rare backyard guests.
I didn't observe doting parents, like I did with the verdin family in the nearby palo verde. Flycatchers tend to hunt in open spaces, foraying from high perches to snatch insects seemingly out of thin air. The inexperienced juveniles might have just been patiently waiting - for what, a meal from a distant mother or father? - taking temporary shelter in the lysiloma's shady canopy. Yet one more useful purpose for a backyard tree.
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| Juvenile verdin in my Phoenix backyard's red yucca bloom. |
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| Juvenile verdin in my backyard in Phoenix. |
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| Adult verdin in my backyard's palo verde tree. |
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| Adult verdin in my backyard's palo verde tree. |
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| Juvenile vermilion flycatcher in my backyard's lysiloma tree. |
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| Adult female vermilion flycatcher in my Phoenix neighborhood. |
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| Adult male vermilion flycatcher in my Phoenix neighborhood. |
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