A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment:
The Nature of Things
Books, gardens, birds, the environment, politics, or whatever happens to be grabbing my attention today.
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Friday, September 25, 2026
This week in birds - #693
Saturday, September 19, 2026
Poetry Sunday: The Beautiful Changes by Richard Wilbur
One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides
The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like lilies
This week in birds - #692
A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment:
A hummingbird that is about the size of a butterfly is the American Bird Conservancy's Bird of the Week. It is the Short-crested Coquette, a bird of the state of Guerrero in Mexico. It is one of the rarest of Mexican hummingbirds. It is estimated that there are less than 1,000 left in the small area that it inhabits and that its population is decreasing. The main threat to its habitat comes from unsustainable logging and agricultural expansion.*~*~*~*
A new species of cat has been discovered in the cloud forests of the Andes in Bolivia. It is smaller than our house cats.
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It turns out that not all "invasive" plants are all bad. Some serve a useful purpose.
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Three wild dogs in Zambia have made a record-breaking journey of more than 2,500 miles in search of mates.
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It seems that human evolution (which is still ongoing) favors genes linked to red hair and less male-pattern baldness.
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The current iteration of the Environmental Protection Agency, which does not live up to its name, has announced that it is eliminating a rule that limited planet-warming greenhouse gas emissions from power plants fueled by coal and natural gas.
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A federal judge has ruled that the administration's plan to halve the workforce of the Federal Emergency Management Agency is illegal.
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A 66-million-year-old feather trapped in dinosaur poop may offer a clue as to how some birds survived extinction.
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Meanwhile, dinosaur footprints discovered in North Dakota might represent the first T. rex trackway that has ever been found.
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Five hundred adult Partula snails are being mailed from the Detroit zoo to Tahiti giving a whole new meaning to the term "snail mail." It's part of an international effort to reestablish wild populations of the snail.
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A new study suggests that some of the fish living in the Great Lakes might be more than four hundred years old.
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A strange object sticking out of a creek in California turned out to be a mastodon tooth.
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Iceland is one of the three countries that still hunts whales but it is currently considering a bill that would ban the practice.
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A tomb discovered this year in Peru contained 38 individuals and a rich trove of funerary goods from the pre-Inca Chimu' civilization of 600 years ago.
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A new map that traces where petrochemical emissions come from shows that just ten percent of facilities produce 53% of the industry's emissions.
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When elephants raid farms they may actually be looking for medicinal plants.
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Tasmanian devils and humans lived alongside each other in northwestern Australia as far back as 45,000 years ago.
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Here are some ways that people of the past used magic to protect their homes.
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Two mountain-dwelling marmots have been discovered living in the San Francisco Bay Area many miles from normal habitat. It's unclear how they got there but there is speculation that they hitched a ride in the engine compartment of an automobile. Regardless of how they got there they were described as "chonky" and very well-fed.
Saturday, September 12, 2026
Poetry Sunday: Fall by Edward Hirsch
Fall, falling, fallen. That’s the way the season
That dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped leaves
Redden on their branches (in a fiery competition
With the final remaining cardinals) and then
Begin to sidle and float through the air, at last
Settling into colorful layers carpeting the ground.
At twilight the light, too, is layered in the trees
In a season of odd, dusky congruences—a scarlet tanager
And the odor of burning leaves, a golden retriever
Loping down the center of a wide street and the sun
Setting behind smoke-filled trees in the distance,
A gap opening up in the treetops and a bruised cloud
Blamelessly filling the space with purples. Everything
Changes and moves in the split second between summer’s
Sprawling past and winter’s hard revision, one moment
Pulling out of the station according to schedule,
Another moment arriving on the next platform. It
Happens almost like clockwork: the leaves drift away
From their branches and gather slowly at our feet,
Sliding over our ankles, and the season begins moving
Around us even as its colorful weather moves us,
Even as it pulls us into its dusty, twilit pockets.
And every year there is a brief, startling moment
When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and
Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless
Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air:
It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies;
It is the changing light of fall falling on us. This week in birds - #691
A roundup of the week's news of birds and the environment:
The American Bird Conservancy's Bird of the Week is a species that was only discovered in 2017 in the mountains of southwestern Ecuador. It is a member of the hummingbird family, the beautiful Blue-throated Hillstar. Because of the destruction of its habitat and loss of its favored nectaring plants, it is considered to be critically endangered and thought to be decreasing. There may only be around one hundred individuals left in the wild.Friday, September 11, 2026
Remembering...
On September 11, 2001, at 7:00 a.m., I went to my job as a supervisor of twelve social caseworkers and six secretaries at the Texas Department of Human Resources. About fifty minutes later, one of my caseworkers came running down the hall to my office, in tears, telling me we had been attacked. At first I couldn't make sense of what she was saying. She had had her radio on in her office and had heard the awful news from New York.
When I finally could understand what she was telling me, I turned on my own radio and Bob Edwards on the NPR station that I routinely listened to delivered the news, haltingly, in a voice that told me he could hardly believe what he was saying. Two planes had been commandeered by members of al-Qaeda, a global Islamist terrorist network, and had been flown into the Twin Towers at the World Trade Center in New York. We were indeed under attack.
Soon the news came that the attackers had also struck Washington where the Pentagon was hit. The bad news just kept coming as we learned that another plane headed for Washington had crashed in a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. In that case, we later learned the passengers on the plane had realized what was happening and had fought back. That plane, it is believed, had been headed toward the U.S. Capitol or the White House but the bravery of ordinary citizens prevented it from completing its mission.
Were there other attack planes headed toward other cities? My thoughts, of course, turned to Houston. Would we be attacked? Did I need to go and pick up my children to have them with me? I called my husband, the newspaper editor, who I knew would still be asleep after working the night before on the day's paper. He would now have perhaps the biggest story of his career to edit.
On December 8, 1941, a day after the attack on Pearl Harbor, President Franklin Roosevelt had gone before Congress to request a formal declaration of war against Japan. In that speech, he had described December 7 as "a day that will live in infamy." The statements after September 11, 2001 were perhaps not as eloquent but no less heartfelt.
As long as this nation endures September 11, 2001 will be another day that lives in infamy in its history. Twenty-five years later we remember those who died that day. Let us strive to honor them by doing our civic duty to try to make this country a nation that lives up to the ideals expressed in its founding documents and is truly worthy of their sacrifice.
Saturday, September 5, 2026
Poetry Sunday: Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare
Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang