Us. I was outside putting vegetables on the grill when two Gray Jays began talking back and forth. That doesn’t happen very often in our neighborhood, so I talked back at them and enjoyed the conversation, even though I had no idea what we were talking about. I stepped back into the house to get the fish, when Rose said “Whoa!” and then I felt it — earthquake! And a good one, too.

There was a particularly vigorous shake well into it, so I suggested we step outside. We did. The two jays were still conversing, and a red squirrel was chattering noisily as well. Eventually, it all died down and Rose and I went back inside. Rose wondered if it had reached a magnitude of 6; I thought somewhere above 5. Sure enough, the Alaska Earthquake Information Center (AIEC) registered an earthquake of magnitude 5.38 at 19:06. We had a delicious dinner amid aftershocks.

While my first inspection showed everything to be alright (I particularly looked for books leaping off of shelves, which happened years ago during a big one), upon closer examination I did see a few books on the floor and some pictures hanging askew. And the AIEC has revised it down to 5.07. I am reminded of a very funny image from the 2011 earthquake in Virginia:

Rose and I both wondered about the jays as we stood on the deck while the rest of the earthquake quaked. They had been vocalizing for a good minute or more before we felt anything. The squirrel was very late to the party. Us humans had been yapping about it for awhile before he joined the chatter. And the wildlife all shut up once it was over. Thus are legends born.

And that’s what’s shakin’.

The birds are beginning to flock up. They must be finished molting and getting ready to migrate. We’ve had a cool, wet summer, but reproductive success appears to be good locally, with large numbers of young birds. Yesterday morning I happened to look out the window at a great time: a very large mixed-species flock of about 40 warblers had gotten together in the chokecherry tree and they were really active.

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Two Black-capped Chickadee families have been entertaining us since the young fledged about ten days ago. When they were just out of the nest, they would follow the adults to the tree by the bird feeder and sit there and beg while the parents flew to the feeder, picked up a sunflower seed, returned to the chick, and stuffed the seed in the chick’s mouth. This went on for much longer than you would think it would take for a chick to learn to feed itself, but it was entertaining to watch. For variation, occasionally the same thing would happen at the suet feeder, only this was even funnier, because the young birds would be sitting inches away while the parent moved small mouthfuls of food from feeder to chick. Eventually, after days, the young became more independent and were feeding themselves at the feeders, although they are still closely following the adults.

On Sunday I was taking a break from yard work and sitting on the deck when a new lesson began. The weather was gorgeous; the sun was out, it was in the mid-70s, and apparently the chickadees decided it was time for a bath. An adult was in the bird bath going to town, really making the water splash. A fledgling was on the rim of the bath watching closely, and then it, too, made all the appropriate bathing motions – feathers loosened a bit away from the body, up-and-down dipping posture, wings rapidly flipping up and down over the back – but it was still standing on the rim. The adult finished up and flew into the nearby tree to preen. The young bird hopped out onto a rock in the middle of the bath and went through all the motions again. Still not touching the water. Then it followed the adult to a tree branch a few feet away.

Now, I am not sure it was the same adult, but the same young bird followed an adult down to the bath moments later and they went through a similar series of bathing and almost-bathing movements. It looked quite enjoyable. But junior still wasn’t getting the full experience. This time, after a couple of dry runs on the rim, the fledgling hopped briefly onto a rock that was just barely submersed in the water. But it leaped immediately back onto the rim with a sort of surprised, “Yikes, that’s wet!” movement. You could almost see the thoughts in its head: Well, maybe yikes, but in a good way, not a bad way, so…it hopped straight into the deep part (all of an inch), right up to its wings. It stood there for a couple of seconds and then connected both parts of the lesson and splashed water about like a big kid. Yahoo! First bath!

There was one more lesson – surprise! As the young bird flew laboriously back up to the tree, it learned just how hard it is to fly when wet.

Photo by Nancy Castillo at The Zen Birdfeeder