lifestyle

 We live 14.4 miles west of the Guthrie Theatre. I use that measurement as a reference point for our neighborhood, which is within walking distance of a Caribou coffee shop. Less than a mile west of our backyard a pair of Sandhill Cranes have hatched a chick. This might be the second successful nesting out here this year. I have to check with the landowners who last year watched a pair of cranes raise two chicks; I believe those birds returned, and perhaps are nesting again. Until last year, I had no idea that cranes were nesting here, or would even consider it. This is very cool, and very heartening. There are remnants of wildness around us. The photo is of last year's crane family.

(Regarding the sandpipers being seen at Wirth Lake in the large muddy area just off Glenwood Avenue, the White-rumped Sandpiper was not seen this morning, but a Semi-palmated Plover was present along with Least Sandpipers and Spotted Sandpipers.)

 Several species of shorebirds are being seen feeding in a large (very large) mud puddle at the southwest corner of Wirth Lake along Glenwood Avenue. It's not often that you can find such a variety of those birds so close to the city center. Stars of the show today were White-rumped Sandpipers and Semi-palmated Plovers. Jude and I were there early Sunday evening to see not only the birds but three photographers prone on the mud (cardboard or canvas keeping them dry), watching and waiting for the birds to come close. My photographs were taken from dry ground, probably not as good as theirs but easier on my shoes. The first bird pictured is a White-rumped Sandpiper, a good bird wherever found, especially so close to home. The white rump is visible when the bird flies; note color at base of bill. Below that is a Least Sandpiper (tiny, with greenish legs). Other species seen include yellowlegs (probably lesser), Killdeer (with young), Spotted Sandpiper, and Least Sandpiper. The birds have been there for several days, new birds arriving over the weekend. Migrants, they're certain to move on, but it would be worth a look for the next day or two. 

Minnesota is the production floor of North America’s duck factory. Our northwest prairie pothole region is a major part of a landscape vital to maintenance of duck populations.

That’s the observation of author Martin J. Smith in his wonderful new book “The Wild Duck Chase.” This is a book about bird conservation, a story focusing on the tiny, unique world of artists who compete each year for the right to have their artwork on what is commonly called the duck stamp.

An important conservation tool, the stamp is officially known as the Federal Migratory Bird Hunting and Conservation Stamp. Its short name is duck stamp. All migratory waterfowl hunters in the U.S. must buy and carry this stamp to hunt legally.

The duck stamp actually is a conservation stamp, supported and endorsed at its birth by men known for their broadly based conservation ethic. It meant far more than ducks to them, and it should mean far more than ducks to birders and wildlife enthusiasts of all kinds now.

Smith makes this clear as he recounts one year in the competitive life of artists who seek fame and a bit of fortune with a waterfowl painting. They want their artwork on the face of the upcoming stamp.

As Smith points out, Minnesota plays an over-sized role in both creation and use of this stamp. From 1934, when the first stamp was issued, to 2003, Minnesotans bought more duck stamps than residents of any other state, including those with populations several times as large.

And then there are the artists. Smith follows the 2010 duck stamp contest at which the artwork for the 2011-2012 stamp was chosen. There were over 300 entries. Minnesota artists painted 12 percent of them. They included entries by Minnesota’s fabled Hautman brothers, “the New York Yankees” of the duck-stamp world, according to Smith.

The Hautmans – Jim, Joe, and Bob – have won the contest 10 times in 22 years. Jim and Bob entered the 2010 competition. Brother Joe could not because winners must take a three-year hiatus before entering again. Joe won in 2008.

Smith follows in detail the five artists whose work makes it to the final round of judging. Creating a seven by 10 inch painting of one of five waterfowl species selected for that competition is no simple matter. Artists choose a species carefully. They consider the competition, the judges’ possible predilections, and the vagaries of design: one bird or two, flying, grounded, or on the water, storm clouds above or clear sky?

There is a submission period. Should you send your entry early, late, or in the middle of the period? Entries are presented to the judges during the first elimination round in the order received. Some artists have a superstition-like belief that timing makes a difference.

There are three rounds of judging, the first a simple in or out. The second is point-based to select five finalists (and ties). Judges view the paintings, and then raise cards numbered one through five to assign points. A final round of point assignment determines the winner. There is suspense and tension as well as an Olympic figure-skating flavor to it.

Competitive waterfowl painting is, as Smith describes it, “perhaps the narrowest niche in the known art world,” but that doesn’t lessen the intensity of the artists.

When Europeans first arrived in North America wildlife was so bountiful that people believed – and acted – like there were no limits on what man could do. Waterfowl numbers exceeded the imagination. Uncontrolled market hunting and the inevitable loss of habitat brought imagination to ground. Bird populations were finite.

Smith calls the beginning of the duck stamp program in 1934 “a desperate reaction …. to the strip mining of the New World’s wildlife.”

Today, 78 years later, a problem of a different kind exists. The number of hunters is in decline. Like everyone else, hunters get old and die. They’re not being replaced at the same pace. Stamp sales are in decline.

Duck stamp revenue is used by the federal government (98 cents of every stamp-sale dollar) to buy or protect habitat habitat that favors ducks, but land that also is home or refuge for hundreds of species of birds. Anyone who enjoys birding gets return on the $750 million earned and invested since 1934 through stamp sales.

Our national wildlife refuges have been funded in large part with duck stamp money. The excellent birding found on hundreds of refuges is a gift from hunters.

Smith discusses the effort underway today to convince non-hunters that they too should buy stamps and contribute to this major and historic conservation effort. It should be obvious that the $15 cost of the stamp is a modest and worthwhile investment in preservation of bird species.

The hunting link is what throws some folks off the track. Well-meaning, they protest duck hunters doing what duck hunters do: kill birds. They miss the broader picture. Hunters cannot hunt if bird populations are not high enough to support the harvest. The use of duck-stamp revenue to buy suitable habitat is an effort to maintain waterfowl numbers that allow hunting. At the same time, this land supports hundreds of species of non-game birds.

The duck stamp story as told by Smith is a story of artistic passion, given life years ago by a passion for preservation of land and birds. It is a passion all birders should share.

Smith’s book, published by Walker & Company, will go on sale Sept. 18, 272 pages under hardcover for $25. The duck stamp for 2012-13 goes on sale July 1 for $15. Both purchases are highly recommended. (The book can be pre-ordered at Amazon.com for $16.46.)

Not to spoil the suspense of the story Smith tells, but Jim Hautman won the contest for the 2011-2012 stamp, after much deliberation about which waterfowl species to paint. (He chose White-fronted Goose, the “speckle-belly” as it’s known). It was his fourth win. And the 2012-2013 stamp that goes on sale in July will carry a Wood Duck painted by brother Joe, his fourth winner as well. Brother Bob has won twice.

The New York Yankees of duck stamp art indeed.

 Some species of birds are most beautiful when in the air. Barn Swallows on a wire or fence don't have the dramatic beauty they show when swooping in pursuit of insects. These birds were feeding above a lawn this morning, using wings, tail, and a strong wind to twist and turn and race inches above the grass. It's a shame those tails are not more readily seen.

 When someone asked me last week what is appropriate placement habitat for Eastern Bluebird nest boxes I told him large expanses of grass – meadows, pastures, golf courses, road edges, maybe a yard if it was big enough. There are exceptions to everything. Our back yard is smallish, surrounded by trees, containing trees, backed by a small pond that soon becomes a wooded swamp. It is as unlike the golf course where I tend bluebird nest boxes as can be. I was surprised then, four weeks ago, when a pair of bluebirds spent two days here, investigating a box at pond edge that I had placed for chickadees. Those birds disappeared, and that was not a surprise. I believe I refound the pair yesterday in a most unlikely place: they’re carrying nesting material to a cavity in a tree in our swamp, inches from the pond edge. Bluebirds are cavity nesters, using trees before there were power poles or fence poles, and then choosing those when cavities were available. Bluebirds don’t carve out their own cavities; their bills are not intended for heavy work. Instead, they rely on woodpecker construction or natural decay of wood. This is the first time I’ve seen bluebirds in a natural cavity. And it certainly is the first time I’ve seen these birds in a wooded swamp many feet from grass or dry land. In the photo, the male bluebird is circled above, the nest location circled below. We’ll watch this with interest.