“The feathers were of many hues of glistening greens and blues and purples, and it had a yellow head with a red plume, and pink, white, and violet in its tail.”
L. Frank Baum (1856-1919), “The Magic of Oz”
We were sitting in the home of a Prairie neighbor surrounded by unadorned windows. It was midday, and just a few feet from where we were sitting a doe stepped out of the sedge field and onto the gravel driveway. She glanced toward the house but seemed unconcerned at being stared at by four sets of eyes. She was beautiful as she nibbled a bit across the yard and into the opposite side sedge field. She seemed so carefree. It never ceases to amaze me that such a large animal can exist entirely self-sufficient amid houses and humans. Afterall, we are hardly the Serengeti.
At our Prairie house we know the deer come near from the telltale signs of footprints in the mud, but we rarely see deer up close. The same day as the sedge field deer, Sam and I were standing in our sunroom looking out the windows. Five or six deer scampered out of the woods. They kicked up their heels, nibbled the ground a bit, then headed back into the woods. We decided perhaps we don’t spend enough time looking out the unadorned windows.
Every now and then in passing, we’ll catch a glance at an odd bird or some other creature. On the small pond I had the pleasure of spotting Merganser — one male and three females. The Sibley’s Guide to Birds says the Hooded Merganser likes to winter here in the Southeast in small flocks and prefers smaller, often wooded ponds. They seemed perfectly content until I slipped out to grab a quick photo. Suddenly, they sailed away into the blue.
The domestic Pekin ducks live on the bigger lake where Sam built a floating dock just for them. One afternoon I spotted an unusual solitary bird sitting on the floating dock. Its head was coal black, and its body was pure white.
On the shore close by were the Pekin ducks. The bird didn’t stay long enough nor close enough for a photograph. Again, searching Sibley’s, the best identification I can make would be that of a Lesser Scaup. The book describes the voice of a scaup as “a husky whistled phrase higher-pitched and less hollow than Greater [Scaup] so that the effect is more peeping than bubbling; also a quiet whistle pilt.”
Descriptions of bird calls are humorous. I’m sure it’s hard to translate bird calls into words, but they do sound funny when you try to repeat them. Take the call of the Northern Bobwhite which is native to our habitat but rarely seen: Male song a strong, clear whistle pup waaayk or bob white; also a loud, harsh quaysh or queeeak. Covey calls include hoy, hoypoo and koillee. Contact calls a soft took and pitoo. Ground predators elicit soft, musical tirree, changing to ick-ick-ick or toil-ick-ick-ick. Avian predators elicit throaty errk. Males in southern Texas gives harsher “bob whish” than northern birds.
We have possums that make clicking noises, growling and sneezing sounds. Armadillos make grunting, squeaking and squealing sounds. It’s not always quiet in the Prairie.
You can help your community
Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 37 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.