For the Birds

Posted on December 5, 2025 by Tina

Birds and windows don’t mix. When they come into contact with one another, the bird is usually the looser. Glass reflects the outdoors and birds see the glass as a place to fly through. Research now suggests that in the United States, 1 billion birds die each year due to window strikes. Even when a bird flies away after a strike, it’s estimated that upwards of 60% die within a 24 hour period. This information comes from wildlife rescue organizations’ records of birds brought in for treatment after window collisions.

The numbers are daunting and birds are dying. We human types can mitigate some of that problem by using window decals in the forms of lines, dots, or cutesy decorations.

I’ve opted for cutsey in my window situations.

Decals are easy to put on windows, available through many sources, and last quite a long time. In my own experience, my back garden windows are the main source of bird collisions, obviously because of the feeders. For some years now, I’ve placed decals on those particular windows (I’ll talk about other window remedies later). While I love the aesthetic of a clean, large window, dead or dying birds because of those windows is a non-starter for me. I’ll tolerate some interruption of that sheet of beautiful glass for the sake of even more beautiful birds. I’ve grown used to the decals; they don’t hinder my inside enjoyment of the outside and it’s now a rare event that a bird hits my windows.

This window is in in my living room, the photo taken from outside. It’s easy to see how a bird might think it can fly right through. It’s been 4 years since a bird hit this window; sadly, it was a beautiful Cedar Waxwing. In addition to the decals placed at the bottom half of the window placed a few inches apart, there is an indoor blind hanging in the upper half with slats partially open so that the horizontal slats indicate to birds that the window isn’t a flyway.

When we were in Costa Rica, a number of the places we visited opted for vertical lines on the windows. Some newer buildings are using glass that has dots or lines formed in the glass. Decals, lines drawn on glass with oil-based paint markers, blinds (vertical or horizontal), patterned draperies–anything that disrupts a reflection of a natural landscape is a cue to birds that the window shouldn’t be part of the bird’s flyway. I’ve witness a hawk, and many migratory and resident birds fly towards my windows, to suddenly bank away as they clearly recognized that the path isn’t safe. What they think the window is at that point I have no idea, but that the birds didn’t head straight into the window is a win for the birds. For me, that alone is worth a few in-the-way-decals.

Most of my windows have blinds on the inside and because there are lines, the birds see that those windows are not through-ways. When I raise the blinds, I’ve placed a few decals on the lower part of the windows so that the birds don’t hit the glass.

If you’d like to read more about this problem, the research to mitigate the problem, and how you can prevent bird strikes, check out these links. The first is from Cornell Lab of Ornithology, the second from Audubon.

Why Birds Collide With Windows

Window Strikes Are Even Deadlier for Birds Thank We Thought

Do it for the birds!

Black-crested Titmouse, *Baeolophus atricristatus*

Gardening on the Land

Posted on January 23, 2022 by Tina

Last August, a native plants and wildlife gardening buddy, Deb, sent to me a link to a New York Times article which I’d somehow missed in my own subscription. Written by author and podcaster, Margaret Roach, the article profiles landscape architect Darrel Morrison’s gardening philosophy, developed throughout his remarkable career. Roach also highlights Morrison’s knitting of ecological diversity with traditional design elements, as well as a thorough description of his “four principles” of landscape design.

The first principle involves planting for “natural diversity” to lessen water and chemical use in the garden and to mitigate climate change. Morrison suggests that a variety of plants native to a region offers the best outcome to achieve a diverse garden. Avoiding the use of invasive non-native plants is paramount to achieve this goal.

Morrison’s second principle promotes an “experientially rich” garden, one with active pollinators and other wildlife. Additionally, gardening with plants of differing structures and growth habits adds life and movement, enriching the garden community.

The third principle is that a garden should reflect where it is. My garden in Austin, Texas should look, feel, and smell different than one situated in Eugene, Oregon or Madison, Wisconsin. A garden should be of its geographic place.

Morrison’s final principle is that of change. A garden should be “dynamic,” changing with time and seasons, which is opposite to the typical American outdoor space of expanse of green turf and pruned shrubs which looks the same year-round. I like Morrison’s quote on this particular point: “Painting is two-dimensional; architecture and sculpture, three-dimensional,” he said. “But landscapes are four-dimensional, with time being the fourth dimension.” Seasonal change, and planning for it, is important.

March/April blooming Gulf Coast Penstemon, *Penstemon tenuis*.

Gulf Coast Penstemon in late July-August: dried seed heads that have opened and spread seeds; leaf stalks turned burgundy with summer’s heat and drought. At the base, evergreen rosettes keep the plants’ place in the garden.

In my garden, I’ve mostly followed these principles, though I’ve never assigned names to them. While I am a native plant enthusiast and grow quite a few, I’m not a purist. Most of my non-native choices are Mexican, as these are all excellent pollinator plants and hardy in Central Texas. Other non-natives provide for structural and/or evergreen appeal. Some non-natives have an emotional connection, as they originally came from my parents’ garden or as pass-along plants from friends.

Early on in this garden adventure, I developed some guiding principles of my own. I knew that I wanted a garden of mostly native plants, chosen for their beauty, resilience, and variety. I also wanted plants that require little supplemental irrigation. In short order, I recognized that planting natives meant that a whole new world of wildlife soon followed. In brief: if you plant them, they will come. My garden is alive with movement and life–in the air that surrounds and on the ground that supports.

For me, design elements are least important, though I recognize that it’s a more attractive garden if there is a conscious blend of evergreen and deciduous, a deliberate pairing of soft form with structure, and glorious pops of color throughout the year, changing with light, time, and temperature. Whimsical or elegant, non-plant items also enhance a garden and add a human touch. Pathways allow experience of the garden.

My garden is different today than it was five years ago, ten years ago, twenty years ago. The back garden was once full-sun, but oaks grew it to mostly shade. With recent freezer-burned thinning of the trees’ foliage, it now straddles those two extremes. The front garden was shady; going forward, the Texas sun will shine on it for years to come, until a small oak tree grows up and eventually casts its form over the garden.

Garden creation requires experimentation and mistakes are part of that process. Garden creation also requires patience and observation.

At the conclusion of the linked article about Darrell Morrison, the author recounts a story about how he began his work on the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center in Austin:

For Mr. Morrison, ever the willing pupil, every place has something we can learn from, especially the natural areas.

In 1992, when he was engaged by the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center, nine miles from downtown Austin, he borrowed a sleeping bag and tent, and spent the first night camped out on the 42-acre site.

“It’s a good thing to do: to see the sun go down, smell the smells of the junipers, hear the morning birdsong,” he said. “I think you do know the place better for it.”

Apparently, that got the former first lady’s attention. Years later, Mrs. Johnson was receiving guests at a reception. She had suffered a stroke and her eyesight was diminished, so when Mr. Morrison reached the head of the line, he reintroduced himself: “You may remember me, Mrs. Johnson. I’m Darrel Morrison.”

“Of course, I remember you, Darrel,” she replied. “I tell all my friends how you slept on the land.”

I garden in a moderately sized urban lot in a large city. While I’ve lived here a long time, I’ve never slept on my land, aside from some lazy afternoon snoozes in the swing chairs. But I have watched this space. I’ve observed the sun and shade, seen sunrises and sets, and felt the breezes. I’ve noticed the insects and birds, and lived with plants from seed to compost. The garden and I have experienced triple digit temperatures, snow and ice, and floods and drought.

I’ve gardened on the land.

My Little Chickadee

Posted on May 24, 2020 by Tina

I can’t lay claim to any true relationship with this young Carolina Chickadee, Poecile carolinensis. Though it isn’t my little chickadee, I confess an affection toward the little bird as it satisfied my selfish desire to observe as it perched, relatively still, and fed for a period of time, long enough for this watcher to watch.

The neophyte chickadee sat at the feeder, nibbling at the small pieces of peanut available. No adult chickadee would consent to spend that much time at a feeder; adult chickadees dash and perch, grab and go. A mature–and wary–Carolina Chickadee would dart to the feeder, and lickety-split, grab a peanut, or part of a peanut, and sprint out of clear sight to a safe place to eat. The young chickadee’s inexperience at peanut picking allowed me to watch for several minutes, appreciating its birdie beauty, even though I also recognize that it must be more careful: move fast or become someone’s meal.

I observed, then realized that maybe, just maybe, I could capture some of this darling since it was spending an un-chickadee-like amount of time at the feeder.

Successful photos of a Carolina Chickadee? That’s a rare treat for me!

To its credit, when a parent Blue Jay muscled its way onto the feeder, the young bird flit to the tree, then to the cord from which the feeder hangs, then safely to an evergreen shrub. Once the jay was done, the chickadee settled in for more of the peanut treats.

Chickadees’ tiny beaks are better suited for gleaning spiders and other small insects from trees and shrubs, the birds protected by cover of foliage. Their beaks are not as well designed to quickly dismantle a hard-coated seed or good-sized peanut, especially while acting as a sitting duck at a feeder. A wise and experienced chickadee will snatch, fly, and eat under cover–and live to raise a clutch of his or her own.

A week or so ago, I watched as an adult Carolina Chickadee zoomed in from a neighbor’s property, grabbed a nosh–sometimes a peanut, sometimes a black-oiled sunflower. It then zoomed back in the same direction, followed immediately by another adult, completing the same set of actions. I realized that it was a couple, working in tandem, probably feeding hungry and growing chick(s). I don’t know if this chickadee belonged to that clutch, but I’m confident that it is young, newly experiencing a dangerous world, finding its way to food and cover.

Fledgling birds must learn many survival skills, including making high–speed trips to feeders and lightening retreats to safety. As they perfect those skills, my ability to easily observe diminishes–as it should.