LJ Idol Week 6 - Urban Legends
Florida has alway been a land of legends, and I don't mean Disney World. Disney World may have put us on the map as far as the rest of the nation was concerned, but long before there were rumors of alcohol serving clubs in the Magic Kingdom, whispered accusations that Disney never allowed deceased guests to be declared so on their property, and bold assertions that ride props are, in fact, the real deal, there were the legends of the land.
The unconquered Seminoles, who refused to surrender to the US government, occupied this land for 12,000 years. They're one of the only tribes on record as never having signed a single treaty with the US government. The infamous outlaw John Wesley Hardin hid in the wet prairie sloughs, swamps, and scrub forest when he fled Texas. Popular local history and his own autobiography indicate that he lived prosperously for several years --- even raised a family --- as a bartender in a saloon in Gainesville. The modern roadways running past my home are the same trails and terrain the Texas Rangers rode pursuing him when he fled to Pensacola, where he was finally captured. Thirty minutes from where I live, author Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings lived in Cross Creek and wrote The Yearling. We even have our own version of the Sasquach, a creature called the Skunk Ape.
This, I'm certain, is a portrait of Florida far removed from the quaintly dancing palms, balmy breezes, and pristine white sands of a tropical beach. That, in and of itself, almost qualifies as legend. It certainly exists, provided you remain in the far south and do not venture out of Miami. The majority of Florida, however --- the real Florida --- was as you see it in those legends of the land: wild, untamed, still largely uninhabited, incredibly unforgiving, and potentially deadly. These ancient tracts of undisturbed gum swamp, pine forest, and wet prairie may well be home to one of the most illusive of legends, the holy grail of bird watchers.
I'm talking about the ivory billed woodpecker, commonly referred to as the Lord God bird. If you'd ever seen one, you would know why. They're two feet tall from crest to tail tip with a magnificent ivory colored pointed beak for digging at grubs and termites. The males sport a vivid red crest and both genders have striking dual stripes running along their backs. It is, however, unlikely that you've seen one. You see, until recently they were thought to be extinct. My Florida specific guide to birds stated that none had been seen in Florida within the last two decades; other guides state that the bird has not been seen since the 1940s.
I had no idea what I was looking at when I saw my first ivory billed woodpecker. I do know that they come honestly by their nickname because that's exactly what I said: "Lord God, what a bird!" We'd just moved out to the homestead. I'd already lectured both contractors and husband about making as minimal a footprint as possible so as not to disturb the ecology. As a result, vintage pine forest and swamp begin only thirty feet off my doorstep. There were six large trees in the area in which we had put the house which showed extensive termite damage. It was on the largest of these that I first saw him. He was half way up the trunk, drilling in earnest for his dinner. I spotted the bright red crest and called it to my husband's attention. We both stared in disbelief because I'd never seen such a huge bird --- at least not one which wasn't a raptor--- before. We estimated him to be at least eighteen inches tall and what glorious plumage!
Months later, curious about what kinds of birds might live in my slice of Florida habitat, I bought the aforementioned bird guide and correctly identified it as an ivory billed woodpecker. Too inexperienced to know the significance of what I'd seen, I didn't think anything more about it. After all, the book only mentioned that they hadn't been seen in a while, not that they were extinct, and my patch of swamp was already home to several endangered and protected species. One more rarity didn't surprise me.
A few months later, the story broke about a possible sighting of a female ivory billed woodpecker in Arkansas. My bird watching friends were ecstatic; it was all they talked about in their journals for months. In the course of those conversations, I casually let it slip that I thought I had a sighting. They pounced and pressed me for details. I realized that I might possibly be on the verge of rediscovering a legend and rocketing it back into the limelight.
I bought binoculars and set up feeding stations. I combed the surrounding forest for possible drill sites and nesting holes. My camera became my constant companion. I wanted to be the first to document the continued existence of the Lord God bird in Florida. Heavy development had begun in the area and I didn't want the bird, if in fact it was out there, to lose any more habitat. Last year, I put out a particularly tasty (to birds, anyhow) mixture of suet and berries. I was rewarded by not just one but a pair of apparent ivory bills at the feeder. Unfortunately, taking pictures through algae clogged windows is difficult and, compounded by the distance involved, I got only blurs. It wasn't enough to confirm a sighting.
I knew what I'd seen, though. I didn't care how impossible it sounded. The habitat was right for them and the markings were correct. It was almost as though the birds were taunting me; I have dozens of pictures, taken either on the homestead or at a known sanctuary in St. Augustine, of their blurred forms. From my observations and the lack of photographic evidence from more experienced ornithologists, I've come to the conclusion that in spite of its size the ivory billed woodpecker probably moves fairly fast. Often, particularly in the spring, I hear either their distinct knock or the call, a hoarse keck-keck-keck which carries for miles.
A few months ago I got closer than I ever had. We were removing some diseased trees from the front of the property and when we had cleared away the saplings we came upon a mid-sized bay laurel riddled with holes and ridge marks. He'd been there! My Lord God bird had been there, less than twenty feet from my bedroom, all this time! Later, walking the property boundaries, we found a second tree also thoroughly drilled. We left that one alone and I'm hopeful that I might be able to rig a remote camera to capture the birds nesting...if they're really out there. I did report my findings to Cornell and I note that Florida is now listed as a second possible habitat owing to reported sitings such as mine.
However, no one has ever been able to accumulate enough evidence to definitely prove a population exists anywhere. Until they do, the ivory billed woodpecker will remain the holy grail of all avid bird watchers...and one more Florida legend.
This entry was written for therealljidol competition. If you liked it, please don't forget to vote for me when voting begins.
The unconquered Seminoles, who refused to surrender to the US government, occupied this land for 12,000 years. They're one of the only tribes on record as never having signed a single treaty with the US government. The infamous outlaw John Wesley Hardin hid in the wet prairie sloughs, swamps, and scrub forest when he fled Texas. Popular local history and his own autobiography indicate that he lived prosperously for several years --- even raised a family --- as a bartender in a saloon in Gainesville. The modern roadways running past my home are the same trails and terrain the Texas Rangers rode pursuing him when he fled to Pensacola, where he was finally captured. Thirty minutes from where I live, author Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings lived in Cross Creek and wrote The Yearling. We even have our own version of the Sasquach, a creature called the Skunk Ape.
This, I'm certain, is a portrait of Florida far removed from the quaintly dancing palms, balmy breezes, and pristine white sands of a tropical beach. That, in and of itself, almost qualifies as legend. It certainly exists, provided you remain in the far south and do not venture out of Miami. The majority of Florida, however --- the real Florida --- was as you see it in those legends of the land: wild, untamed, still largely uninhabited, incredibly unforgiving, and potentially deadly. These ancient tracts of undisturbed gum swamp, pine forest, and wet prairie may well be home to one of the most illusive of legends, the holy grail of bird watchers.
I'm talking about the ivory billed woodpecker, commonly referred to as the Lord God bird. If you'd ever seen one, you would know why. They're two feet tall from crest to tail tip with a magnificent ivory colored pointed beak for digging at grubs and termites. The males sport a vivid red crest and both genders have striking dual stripes running along their backs. It is, however, unlikely that you've seen one. You see, until recently they were thought to be extinct. My Florida specific guide to birds stated that none had been seen in Florida within the last two decades; other guides state that the bird has not been seen since the 1940s.
I had no idea what I was looking at when I saw my first ivory billed woodpecker. I do know that they come honestly by their nickname because that's exactly what I said: "Lord God, what a bird!" We'd just moved out to the homestead. I'd already lectured both contractors and husband about making as minimal a footprint as possible so as not to disturb the ecology. As a result, vintage pine forest and swamp begin only thirty feet off my doorstep. There were six large trees in the area in which we had put the house which showed extensive termite damage. It was on the largest of these that I first saw him. He was half way up the trunk, drilling in earnest for his dinner. I spotted the bright red crest and called it to my husband's attention. We both stared in disbelief because I'd never seen such a huge bird --- at least not one which wasn't a raptor--- before. We estimated him to be at least eighteen inches tall and what glorious plumage!
Months later, curious about what kinds of birds might live in my slice of Florida habitat, I bought the aforementioned bird guide and correctly identified it as an ivory billed woodpecker. Too inexperienced to know the significance of what I'd seen, I didn't think anything more about it. After all, the book only mentioned that they hadn't been seen in a while, not that they were extinct, and my patch of swamp was already home to several endangered and protected species. One more rarity didn't surprise me.
A few months later, the story broke about a possible sighting of a female ivory billed woodpecker in Arkansas. My bird watching friends were ecstatic; it was all they talked about in their journals for months. In the course of those conversations, I casually let it slip that I thought I had a sighting. They pounced and pressed me for details. I realized that I might possibly be on the verge of rediscovering a legend and rocketing it back into the limelight.
I bought binoculars and set up feeding stations. I combed the surrounding forest for possible drill sites and nesting holes. My camera became my constant companion. I wanted to be the first to document the continued existence of the Lord God bird in Florida. Heavy development had begun in the area and I didn't want the bird, if in fact it was out there, to lose any more habitat. Last year, I put out a particularly tasty (to birds, anyhow) mixture of suet and berries. I was rewarded by not just one but a pair of apparent ivory bills at the feeder. Unfortunately, taking pictures through algae clogged windows is difficult and, compounded by the distance involved, I got only blurs. It wasn't enough to confirm a sighting.
I knew what I'd seen, though. I didn't care how impossible it sounded. The habitat was right for them and the markings were correct. It was almost as though the birds were taunting me; I have dozens of pictures, taken either on the homestead or at a known sanctuary in St. Augustine, of their blurred forms. From my observations and the lack of photographic evidence from more experienced ornithologists, I've come to the conclusion that in spite of its size the ivory billed woodpecker probably moves fairly fast. Often, particularly in the spring, I hear either their distinct knock or the call, a hoarse keck-keck-keck which carries for miles.
A few months ago I got closer than I ever had. We were removing some diseased trees from the front of the property and when we had cleared away the saplings we came upon a mid-sized bay laurel riddled with holes and ridge marks. He'd been there! My Lord God bird had been there, less than twenty feet from my bedroom, all this time! Later, walking the property boundaries, we found a second tree also thoroughly drilled. We left that one alone and I'm hopeful that I might be able to rig a remote camera to capture the birds nesting...if they're really out there. I did report my findings to Cornell and I note that Florida is now listed as a second possible habitat owing to reported sitings such as mine.
However, no one has ever been able to accumulate enough evidence to definitely prove a population exists anywhere. Until they do, the ivory billed woodpecker will remain the holy grail of all avid bird watchers...and one more Florida legend.
This entry was written for therealljidol competition. If you liked it, please don't forget to vote for me when voting begins.