It's 66˚F outside at 2:30 pm on a January day. The sky is clear, the day is beautiful. Our mid-winter in southern California is mild and lovely.
Unfortunately, people have difficulty seeing incremental local climate changes if those changes do not have a concrete negative impact on themselves. In addition, most people who have relocated to Los Angeles from places with snowy or harsh winters do not even notice our subtle seasons.
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| toyon berries, 1/15/15 |
Today however I came face-to-face with an impact from drought and climate change that is having a direct impact on my neighbors and their migratory relatives. The toyon or California holly should be filled with red berries (what toyon should look like in December/January). Because of the drought the two bushes in the front of the house did not fruit at all this year and the toyon at the top of the hill has fruit that look like this...small and unripe.
The northern mockingbird that only occasionally visits our yard was here this morning hunting for fruit, it found none. The hermit thrush who visits annually was also searching for toyon fruit. Unlike the mockingbird, it has come here from the north to spend the winter in a location that should offer winter fruit. Both are having to supplement their diets with more insects.
High in the eucalyptus tree the mewing cries of a small flock of cedar waxwings caught my attention. Twenty-seven of these fruit-eating birds sat pondering their next move. They too were here looking for the toyon berries that they expected to find on our hillside. When they found nothing, they went hungry. They regathered and flew on.
For these birds, drought means smaller, less nutritious food. But subtle changes in our climate are also altering when the fruit ripens. Imagine driving across the Mojave desert with the plan to stop at that favorite restaurant only to find that the town is closed up and the next place to find food is 100s of miles away.
Subtle changes in our local climate are impacting wild species that are tied to the fruiting or flowering of specific plants. We need to increase our awareness.
For the past 12 years I have been documenting the birds that daily frequent our yard, the migratory birds that travel through and the species that visit during a specific season. The hermit thrush (Catharus guttatus) is one of my favorites. On the small side, this bird typically arrives alone or with a single companion. It stands with its head raised like an American robin, but it is slighter in size has brown spots on a white chest, a gray-brown back and a russet tail. Spending the winter here in southern California, the hermit thrush is shy and elusive. By the time I spot it, there is no chance to grab the camera. It slips in and out of the shrubs, plucking a toyon berry or any of the variety of reddish round berries on the vegetation.
The only vocalizations are typically soft chirps in the early morning. (Imagine my surprise this summer in Alaska when I heard this beautiful singing bird and it turned out to be my quiet friend. In its breeding grounds, the hermit thrush is known as the songster of the forest.)
Another surprise was that this year the hermit thrush arrived on October 4th. It seemed early and it was. I graphed the arrival dates for the hermit thrush that I have recorded annually since 2001. The vertical axis shows dates with numerical values (November 15 = 11.5).
It's a graphic demonstration of gradual change. The arrival date of the hermit thrush varied dramatically in the first years of the century, fluctuating between mid-October and mid-November. However since 2007 the hermit thrush has been arriving in October. This year was the earliest date I've recorded.
This corresponds somewhat with our rainfall levels. Since 2007, we have not had the dramatic years of heavy rainfall that we used to have. Another interesting aspect is where did this hermit thrush come from? Did it leave its summer breeding grounds early because of a factor in that far away place? Is it a different individual bird?
Other migratory birds are passing through and arriving. Last Week. This weekend a female black-throated gray warbler stopped to rest and hunt for insects in the elm tree.
The white-crown sparrows arrived somewhat early too. Interestingly the snowbirds that usually arrive first in our yard are the Oregon juncos, and they have yet to show up. They had been arriving earlier and earlier each September. I wonder what their story is?
There is a special reward for planting native plants: watching habitat being restored in front of your eyes.
Five years ago I planted a 3 gallon toyon (Heteromeles arbutifolia). It started out just 2 foot tall. Today it is about 8 foot tall. The dark green leaves are prickly and in late autumn its berries ripen to a brilliant red. It's no wonder European immigrants to California were reminded of holly and called it "California holly" or "Christmas berry."
In fact this is the holly that gave the name to "Hollywoodland" and therefore Hollywood. (Decorating with toyon)
The native Chumash, Ohlone and other coastal peoples in California roasted or dried the berries and ate them. They also used the strong, rot-resistant wood for a variety of implements and ceremonial markers. But people weren't the only species that depended on the toyon. Numerous animals eat the berries as well, rodents, foxes (including the endangered island fox), probably the extinct southwestern grizzly bear did as well. A wide range of birds also look for this easy-to-spot, chaparral delicacy.
Sunday morning I watched the hermit thrush picking one red berry at a time and swallowing it down. A hermit thrush has been coming to my yard every winter for the last seven years. I believe it is the same bird, but I don't absolutely know that for sure. For the second year in a row it arrived with a friend. I wonder if the thrush has been waiting for the toyon to grow up and become the beautiful berry-producing plant that it is now?
One thing is for sure, the toyon has created a valuable source of winter food for the hermit thrush, cedar waxwings and other berry-eating birds. The hermit thrush seemed to be thankful for its bountiful meal and I was heartened that I had made a positive difference for the local wildlife and migratory birds.
Now is the season in California to plant native plants, they are the Foundation of Habitat. Plant a few natives and help make a positive difference.
Two days of glorious rain. The earth sighed and drank deeply. Nearly two inches of light, soaking rain kissed the plants and washed 7 1/2 months of dust from their leaves. The last measurable precipitation that fell here was the first week in March.
Amazingly, despite water rationing and drought the native plants are flourishing. The current has dropped all of its dried brown leaves and is flush this morning with new green foliage. The ceanothus are deep green and bolstered by the soaking.
Three days before the rain, on a dry warm October 10th, the hermit thrush arrived with its mate. The last time this bird arrived this early was four years ago, when it also had a mate.
The following day, I was overjoyed to see my friend the ruby-crowned kinglet. The trip must have been dry and dirty. It said ‘’Hello,” then scrubbed its feathers in the water pooled on the leaves of a wild grape we had just planted. That same afternoon, the season’s first pair of yellow-rumped warblers arrived. They too took long baths in the bird bath.
When I checked my records, this was the earliest we have seen the kinglet since I started keeping track in 2000. But last year it also arrived a few days before the first rain (four days before last year, three days before this year).
The rain has flushed out the insects and numerous yellow-rumped warblers are plundering the abundance throughout the neighborhood. Perhaps the arrival of these birds is a better indicator of the first seasonal rains than the weatherman and his Doppler radar.
The sun is shining again this morning. Raindrops shimmer like rainbowed jewels on leaves and petals. Ephemeral wisps of ground fog rise from the earth, spirits of winter growth to come. There is a glorious hope among the plants and the creatures that depend on them.
