Currently browsing 'birds'
Scorched Earth Policy here at home
Last month, urban odyssey blogger C-mixto wrote an entry on the elusive white tiger of Inwood: a white cat that hunts pigeons in the grasslands of an abandoned lot on Broadway near Academy. Last week I passed by and saw a man with a chemical tank on his back hosing down the entire field. Didn’t look good. No chance of that being environmentally gentle liquid in that ghostbusters backpack.
So… how sad was it to walk by the lot today and see…. THIS!
Yes we have a scorched earth policy in Inwood, it seems. At first glance my heart glowed with a romantic hope that this vision was autumn’s hand painting the landscape a crisp gold. I told myself that it was a field of wheat swaying in the winds, not the corpses of a variety of plant life. Who would notice this, if you didn’t see that the field was green just a few days ago? Perhaps there is no relation between the man with the tank and the sudden death of every growing thing in that spacious lot, but chances are… It’s worth writing about.
Man-made apocalypse in an Inwood lot! Was it weeds he wanted to get rid of? The rats (as the sign advertises)? Sigh… should we now question every single natural beauty we see in our urban landscapes as being a man-made invention, a pot of contamination? Where will the white tiger hunt now?
Our neighbor, the ? Finch
There is this little spice finch (?) who eats on a blade of uncut grass on a hill in Inwood Park that I’ve been seeing every day for the past week. At first I thought he was a sparrow, but noticed his coat had more of a chestnut shine, not a dusty brown. Then I saw his black little beak, and how he sat royally on top of a blade of grass eating its seeds. I stopped. I confirmed he wasn’t a sparrow after seeing his black and white speckled underbelly. He let’s you get close. He looks at you looking at him, then continues eating his seeds. I think of two things when I see him: why are you here, and, if the parks department had cut this part of the field in man’s obessessive quest to have trimmed grass, you wouldn’t have any food as it seems like your beak is made just for blade seeds. How a small act of not cutting the corners of the grass allowed for a spice finch to survive.
Now I’ve called the Audubon Society, emailed bird websites to see if I should catch him because I’m not sure if he’s an escaped pet (they told me NOT to do this). I really don’t know for sure if he is a spice finch. One resident who saw C-mixto looking at him claims that there are tons of them here. If anyone knows of finch colonies in Inwood, give a shout out. It’s such a curious urban sight.
The Elusive White Tiger of Inwood
Look very closely... you'll see his face...
If you look closely at this picture you will find it.
And once you do, you will see it had you in its sights long before you could say the same.
A few days ago while walking to work on a bright sunny morning, I was startled to see a flock of pigeons take flight from the overgrown lot. Then out of nowhere, a small white tiger launched into the air in a primal attempt to snatch one from the air. A Wild Kingdom moment for the urban safari. . . on the sidewalks of Broadway, instead of the waterholes of the Serengeti.
On the following day, I then saw him taking his position in the sheltering grass. Achieving such camouflage for a pure white predator was impressive enough for me to snap this picture and wish him well on his quest.
Nightingales of Inwood
If there are any ornithologists out there reading this, please enlighten us. When the weather warms up, the birds of Inwood seem to confuse midnight with dawn, because as I close my eyes to enter dreamland the birds break out into a twilight song. It starts with one chirp, but then it crescendos into a melodious chorus, like night has found her voice and is enticing you to find her. If you’re not a Hitchcock fan, this should be relaxing, except my circadian rhythm tells me that when I hear birds and I am laying in bed, IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP AND GO TO WORK. Oh how cruel that such beauty in nature can be raped into the modern man’s alarm clock! They sing on and on until about 3:30am when suddenly it becomes Inwood-Hill-Park-dead-silent.
It is strange because 3:30am is usually when the birds of Central Park start singing, at least in my book. Maybe it’s the same crew that picks up and takes the party there. How many nights did I wake up and cling onto the grey bars of our concrete terrace and wonder what makes birds sing at night? Is it the artificial sun our mastery of electricity makes, which also f*cks up our view of the celestial mosaic of stars? Do the birds feast on crack pebbles scattered in the scummy puddles of city West Nile-standing water? Is this what makes them party during the night and sleep away their normal call to announce day? I don’t think the nightingale is native to Inwood. Or is it? A seal has been recently spotted in the Inwood waters and they say seals once thrived here. Are animals reclaiming our cities? Someone please tell me.
