At the park: 42

Nesting activity in seven of the boxes, as of this morning. We also spotted a pair of Spotted Turtles this morning, a species on the park’s target list.

plastic spamWe had a good complement of box-checkers this morning, so I spent most of my 90 minutes collecting trash from the area upstream of the main wetland. I gave some thought to leaving the dishpan, since it was flipped over and providing some habitat. I ran out of trash bags, so I had to leave some flotsam for next week.

yumBeavers have been active up and down the stream network. I was watching some sparrows, and then came across some female Red-winged Blackbirds, who looked huge by comparison. It’s only from a distance that you would confuse these birds with sparrows.

Some links: 52

Mitch Albom’s column in defense of NPR has been up for a few days, but it’s still worth a link.

If you really wanted to show a liberal bias to NPR, you could try to prove it by studying hundreds of its broadcasts. But studies take time and effort and they’re not as cool. Hiding a camera and playing “gotcha” is more fun.

Which is what [James] O’Keefe and crew do. Sorry, folks, the guy is no hero. Journalistically, he’s a coward. And I don’t get why NPR rolled over for his stunt.

Spenser decoded

So I’m working my way through the evening’s ten pages of Spenser and I come to a passage in Book II, Canto XII of The Faerie Queene where he apparently feels the need to demonize certain species of birds and flying mammals:

Even all the Nation of unfortunate
And fatal Birds about them flocked were,
Such as by nature Men abhor and hate;
The ill-fac’d Owl, Death’s dreadful Messenger,
The hoarse Night-Raven, Trump of doleful Drere,
The Leather-winged Bat, Day’s Enemy,
The rueful Strich, still waiting on the Bier,
The Whistler shrill, that whoso hears, doth die;
The hellish Harpies, Prophets of sad Destiny.

Whistler is glossed by the edition that I am recording as plover, and I don’t know where that disrespect is coming from.

But it was Strich that caught my eye. The word, perhaps already obsolete when Spenser used it at the end of the 16th century, refers to the various petite screech-owls, and was formed through some sort of collision between the sound the bird makes and the ominous, bloodthirsty Strix of classical mythology—or at least so Oxford reasons. To add to the confusion, nowadays Strix names a genus of much larger owls, among them the Great Gray Owl and Barred Owl, and it is the nominate genus of the True Owls family, the Strigidae.

Zelig backing up first base

Douglas Martin closes the book on Greg Goossen, C and 1B for the Mets and Seattle Pilots. A bright prospect who never starred, nonetheless Goossen’s name is attached to many incidents of baseball history in the 1960s, and he provided fodder for Jim Bouton’s Ball Four.

Bouton told of the time the two were on opposing International League teams and Goossen was catching. The batter bunted to the pitcher, and Goossen yelled, “First base! First base!” Instead the pitcher threw to second and everybody was safe.

As a disgusted Goossen stalked back to the plate, Bouton shouted from the dugout, “Goose, he had to consider the source.”

Under escort

Gary Stix profiles Omar Fadhil, ornithologist and researcher with the University of Baghdad. Field work in Iraq presents special challenges.

Whenever I go out, villagers always ask, “What the hell are you doing here?” I never engage them directly. Instead I get out my binoculars, set up the camera tripod and take out my bird books. I show them pictures of the birds I’m looking for and, when possible, let them look through the binoculars at the birds themselves.

After a time, they often warm to me. They point to a bird in the book and say, “We’ve seen this one but not that one.” They become my scouts. Despite the war, I have found six new species that had never been seen before in Iraq.

Henhouse asylum

There was a certain coherency in [John Maynard] Keynes’s (the intellectual godfather of the IMF) conception of the [International Monetary] Fund and its role. Keynes identified a market failure—a reason why markets could not be left to themselves—that might benefit from collective action. He was concerned that markets might generate persistent unemployment. He went further. He showed why there was a need for global collective action, because the actions of one country spilled over to others. One country’s imports are another country’s exports. Cutbacks in imports by one country, for whatever reason, hurt other countries’ economies.

* * *

Today, however, market fundamentalists dominate the IMF; they believe that markets by and large work well and that governments by and large work badly. We have an obvious problem: a public institution created to address certain failures in the market but currently run by economists who have both a high level of confidence in markets and little confidence in public institutions. The inconsistencies at the IMF appear particularly troubling when viewed from the perspective of the advances in economic theory in the last three decades.

—Joseph E. Stiglitz, Globalization and Its Discontents (2002), ch. 8, p. 196

Some links: 51

Along with some perhaps justifiable criticism, Daniel Mendelsohn unpicks one of the secrets to Matthew Weiner’s Mad Men.

This, more than anything, explains why the greatest part of the audience for Mad Men is made up not, as you might have imagined at one point, by people of the generation it depicts—people who were in their twenties and thirties and forties in the 1960s, and are now in their sixties and seventies and eighties—but by viewers in their forties and early fifties today, which is to say of an age with those characters’ children. The point of identification is, in the end, not Don but Sally, not Betty but Glen: the watching, hopeful, and so often disillusioned children who would grow up to be this program’s audience, watching their younger selves watch their parents screw up.

Hence both the show’s serious failings and its strong appeal. If so much of Mad Men is curiously opaque, all inexplicable exteriors and posturing, it occurs to you that this is, after all, how the adult world often looks to children; whatever its blankness, that world, as recreated in the show, feels somehow real to those of us who were kids back then.

(Link via Arts & Letters Daily.)

At the park: 41

waking upThe mergansers continue their pattern of being unpredictably predictable. We found a nest already started on our first day of monitoring, but it wasn’t in the expected location; rather, we found four eggs in box #13, nearest the observation tower.

The work went a little quicker than past years, because now we have only fourteen boxes to check. After reviewing our records back to 2006, we had asked Dave Lawlor of the park staff to remove five boxes that haven’t been producing.

The weather was unusually pleasant for February, with clouds giving way to sun by mid-morning.

M.K. used a GPS to get latlongs of the boxes and produced a nifty map.

Red-winged Blackbirds (Agelaius phoeniceus) are already chattering (seems early for them); the light frosting of red on the maples is barely perceptible at distance. On the way back to the cars, above the boardwalk I saw a big black bird riding a thermal, a bird with a flash of white. The rest of the team confirmed my guess (I’d left my bins at home): Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus).

Sky blue

I live on an island at the edge of a maze of estuaries, at the convergence of a bay and a sound, a place full of waterbirds, even in the dead of winter.

Janice P. Nimura goes birding on the East River.

…they were gadwalls, not mallards. The female looked mallardish, but the male was different, with dove-gray feathers, paler at the tips, over a black rump. Understated and elegant, like a morning coat. I love the word “gadwall”; it sounds Dickensian, the name of a prosperous man of business, paddling about on the social pond.