Falling hard for fall days
Ignore the calendars. Fall really arrived in San Benito County
just over a week ago, when the air grew just a little crisper (
”
Crisp
”
is relative, since even a cold fall morning requires nothing
more than a light sweater in San Benito County.)
Falling hard for fall days
Ignore the calendars. Fall really arrived in San Benito County just over a week ago, when the air grew just a little crisper (“Crisp” is relative, since even a cold fall morning requires nothing more than a light sweater in San Benito County.)
We’ve had our first fire. A few drops of rain are a welcome change.
Fall is my favorite season in this area. Scattered clouds dapple golden hills in light and shadow. Crowds at area parks evaporate even as we enjoy some of the year’s best weather.
It’s also a time when the wildlife scene changes. Sunday, we watched a coyote as it watched us. The animal appeared well fed, but its summer coat was looking a little tattered.
The feeders in the garden are emptying out faster than just a few weeks ago. The house finches and goldfinches that crowded into the garden are now joined by white-crowned and golden-crowned sparrows, returnees from points north. Most mornings before climbing out of bed I listen to birdcalls and count how many different species can be heard through our bedroom window. Each year I wait for the first white-crown to call from our shrubs and each year it happens during the last week in September..
Easterners may complain that we have no seasons, but to me, the not-so-subtle shifts are profound.
Poison oak is crimson. Sycamores and vineyards are turning into shades of yellow and gold.
Apples are ready and the tomato vines are producing faster than we can keep up with.
But it’s the bird life that most eloquently announces the arrival of the season. The number of birds of prey will rise through the winter.
Ferruginous hawks, the largest member of the group that includes red-tailed hawks, will repopulate the county. I know of nowhere in Central California better for seeing numbers of them than open spaces in the Hollister vicinity.
Each year commuters traveling Hwy. 25 call to remark that the number of raptors seems higher. They’re right of course.
Birds of prey are not true migrants, but their population does shift south during the fall and winter. When small animals are sleeping or burrowed deep beneath snow they are not available to raptors. And so they go to where the snow is not.
The migrants coming to the area may be here for a variety of reasons, but the reasons birds engage in the taxing, dangerous activity of commuting across the planet come down to just a few things: availability of habitat, availability of food and breeding opportunities.
Around shallow lakes and on the coast, shorebirds are arriving in waves in a migration that began to manifest itself in August. Most breed far to the north, where summer’s constant daylight and an abundance of invertebrates enable them to raise families.
Right now, birders in the region are lighting up e-mail lists with sightings of migrating birds that have wandered far out of range. The most dedicated among them will rush out to try to re-find these rare sightings for themselves.
I’m less inclined to chase the odd rarity. But getting outside on a cool fall morning should rank near the top of nearly anyone’s list of earthly delights.
