By Annette Litle

It all began with a terrible accident. My husband and I were pruning a camellia that should have been tended to in the fall. As we were picking up the debris to compost, we found a nest on the ground with four screaming nestlings, eyes still unopened.

Horrified, panicked, and crying, with gloved hands I carefully lifted the nest back into the bush. I held vigil to see if the parents would come back, but there was no sign of them. I stayed away from the nest for the next few days in hopes that nature could recover from my carelessness. Finally I checked and the nest was empty.

My sadness at the loss of these babies caused me to start viewing things differently. I began looking in my backyard.

Through the ensuing years, I watched and waited to see who would come visit and perhaps take up residence. One day I spotted an American Robin perched on the fence with a big juicy worm in its beak. Seeing all was safe, she flew into one of our trees to feed her babies. Only then did I hear them. How could a nest have been there all along, right in front of me with wailing babies, and I had still not noticed?

Learning to be quiet opened up a new world of wonder, teaching me how to look and listen for the birds. For a week my kids and I sat quietly watching the robin fly back and forth caring for the nestlings. It was so exciting to experience this new life materializing in our own backyard. I came outside one morning to check on the robins, only to find the nest had been torn to shreds, one of the babies dead on the ground.  A raccoon, maybe?

Again, I was stricken with sadness. This tragedy became an opportunity to teach myself and my children about the importance of respecting our urban wildlife, and about how difficult it is for birds to survive in the city with its predators, including humans. We also worked on letting go of the busy bustle of chores, school and work — all the things that prevent us from experiencing the wonder that is hidden, just slightly, from our eyes and ears.

Next season, I saw some of the activity I had been waiting for.…

By Matthew Perry

Betsey and I arrive home to our houseboat from a birding trip to Point Reyes and see a large bird flying high above the dock.  Is it a gull?  No, too dark.  Is it a Turkey Vulture?  No, not flying right.  Is it — yes, it’s an Osprey!  Is it carrying a fish?  Not this time…

I notice the cats perk up at something outside.  I follow their gaze and see a Snowy Egret perched on our neighbor’s deck, watching as kayakers paddle by.  He stays there for quite a while, putting on a fashion show as I snap pictures.

What was that shadow that just passed over the skylight?  Quick, look out the back.  I don’t see anything—oh, wait, there it is: a Great Blue Heron stopped for a breather on our neighbor’s roof.

I am at my desk near the back door and see a Belted Kingfisher perched on a light pole.  It stares into the shallows, adjusts its position, turns its head this way and that to get a better look, and dives.  Splash!  Out of the water it comes with a crab, onto a post, then toss-toss-adjust-gulp!  Down goes the crab, up goes the kingfisher back to the light pole, and around goes the process one more time.  This is our “back yard.”

My partner Betsey Finn and I live on a houseboat in Sausalito, California, which means we see a different set of backyard birds than most people.  Our daily or weekly water-oriented regulars are Great Blue and Night Herons, Great and Snowy Egrets, Mallards, Canada Geese, and various gulls.  A few landlubbers join us every day, too—mainly Turkey Vultures, crows and ravens, House Finches, and hummingbirds.

Some seasonally abundant favorites include Killdeer, coots, cormorants, several grebes, Buffleheads and other ducks, pelicans, terns, kingfishers, stilts, yellowlegs, Willets, sandpipers, and more.  The occasional Osprey or loon stops in for a few minutes every now and then.

Sometimes Betsey and I miss the standard feeder fare (it would be nice to have some resident chickadees and goldfinches!), but we’ll never complain about the amazing avian pageant that plays out around our house all year long.

One of the coolest things about houseboat life is the rhythm of the tide. …

By Dave Strauss

In early June while driving along Arlington Avenue in Kensington, I spotted a little brown bird awkwardly thrashing in the road. It couldn’t fly and certainly would have been run over on this very busy route through the Berkeley hills, so I stopped and picked it up.

It was a California Towhee that appeared unable to move its right leg and right wing.  I took it to our nearby home, hoping it might recover on its own after some time in protective custody — safe from the cars, cats, hawks, and other threats to a helpless songbird on the ground.

Once home, I put the bird in an open top cardboard box on the deck just outside my office door. It was a beautiful day, and after 10 or 15 minutes of struggling, it appeared to relax in the warmth of the sun and protection of the box. Passing time seemed to be the remedy for this little towhee; I could see that the right wing and leg were starting to move a little.

It’s great to save a bird, but as a photographer, this situation presented a second unusual opportunity. I had a bird-in-the-hand, and getting in close with a macro lens was easy. I shot a few pictures and set the camera aside to see if our recovering bird was ready to depart.  It was.  With a little coaxing, it was out of the box and soon flew off into its familiar habitat of Wildcat Canyon.

That was a gratifying moment, but I quickly turned my attention to the photos. I uploaded them to my computer and took a look. In one photo I could see small, nearly-transparent “bugs” in the corner of the Towhee’s right eye.  I’d never seen that before.  I emailed the photo to David Herlocker, the terrific and encyclopedic Interpretive Naturalist for Marin County Parks, asking him “What’s this?” as I have on many other occasions.

He replied, “Bird lice.”

After showing this photo to several friends, responses were along the lines of “Yuk”, “Ewwww”, and “Gross”, but I knew what they really meant was, “That’s amazing. Please investigate further and report back in writing.”

So here’s a handy word you can drop into everyday conversations and spelling bees:  Phthirapterologist.

These are biologists who study lice. Within a few mouse clicks, it was clear that Phthirapterologists constitute a vibrant worldwide academic community complete with societies, conferences, journals, heroes, and villains.…

By Ilana DeBare

Golden Gate Bird Alliance’s habitat work at Pier 94 in San Francisco is entering an exciting new stage – restoration of the uplands area.

Are you familiar with Pier 94?  Most San Franciscans aren’t; they don’t have a reason to stop at this small 5.5-acre natural oasis on the city’s southern waterfront, sandwiched between a stone, sand and gravel processing facility and other industrial port properties.

But many GGBA members know Pier 94 well – from volunteering on the restoration work there, or stopping by to look for shorebirds and Osprey, or viewing the amazing kite photos we shared on this blog last summer.

Before 1960, Pier 94 was a salt marsh with a variety of wetland plants that likely included California sea-blite or Suaeda Californica. But over the next several decades, the marsh deteriorated into an informal dumping site for asphalt and concrete, old tires, rebar and other materials.

In the wake of a disastrous 1996 oil spill in the Bay, the Port of San Francisco offered up Pier 94 as a site that could mitigate some of the spill damage. The Restoration Plan resulting from the spill agreed that restoration of Pier 94 could provide benefits such as:

• Additional spawning and nursery habitat for fish.
• Foraging and roosting habitat for shorebirds, wading birds, waterfowl, passerines and raptors.
• Improved water quality by trapping sediments from runoff and filtering out contaminants.
• Environmental public use opportunities.

Golden Gate Bird Alliance played the lead role in advocating for restoration of Pier 94, and entered into a long-term partnership with the Port, which owns the site. Starting in 2002, GGBA has coordinated monthly volunteer work days that include planting and monitoring California sea-blite, removing trash and non-native plants, and inventorying plants and wildlife at the site.

Until recently, nearly all of the work focused on the shoreline or marsh section of the site. Today that area is a healthy marsh that is home to a variety of marine life and birds such as American Avocets, Long-billed Curlews and Black Oystercatchers.

Which brings us to the next stage … the uplands. We’re now working on similar restoration of the uplands area of the site. Together with the Port, we tested the soil in that area in 2011 and found that it was filled with rebar, concrete and other rubble that would not support native vegetation.…