Podcasts about goldfinches

We check in with Jim Wilson in Cork as there are sightings of Goldfinches, Redwings, Lapwings, Ravens, Hooded crows and Dusky warblers. Then, we speak to Bernie Murphy from Bunclody, Co. Wicklow, who sent in photos of a Little Egret and a Great White Egret.

When Laura talked with Lillian Stokes and Matt Young about their new book, *The Stokes Guide to Finches,* they talked about one of our most widespread, common finches, the American Goldfinch.

This week we play some highlights from our previous episodes, including some moments with some of our guest. Topics discussed are the Golden-cheeked Warbler with Jack Wildlife, the Southern Cassowary with Wes Larson, the Christmas Bird Count with our host John Bates, Jack Wildlife is back to tell us about a camera that he gifted a young birder, Maureen Turcatel tells us about bugs, and European Goldfinches with Louise Bodt. John Bates, Shannon Hackett, RJ Pole, and Amanda Marquart are hosting as always :)Next week we'll be back with our regular scheduled programming, but thought you'd enjoy some of these highlights in case you want to go back and listen to the full episodes!Please send us your questions for us to answer as well! You can send them to podcast.birdsofafeather@gmail.comMake sure to follow us on instagram and tik tok as well!!

American Goldfinches are one of our most familiar birds, but they lead lives that are anything but ordinary. These birds will sometimes raise two broods a year, have a secret weapon against cowbirds, and have the ability to distinguish between songs that — to our ears — sound the same. Backyard birds they may be, but American Goldfinches never cease to amaze.More info and transcript at BirdNote.org. Want more BirdNote? Subscribe to our weekly newsletter. Sign up for BirdNote+ to get ad-free listening and other perks. BirdNote is a nonprofit. Your tax-deductible gift makes these shows possible. 

This week we talk to Louise Bodt about the European Goldfinch. Although they are native to Europe, there is actually a population living in Northern Illinois and Southern Wisconsin. Louise tells us how they got there, other examples of them being introduced, and much more. Louise Bodt is a PhD candidate at the University of Chicago and the Field Museum using introduced birds to study rapid evolutionary change. Prior to joining the Field Museum birds lab, she worked as a science educator in NYC where she got her MS in biology investigating genetics of invasive European starlings. Louise is such an amazing guest, you're going to enjoy this one!! We actually have another listener question about birds in Trinidad and Tobago, which we talk about at the end of the episode as well. Enjoy!Please follow our instagram @birds_of_a_feather_podcast Please send us your questions for us to answer as well! You can send them to podcast.birdsofafeather@gmail.com

Summary: Finches visit Arizona in the winter. Join Cheryl and Kiersten to find out which finches may visit us in winter.   For our hearing-impaired listeners, a transcript of this podcast follows the show notes on Podbean.   Show Notes: “Arizona's Winter Finches,” by Charles Babbitt The Cactus Wren-Dition Winter 2023   Transcript   Cheryl-Intro          Some finch species are highly prone to irruptions-which are occasions when large numbers of birds take flight and regularly move hundreds of miles beyond their normal winter ranges in response to food scarcity especially cone and seed crop failures.  Kiersten and I did a podcast last year about irruption in the bird world so check out that podcast to get more information.           In the winter of 2022-2023 was such a situation when Evening Grosbeaks, Cassin's Finches, Red Crossbills, Pine Siskins, and Lawernce Goldfinches were reported in large, unprecedented numbers at many locations around the state of Arizona.  These are the nomadic winter finches of Arizona. Kiersten-Red Crossbills The Red Crossbills are the oddest of the group.  When you get a close look at their bill you will see what looks like a deformed beak with the lower mandible crossing under the upper mandible.  This allows the crossbill o pry open tightly closed cones to extract the seeds, an evolutionary adaption that gives them access to a unique food source.  Red Crossbills are resident breeders in much of Arizona's upper elevation forests.  In flight years, however, irruptions can bring roving flocks from out of the state swelling numbers in mountainous areas and sometimes bringing these boreal invaders into the lowlands such as the Phoenix Valley. Cheryl-Pine Siskins          Pine Siskins are one of the smaller winter finches often confused with the House finch.  These little birds are year-round residents in Arizona's high country they are famous for their periodic irruptions.  Movements are irregular and sporadic with birds being quite common some years and entirely absent other years.           Pine Siskins have sharp narrow bills they use to extract seeds from the cones of a variety of conifers. In winter, flocks are often seen at feeders, with the Lesser Goldfinch and the House finch, or in weedy fields.  These birds are quite personable and a person can get quite close to them before they will take flight.    Pine Siskins are recognized by their steaky breasts and the bright yellow markings on their wings.  In flight they show a distinctive yellow wing stripe. Kiersten-Evening Grosbeaks          Of the winter finches, Evening Grosbeaks are the most striking.  These stocky birds have evolved massive cream-colored beaks which are unmistakable and which are used like nutcrackers to feed on a variety of large seeds, catkins and even small fruit pits.  In northern Arizona these birds might be seen feeding in winter on Russian olive fruits and juniper berries.          Male Evening Grosbeaks are yellow and black with a distinct yellow forehead and eye brow and large white patches.  Females are mostly gray with a yellowish-green collar and black and white wing markings.          In Arizona Evening Grosbeaks breed very locally in the high country.  In the winter they form large noisy flocks.  Like the other winter finches Evening Grosbeaks have irruptive years, and when they do these birds delight bird watchers and the bird feeding hobbyists by crowded around seed feeders to eat sunflower seeds. Cheryl-Cassin's Finch          Cassin's Finches are restricted to northern Arizona mostly the regions of the Kaibab Plateau and higher elevations of the Hopi and Navajo tribal lands.  In the summer you are most likely to see them in pine and mixed conifer forests on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.  Males are easily recognized by their bright raspberry red caps and rosy tinged faces and breasts.  Females are plainer with streaked breasts.           Cassin's finches are migratory and irruptive with great variability in distribution and abundance.  In some winters they can be quite common and be found in the low foothills of the phoenix Valley. When they are around, they visit finch feeders, often mixing with Pine Siskins, and other local finches.  As spring warms the foothills you can spot these hardy finches gathered in trees where they sing incessantly. Kiersten-Lawrence's Goldfinches          Some years Arizona is visited by winter finches not by the north but from the west.  These are Lawrence's goldfinches, colorful birds whose breeding range is mostly the coastal ranges and foothills of the Sierra Nevada of California.  There these birds occupy a variety of habitats including dry foothills, open woodlands and adjacent grasslands.  In sporadic and unpredictable flight years some depart their breeding range, heading eastward in the southern part of Arizona.          Lawrence's Goldfinches are a soft gray color with gold markings on the wings and chest.  Males have black faces with contrasting pink bills while females tend to be less colorful.          Lawrence Goldfinches are seed eaters.  As with the other winter finches, seed crop failures due to drought or even more recently, massive wildfires are probably the principal driver of this birds' periodic movements into Arizona.  Cheryl-Closing          The question has been asked if scientists will ever be able to predict winter finch irruptions.  Maybe.  East of the Mississippi River, with the data compiled and the network of observers, the bird world enthusiasts attempt predictions of which winter finch will have a flight year.  But in the west and especially the southwest with our mountainous terrain, diverse and widely separated habitats, and the lack of a network of observers, predictions are unlikely.  Truly the unpredictability of the Arizona's winter finches is what keeps the mystery and excitement in the sightings of these birds when they appear.

The songs of two common finches provide a steady soundtrack in cities across North America: the House Finch and the American Goldfinch. While they can sound similar, a couple of key features help set them apart. House Finches sing sweetly but often have a sharp, buzzy note near the end. Goldfinches sing rapidly, often repeating a note several times. They also often make their distinctive call, which sounds like someone quickly saying “potato chip!”More info and transcript at BirdNote.org. Want more BirdNote? Subscribe to our weekly newsletter. Sign up for BirdNote+ to get ad-free listening and other perks. BirdNote is a nonprofit. Your tax-deductible gift makes these shows possible.

Your path down through the meadow's edge is transformed in late summer as thistles, comfrey and Himalayan balsam swallow up the human-made track. You push gently through, avoiding thorns and clouds of hoverflies while goldfinch song trickles down from ash trees. BBC Countryfile Magazine's Sound Escapes are a weekly audio postcard from the countryside to help you relax and transport you somewhere beautiful, wherever you happen to be. Recorded by Fergus Collins, presented by Hannah Tribe. Email the Plodcast team – and send your sound recordings of the countryside – to: editor@countryfile.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Birds and their Nests by Mary Howitt In this enchanting episode of "Sleepy Time Tales," we invite you to drift into the realm of dreams as we delve into the soothing world of avian wonders. Nestled in the pages of "Birds and their Nests" by Mary Howitt, this episode is a lullaby for the soul, crafted to guide you into a restful slumber. As the moonlight dances through the trees, join us on a tranquil journey through the graceful lives of Goldfinches, the melodic songs of thrushes, and the mysterious allure of blackbirds. With gentle words and mellifluous narration, we'll unfurl the stories of these feathered beings, sharing their intricate nests and their delicate existence in nature's embrace.   Allow the tender cadence of our narrator's voice to wrap you in a cocoon of calmness, transporting you to meadows adorned with birdsong. Each word is carefully woven to whisk away the worries of the day, replacing them with the tranquillity of twilight and the promise of sweet dreams. Tune in to "Serenading Slumber: Whispers of Birds and Nests," and let the tales of these delightful creatures carry you into the realm of sleep, where the soft rustling of feathers and the gentle caress of dreams await. Story (03:20)  Need help with a Podcast? As you know I left my job at the end of July to spend more time with my family. To earn a living, I have started a company to edit and produce podcasts. From basic podcast edits to full handling of all post-production tasks including show notes and publication. I've even found that doing all of the work setting up a podcast for clients is quite popular. It's not hard, just time consuming for busy people with other work to prioritise.  So if you or someone you know needs a podcast edited or any podcast admin done, drop me a line at dave@brightvoxaudio.com or check out my site at https://brightvoxaudio.com/ Episode edits start at $15, lock in introductory pricing now! SleepPhones, our exciting new partnership In our experience the best way to experience the bedtime stories of Sleepy Time Tales is with some type of headphone or earbud, but they can be cumbersome and uncomfortable. So we've partnered SleepPhones, manufacturers of headphones designed specifically to sleep in! They use a thin speaker fitted to a comfortable headband and have options from the cost effective wired headphones to the convenient Bluetooth model and will work with Sleepy Time Tales to improve your night's sleep. Use the below link to shop, and support Sleepy Time Tales https://sleepytimetales.net/sleepphones Sleepy Time Tales Merch and Stuff I've been putting up a lot of new designs on Teepublic Not all of the designs are Sleepy Time Tales branded, actually most aren't, so you can support the podcast without needing to emblazon the logo on yourself.

In this episode I ask you questions about goldfinches, with a story called the game.

A variety of bird life is under the spotlight with Chris and Matthew this week.

To help backyard birds through the winter, do less. Leave the leaves or rake them under plantings. The tasty insects and spiders underneath will be food for the towhee and this Song Sparrow. Don't deadhead. Pine Siskins and goldfinches love to snack on dead flowerheads. Make an insect hotel out of natural objects, flower pots, or other “found” items to create hidey holes for insects. They will become food for wrens and other birds.More info and transcript at BirdNote.org. Want more BirdNote? Subscribe to our weekly newsletter. Sign up for BirdNote+ to get ad-free listening and other perks. BirdNote is a nonprofit. Your tax-deductible gift makes these shows possible.

American Goldfinches are one of our most familiar birds, but they lead lives that are anything but ordinary. These birds will sometimes raise two broods a year, have a secret weapon against cowbirds, and have the ability to distinguish between songs that — to our ears — sound the same. Backyard birds they may be, but American Goldfinches never cease to amaze.More info and transcript at BirdNote.org. Want more BirdNote? Subscribe to our weekly newsletter. Sign up for BirdNote+ to get ad-free listening and other perks. BirdNote is a nonprofit. Your tax-deductible gift makes these shows possible.

Most groups of wildlife can be described as a flock or a herd, a swarm or a shoal – but where is the fun in stopping there? From an army of ants to a dazzle of zebras, an exultation of larks to a murder of crows, the English language is brimming with weird and wonderful collective nouns to describe groups of animals and birds. Michael Rosen talks to Matt Sewell, author of 'A Charm of Goldfinches', about some of the more obscure examples that have made their way into common usage as collective nouns for creatures of the land, the sea and the air... Produced for BBC Audio Bristol by Becky Ripley

How to be a better wildlife gardenerIn this podcast Peter Brown and Chris Day chat with gardening expert and nature lover Martin Fish. Topics covered include invaluable advice on developing a wildlife friendly garden, lawn meadows, managing wildlife and how best to achieve the right balance of potential pests and wildlife, his thoughts, and observations on the new trends in re-wilding and his take on ‘No Mow May'. We also discover how Martin started in horticulture, his nursery growing days and career moves into TV, local radio, writing and judging at major flower shows. Martin shares his love and passion for gardening and gives his views on the right mix of plants, habitats and the key considerations you should follow to help achieve a good wildlife balance in the garden.Plants mentionedClematis macropetala ‘Stolwijk Gold' (and Goldfinches).Wildlife lawn plants for pollinators including Daisies, Buttercups, Primroses (in verges) and Clover.Children plants; English Marigolds (Calendula), Cosmos, Sunflowers, Strawberries and fruiting plants.Butterflies and Moths plants: Verbena bonariensis, Night-scented stocks, Nicotiana (Tobacco plant) and clumps of perennial stinging nettles.Range of plants that provide year-round wildlife interest include Crocus, Hellebores, Snowdrops, blossom on Apples, Pears, Plums, hardy annuals, single flowered Dahlias, Foxgloves and hardy groundcover Geraniums.Products mentionedCompost bin, lawn rake, strimmer and rotary mower. Pre-formed liner, butyl liner or even a large washing bowl buried to the rim will draw the wildlife in. Bird feeds, drinkers and nesting boxes. Hedgehog houses and feeds. Swan food. If you have to control pests and diseases, opt for organic plant-based insecticides and fungicides and use them sparingly.Animals mentionedRobins, Goldfinches. Blackbirds, Greenfinches, Blue Tits, Sparrow, House Martins, Swifts, Yellow Hammers. Hedgehogs, Rabbits, Butterflies, Bees, Frogs, Newts, Damselflies and Lacewings.Useful websites: Re-wilding and No Mow MayRHS Plant for pollinators pdfThe Wildlife TrustRSPBRHS WildlifeMartin's cast away plant and tool: Apple tree and the variety ‘Sunset', plus a pair of trusted secateurs to maintain the tree!Martin Fish website Martin's Pots and Trowels YouTube Channel Our thanks to Chiltern Music Therapy for providing the music. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Mark Stephen and Euan McIlwraith with stories from the great Scottish outdoors.

It's eight feet at best, if even that.  When you're a kid you run with the natural assumption that life will fall in your favor.  It grants exceptions and kind of looks out for you.  You think of life as some sort of doting grandparent and adventurous friend all in one; inviting you out to wild frolicking play while hovering close enough to catch you if you fall.  It's the best of both worlds; of all worlds really.  It makes life terribly wild and inordinately safe all at the same time.  So, it's only eight feet.  The next limb up was probably another four feet at least.  That was a stretch.  But eight feet; that was just about perfect. We had spent days raking those leaves; several days.  Pungent remnants of a summer nudged off fall's calendar.  When we had raked them when they were still electric; royal gold's, velvety reds and sizzling oranges.  Pigments liberally scattered from an artist's pallet, the ground had been magically transformed to a patchwork potpourri of splendor on a canvas of faded summer grasses.  We hated to rake it up really; to desecrate the canvas.  But the passion for fun prevailed and so they were raked into massive piles, clearing summer's faded canvas to wait for a distant spring. It was only eight feet.  But with both the wild child and protective grandparent of life begging us to jump, we could do no other.  Eight feet is only eight feet.  But when you're a child entirely wrapped warm in the embrace of the wild and protection of life you leap, you plummet in a manner that feels much more like flying through a tract-less sky fully abandoned to the gracious mercy of life . . . and then you land. It seemed that you fell forever, but it was all terribly immediate at the same time.  Both the vast endlessness and terrific brevity of it wove a puzzling dichotomy, giving the eight foot plummet two sides; providing me two entirely unique experiences at the very same time.  It seemed part of life's mystical ability to be inexplicably different and wildly divergent about a single experience; God being relentlessly fresh every time He touches us. In the landing, at that very moment the exhilaration of the entire adventure distills itself down into some sort of crazy tonic that instantly saturates your brain, electrifying every neuron with emotion.  And there, gazing up eight feet to the branch above and another fifty feet to the massive canopy that bequeathed these leaves, life surges with tsunami force within you.  You can't move but all you want to do is move.  It's incredible, and it is good. Off in the distance, the last of autumns leaves pirouette from trees now heavy with fall's slumber.  The breeze has turned a bit brisk, slightly seasoned by the chilled hand of an approaching winter.  Birds gathered in mass as throbbing clouds of aviary sojourners bouncing south under heavy skies. It was only eight feet, but the descent and the landing dramatically sharpened the senses to allow every ounce of fall's vitality to surge in all at once.  Life becomes so electrifying that you have to shut it off or you feel that you'll explode from the inside out.  And so, it's back up the tree for another eight feet of wonder.   And Then Adulthood Columns of stately maples, elms and oaks stood at attention; woodland sentries stoutly ringing a small, broad pond.  Its glassy expanse thinned in the middle, drawing its banks close enough to permit a small bridge to cast a slight arch across its tepid waters.  A slight chill permeated the air.  Tentative but timely, the thin crispness was just strong enough to hint at the turn of the season on that mid October's day.  Yet it was sufficiently subtle to cull a rich aromatic delight from the first of freshly fallen leaves.  Fall was back . . . early. Fall had come quietly that year, unobtrusively as if heeding something reverent and austere.  The leaves held a bit that October.  Slightly pausing, they turned from summer's tired green to the exuberant blaze of fall.  They seemed to hold their canopies close, refusing as of yet to fully surrender to a season turning on the axis of the year.  Life, it seems, is so very profuse that even the pending death ever engulfing me was muted and restrained in the swell.  It's breath-taking and life-taking all at once.  Mom was dying.  Fall had turned another side to me that I had never known or wished to know.  The plunge was infinitely more than the eight feet of childhood.  This time the descent was endless as the emotional freefall of her dying felt bottomless.  The wonder of that season remained, but it has become tightly woven and inseparable with the loss in the turning. The doting grandparent and adventurous friend seem to have backed away, if not disappeared altogether.  “To grow up is to accept vulnerability... To be alive is to be vulnerable” (Madeleine L'Egle).  Yet vulnerability is exacting and devastating, especially when the colors turn early. Mallards slid from low slung fall skies, cutting smooth lines in the glassy surface of the pond; sending glistening ripples in the same V-formations that these waterfowl had drawn across a graying firmament.  With the momentum of migration propelling them, they skimmed under the wooden bridge's span and briefly settled on fall's waters, preening translucent feathers before fall called them back to her skies. The ornate bridge's sturdy wooden beams and gently curved rails invited the grieving to pause over reflective waters.  Death invites lingering and pondering.  It provokes it as death raises innumerable and terribly tangled questions about life.  Death is a reality that calls the rest of life and all of our assorted strivings into sharp relief, begging dark and foreboding questions.  It forces the questions that we are able to deftly deny . . . until death comes.  And death had come unexpectedly that fall, ramming the fist of adulthood squarely against the sweet memories of wild laughter and eight foot plunges.  The disparity was stunning and wholly paralyzing. Several figures lingered on the bridge's broad oak and maple spine.  They too wrestled with death, giving us a shared experience that mystically forged comrades from complete strangers.  A hospice wrapped in fading gardens invited such pondering and the melding that results from a mutual experience. Strolling the bridge's oak span, they paused over glassy waters in a momentous struggle to understand how something as final as death figures into the exuberance of life.  Behind them leaves pirouetted and avian voyagers charted paths southward as always, but there was a sharp relief of what the child side of me wished to grasp in the momentum of fall and what the adult side of me was mercilessly forced to deal with. I stood a short distance away at the edge of a sandy bank generously hemmed with dried reeds and brittle cattails that tiptoed through glistening shallows.  Even from there, I felt the thoughts of those on the bridge as sharp and leaden as if they were my own.  How does it all work, this life and death thing?  How does it hold itself against all the wonder of life to which it seems so contradictory?  The suddenness and incongruity of it all pressed upon me with a blackened vigor; I found myself standing in a slumped stupor weighed by forces and crushed by realities that descended without notice or warning.  How does it all work; the beauty and tragedy of life?  A hospice created a place where such questions were gently entertained in lives where those questions were now being forced. Tinges of fall color in the surrounding forest reflected in the mirrored surface, dancing on the slight wakes of arriving geese and shimmering when a passive breeze gently rippled the calm waters.  Hedges of blueberries and tangles of wild grape filled in the forest floor, hemming in this place of wonder and solace.  Inside the hospice, a few feet from that pond and the surrounding woods my mother was dying . . . quickly, unexpectedly and without remedy.  Nature itself was turning in what was always her favorite season of the year.  That fall, she would depart with it.  Even though I was desperate to do so, I could no more hold on to her than stop the roll of the season turning in front of me.   Grand and Grievous All at Once How can life be so terribly grand and so utterly grievous at the same time?  I sat but a handful of feet away from a dying mother and attempted to reconcile this most glorious season with a suffocating loss that pressed my heart with such weight that it labored to pound out each precarious beat.  Yet I was at the same time drawn back to an eight foot jump in the arms of a wild grandparent who always bid me gracious favors and loving protection.  I saw nature in spectacular display all around me with forested vistas rolling off to vividly painted horizons.  Yet, in front of me there walked those whose faces were veiled ashen in the pending death of a loved one. How do you reconcile it all?  I wanted to believe that life was either good or bad.  In resting in one or the other I freed myself of the gargantuan task of having to believe in both.  In doing that, I removed the hideous disappointment that befell me when the bad prevailed, and I kept myself safe from unsustainable joy and hope when the good abounds.  Either way, I know that one or the other will seize the landscape of my life and just as quickly leave it to the other.  I would simply prefer to rest in one rather than have to alternate between both.  I was falling much farther than a mere eight feet and the exhilaration of it all had turned terribly black. My mother was dying.  The juxtaposition between an eight foot fall and a mother's death was entirely unfathomable.  I sat at the ponds edge groping to seize and hold close the wonder of life on one side in order to believe that life makes sense and that good is sustained even in great and terrible pain . . . or more so, in great evil.  On the other side, with great trepidation I tried to reach out and touch the pain ringing both cold and hollow; knowing that I could not deny it nor could I ignore it. An eight foot drop and a dying mother seemed as from horizon to horizon in distance from one another, yet I knew that I had to embrace them both.  Sitting by that pond, a handful of feet away from a dying mother, I could not span the gapingly impossible expanse. It was here, in these places that we realize the vast dichotomy of life.  At one end of the created framework there is set intoxicating joys that exhilarate and enthuse us to the end of our emotions and beyond.  At the other end there looms the specter of devastating pain and chillingly dark moments.  Life embodies both of these dramatic extremes.  And at times we are helplessly tossed between both of them. Managing the vastness of life is about managing our response to it.  When the colors turn early and the riotous leaps of eight feet turn bottomless, we can choose our disposition and thereby navigate these extremes.  Martha Washington wrote, “I am still determined to be cheerful and happy, in whatever situation I may be; for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends upon our dispositions, and not upon our circumstances (italics mine).” More than simply navigating these extremes simply to survive, we can put ourselves in a position to effectively savor the vast dichotomy of life.  We live in a world of immense and incomprehensible variety.  Incredibly, we are shaped and created with the capacity to fully embrace, experience and incorporate the full depth and breadth of that marvelous diversity.  In the embracing, we can experience the vastness of life as both dark and light, subsequently growing in ways unimaginable while managing the venture by choosing our disposition.  I prefer eight foot leaps, but I likewise see the opportunity in bottomless falls.        Turns that Leave the Precious Behind Peering over the pond and out to the deep woods beyond, the seasons were changing.  Life was rolling on leaving behind something immensely precious.  Nearly, it seems, discarding something it should not.  At times life seems insensitive, casting aside that which yet has some remnant of life remaining.  Something seems incomplete, a resource not yet exhausted; something seized and stolen before its time.  Sometimes life seems unfinished, the edges not yet sanded smooth, the final touch not yet having been rendered on a canvas bathed in colors of near perfection; a finish line not yet crossed swelling with applause and exhilaration.  It simply should not be over.  So it seems.  There should be more eight foot leaps to make, but eventually there will be the final jump.  And it had come. Sometimes completion is not what we think it to be.  We hold some idea of what something will look like when it's complete or has fulfilled its purpose.  We apply a standard that in most cases is terribly inferior to the perfect destiny for which this person or this time or this thing had been created.  We see the loss of the moment and are blinded to the larger purpose.  Life tips on finely orchestrated events that vastly supersede our comprehension.  Jesus uttered “it is finished,” (John 19:30, New International Version) to an event that his followers could not believe should have finished in that manner.  In their minds something was not completed, yet it was completed perfectly. Grieving acknowledges completion.  Whether we can see it or not, it's resting in the belief that there's a completion that gives sense, meaning and a rationale to our loss.  Completion means that anything more is unnecessary.  That loss is not about a future now stolen.  It takes unfairness away and replaces it with an appropriate closure.         Twice Stolen In the taking, it's all relegated to the whimsy of memory.  Memory is what's left after something's over.  It seems wholly incapable of fully holding on to the thing that it's attempting to recall.  It's but a lean shadow, a thinning recollection of something marvelous and grand.  Memory can only hold a piece of that which we lose.  In the holding, it often takes artistic license and amends the memory so that it's either less painful or visually richer.  In either case, it's easier to hold.  So when we lose something wonderful, in great part we lose a great part of it forever. Goldfinches and orioles skirted the woods edge and lighted on bustling feeders hanging sturdy at the bridge's edge.  Having been left far behind the hem of a summer long thrown off the edge of the hemisphere, they reminded me of a season past . . . harbingers of what was.  Summer itself walked with us through lush green days caressing us with warm kisses of new life.  It granted us sultry nights be-speckled with galaxy upon galaxy of stars packed into its rotund, velvety canopy.  It begged us to smell dandelions, to run sandy beaches, to roll in mounds of wildflowers, to ascend the muscular limbs of maple and aspen, to climb lofty peaks and to wonder in a way that makes reveling sublime. It was all fading now, relegated to the back alleys of my mind, conjured up in anemic images void of the flurry and flourish, of scent and the sacred.  But its time was over even though we presumed there to be more life to be had.  Summer had more to give it seems.  But sometimes the colors change early. Inside this hospice, a few steps from fall itself my mother was passing just like summer was passing.  From the inside of her room, her window framed the glorious scene of transition unfolding in front of me.  But from the outside looking in, this same window only served to frame her in death.  She had yet to draw her final breath, although it was terribly close.  Already the images of her were fading.  Already she was passing into the far corridors of my mind cloaked in ever deepening shadow before I felt she should.  Already the tone of her voice, soft around the edges was becoming muffled.  Already her gestures, her mannerisms and smile, her tone and touch, the dancing crystalline blue eyes so full of life were slipping as turning wisps of smoke through my fingers.  I couldn't remember the eight foot fall anymore although I was desperate to do so. “Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror” (I Corinthians 13:12, New International Version) says Paul as he squints, cants his head a bit and gazes into the next life.  I saw but a poor reflection gazing at this life as it unfolded inside a window where the colors  turning early.  Already I was grieving not being able to hold her or the memories so poignant and sweet.  The colors were indeed turning earlier than I presume they should.  But colors were turning anyway.   Turns of Life Turning Forward “I go to prepare a place for you” (John 14:2, American Standard Bible) says Jesus.  “Whoever puts his hand to the plow and looks back is not fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62, American Standard Bible).  “I have come from the Father and must return to the Father” (John 16:28, American Standard Bible).  Jesus actions in the present were all about the future . . .  that time which stands a nanosecond in front of us and beyond the larger season that we call today.  Out there is something called eternity; that thing which seasons cannot define or contain.  Eternity is the future infinitely multiplied against itself.  It's the ultimate destination that always held Jesus gaze, yet it didn't hold mine as much as I wish it did. Was this season over?  Was eternity rushing upon my mother?  Or was that all simply a marginalized perspective drawn tight by blinders of fear or absence of vision or thinness of faith? In actuality, it's a step into something that will never be over.  Eternity is the end of the end.  There are no more endings there.  The end of this life is the beginning of an endless eternity of ceaseless beginnings.  And so, is the end really an end, or the beginning of that which will never end?  Is eternity the extermination of even the notion of an end?  Then we are obligated, if not forced to ask, “what is more in death . . . loss or gain?  Are we losing something, or is what we're gaining so vast and terribly grand that it essentially wipes out any loss whatsoever?”  Does it eclipse eight foot jumps? Does it matter . . . really?  Was it suggestive of a past now being lost before its time, or was it a past being set aside upon which an endless future was to be built?  Was it about the limits that the past imposes upon us because its story is unchangeable history written in incomplete relief, or was it about limitlessness of a future as a story yet to be crafted, formed and told that will not be held hostage to whatever the past was or was not?  Was life about a checklist of accomplishments completed and thoroughly marked off with some prescribed tedium?  Or was it about joining a much vaster adventure that is not defined by our expectations, but by the hand of a God who perfectly brings every life to closure at the perfect time in order to seize that exact adventure and set us out on horizon-less hills?  Will it make eight foot jumps in the throes of childhood appear terribly minor by comparison?  I think so.   How it All Fits My mother was dying.  For the first time in my life I found myself caught between a past on the verge of passing that seemed premature, and a future that I was not ready for.  It was fall.  October was slipping away and my mother with it.  In it I felt both my dread of loss and my lack of faith in the future.  If my Mom didn't somehow figure into my future, any vision that I would cast instantly disintegrated into a bitter talcum that blew an acidic residue all around me.  I couldn't let go because the past was fading fast, the future was inconceivable and eternity was simply too incomprehensible. Panic stricken, facing uncertainties behind and before, I held on to that which I couldn't hold on to without seeing both the promises for her and I.  I sensed something infinitely grander, but at that raw place of unexpected loss I couldn't grasp it.  I could see it all around me in the flush of a season celebrating death so that it could celebrate life.  But the bridge that this created for me, much like the stout maple and oak arch that spanned the waters before me was simply too difficult to cross.  I edged up to its footing and I knew the passage that it called me to.  I needed to cross.  I wanted to cross.  But I could go no further.        The Colors are Turning The leaves rustled in the wind, its fingers culling nature forward in both death and dance.  It was an odd combination indeed . . . celebration and cessation all at once.  A non-negotiable bargain struck for us by the sin of the first man; a counter offer on a cross without which life would stall, stagnate and eventually cease to be life.  Seasons must turn.  Season is built upon season in an escalating dance.  Oddly, the cross itself was accomplished so that we can pass from the season of this life to the season of the next.  On the cross, Jesus built the ultimate bridge.  He jumped, but infinitely further than eight feet. Geese and an assortment of waterfowl moved in slight circles on glassy waters.  Massive assemblages of birds skimmed the treetops as feathered aviaries on a mystical journey to southern skies.  The grand arch of the sky lent itself gray and cold.  Nature was beginning to tuck itself in.  The colors were changing early and I was not ready. I turned to leave.  As I did, my gaze was drawn to a small metal plaque by the bridge.  I stumbled upon the words that were etched there, “For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11, New International Version – italics mine).  I was and I am grateful for the promise, but I stood at both bridge and woods edge, running fingers over the raised wording on this simple plaque unable to claim its message.  The colors were turning early and I was being prepared to let them turn.  I was being prepared to let life go out of my reach, to let it all run ahead of me without me.  Around me life was advancing in dark directions that were not of my creating.  Yet I had to let it advance and in the advancing find some hope or rationale that would permit me to join it; to know that out there in terribly unpleasant places there lay a hope and  a future.  I had to let go and I had to leap. 

On this episode of For the Birds, Chip and Anson talk to you about Goldfinches! American Goldfinch eBird Winter Finch Forecast with Tyler Hoar Recording from North Branch Nature Center

On this episode of For the Birds, Chip and Anson talk to you about Goldfinches! American Goldfinch eBird Winter Finch Forecast with Tyler Hoar Recording from North Branch Nature Center

On The Alfred Daily Today: Shaftesbury area transport watchdog unhappy with local rail performance. Shaftesbury PC awarded long-service medal by Chief Constable. Praise for Semley businesswoman who fundraised for cancer patient she has not met. Shaftesbury fire crew rescue cat from tree. Floods and climate emergency prompt revision of Motcombe's Neighbourhood Plan. Jumper repair shop today as part of Shaftesbury late night shopping. Weekend trophy win for Shaftesbury Town Band. Shaftesbury what's ons and job vacancies. Goldfinches on top of pine trees on Pine Walk by Nick Crump.

Rules often get a bad rap when it comes to Christianity. Some say those who follow the rules are legalists or deny grace. While we are saved by grace, rules have their place! Music: Summer Days by Roa https://soundcloud.com/roa_music1031 Creative Commons — Attribution 3.0 Unported — CC BY 3.0 Free Download / Stream: http://bit.ly/-summer-days Music promoted by Audio Library https://youtu.be/3wiksi3J_KI

ABOUT THE AUTHOR RYAN SAYLES is the Derringer-nominated author of the Richard Dean Buckner hard-boiled PI series, The Subtle Art of Brutality, Warpath and Albatross as well as the standalone novels Goldfinches and Together They Were Crimson. His short fiction has appeared in dozens of venues in both print and digital media. He was the editor of the clown-themed anthology Greasepaint & .45s and has been included in numerous others such as the Anthony Award-nominated Trouble in the Heartland: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Songs of Bruce Springsteen and Unloaded: Crime Writers Writing Without Guns. He is a founding member of Zelmer Pulp, a writer's group publishing a wide array of genre fiction. Ryan was formerly a submissions editor at the now-defunct The Big Adios website as well as a columnist/interviewer at Out of the Gutter Online. He is Midwestern and formerly military and police. ABOUT THE BOOK - IT'S UGLY BECAUSE IT'S PERSONAL In the city of Carcasa, gunshots devastate the night as a patrol officer makes a traffic stop. The occupants—three dealers caught in the act of muling—set into motion a course of actions that can only end badly. Now, one is dead, another fleeing on foot and the third tearing through neighborhoods in a bumper car-style chase. Furious, grief-stricken officers on their heels with their brother fighting for his life on the side of a road.

American Goldfinches are one of our most familiar birds, but they lead lives that are anything but ordinary. These birds will sometimes raise two broods a year, have a secret weapon against cowbirds, and have the ability to distinguish between songs that — to our ears — sound the same. Backyard

The 7 Habits of Happiness Habit 3 Gratitude As a general rule… Happy people are grateful people. Unhappy people are possessed with a sense of inappropriate ‘entitlement'. Entitlement, I believe, breeds apathy. If we are ‘entitled' to benefits in life without adding value, there is a tendency to wait for the benefit to come. We become passive. This is not the Way of the Entrepreneur. Like a Samurai, the Entrepreneur knows how to deliver valued and valuable ‘service'. Only when outstanding value has been consistently delivered does one with an entrepreneurial mindset expect appropriate remuneration. How can I say all this with any credibility? I can say this with total credibility because I am the man. To this day, I have no idea where my inflated and inappropriate sense of entitlement came from. I certainly wasn't a confident person and so I don't think I was overly arrogant (though I most certainly was arrogant on some occasions.) However, it came into being, I believed the Universe owed me more than it was dishing up! And, when times were very good (jet-setting around the World business class and staying in swanky places while people were telling me I was great – what's not to love?) – when times were good, I didn't appreciate them as fully as I could. As wisdom declares, “Pride comes before a fall.” And I fell. I got proud and arrogant. My old clients said, “We cannot afford to pay you what we used to,” so I said, “Maybe it's time to move on.” I put all my eggs in one basket, then the bottom of the basket broke. With all my former clients being cared for by other training providers, I lost nearly everything. I've been bankrupt twice and it is only through the kindness of others that I have somewhere to sleep, write, and thus, for me, to live. I write therefore I am! Now, the sense of entitlement has all but vanished. The void of ingratitude and lack of appreciation has largely gone too. Of course, I probably still have the capacity to be an arrogant and ignorant ingrate, but I don't want to be. We have a gawdy shower curtain that cost about 85p reduced in a Sale at ASDA. I am SO grateful for the pleasure and utility it brings. It is covered with Tropical Birds, and I love it. Every shower-time is like visiting an Art Gallery. We've found our favourite brand of coffee – and I am grateful for every cup. Nowadays, I can afford to buy a bottle of wine, and I love this luxury. One of the greatest comforts of my relationship with God is that I have a focus for gratitude – someone to thank… and I'm thankful for traffic lights turning green, a kind word from a retail team member, a smile from a child, the sight of a charm of Goldfinches. My life is bathed in gratitude and I am, at last, happy again. Let's do a happiness-health-check. What we are looking for is any growth of an inappropriate sense of entitlement. If you find any, cut it out immediately. We are also checking for a flow of gratitude. Let's get ourselves up to the Gratitude Gym and make sure we work out each and every day! What are your reasons to be cheerful? What are you grateful for right now?

Learn all about goldfinches from Wild Birds Unlimited naturalists John Schaust and Brian Cunningham. They share tips for how to improve your chances of attracting goldfinches by offering their favorite foods and by creating a favorable habitat.

The Goldfinch is the Washington State bird. I learned this from my enthusiastic mother-in-law, who was trying to encourage me to get a specific birdfeeder. She has one that attracts mainly Goldfinches, and has spent many hours sitting and watching these yellow, social animals fly in and out of the area, fighting for a space on the birdfeeder. I didn't buy the bird feeder, but Margo turned up one day with it in hand, as well as a bag of seeds, and a laminated poster about Washington State birds. She was obviously adamant that(1) we have all the equipment. The birdfeeder is just outside of the kitchen window next to some trees. We have another one a few feet away for the general population, and a hummingbird feeder next to the sunnier side of our deck. So we are all set up to birdwatch! Well, you know what happens when you're ready to photograph animals, - nothing. Days went by and I didn't see a bird at all anywhere near the feeder. It wasn't until Margo came by several days later, that birds started to turn up. It was odd; as soon as she walked into the kitchen, three Goldfinches appeared and clung to(2) the feeder. We watched in amazement at their sudden appearance and their brightly colored feathers. Then as soon as she left, they did! She must be the Goldfinch woman.... Since that day, we have had a daily flock of them, mainly juveniles; they are so small! It's very satisfying to watch them. Not only are they beautiful, but they are so energetic and feisty! There is always a pecking order(3) in each crowd; someone always has to be the boss! This little bird only grows to about 5 inches long, with a wingspan of 8. It's unusual in that it molts twice a year, gaining new, bright yellow feathers just before the mating season, and again before Autumn. It only eats seeds, and loves sunflowers and thistles in particular. Thankfully, humans don't bother the birds. In fact, they are quite happy with us. Many eat and live in backyards, and also in cleared forests that have become fields, as they like open spaces. So what we have with the Goldfinch is a lovely, beneficial relationship.  1. 'To be adamant that + subjunctive' means to insist on something. a. They are adamant that their daughter break up with her boyfriend. b. The teacher is adamant that all her students read one book a week. 2. 'Clung' is the past of 'to cling' which means to hang on for dear life! a. I'm right here; you don't have to cling on to me! b. The cat clung on to the top of the curtain while the dogs barked at it underneath. 3. 'A pecking order' means a ranking, someone at the top who is most 'important' and then a descending order of others. a. The lion is the top of the pecking order in a pride. b. He would like to determine who is at the top of the office pecking order, but he doesn't have the authority.

Stories the Iroquois Tell Their Children by Mabel Powers (Yehsennohwehs) [1917].   Recorded with Ezra Guite Cotter and Ethan Cotter. It was some moons after the raccoon outwitted fox, before they again met. The raccoon was hurrying by, when fox saw him. Now the fox had not forgotten the trick the raccoon had played on him when he burned his mouth with what he thought was magic pawpaws.  But it was really a fire ball.   So the fox started after the raccoon. He was gaining, and would have caught him, had they not come to a tall pine tree. The raccoon ran to the very tiptop of the pine tree.  “Try and get me up here Fox”, said raccoon There he was safe, for the fox could not climb. The fox lay down on the soft pine needles and waited for the raccoon to come down. The raccoon stayed up in the pine tree so long that the fox grew tired and sleepy. He closed his eyes and thought he would take a short nap. The raccoon watched, until he saw that the fox was sound asleep.  Raccoon sat on the tree for a long while and when he tired to move he noticed that his paws were sticky. And then he smiled and said to himself, “I know how to deal with fox”   Then he took in his mouth some of the sap from the pine tree. He ran down the tree and quietly rubbed the pitch over the eyes of the sleeping fox. The fox awoke. He sprang up and tried to seize the raccoon, but, alas! he could not see what he was doing. The lids of his eyes were held fast with the pine tar. He could not open them.   The raccoon laughed at the fox's plight, then ran and left him. Try and catch me now fox! Said raccoon The fox lay for some time under the tree. The pine gum, as it dried, held the lids of his eyes closer and closer shut. He thought he should never again see the sun. Some birds were singing near by. He called them, and told them of his plight. He asked if they would be so kind as to pick open his eyes. The birds flew off and told the other birds.  Come and help us Soon many of the little dark songsters flew back to where the fox lay. Then peck, peck, peck, went the little bills on the eyelids of the fox. Bit by bit they carefully pecked away the pine gum. If one grew tired, another bird would take its place.   At last the fox saw a streak of light. Soon the lid of one eye flew open, then the other. The sun was shining, and the world looked very beautiful to the fox, as he opened his eyes. He was very grateful to the little birds for bringing him light. He told them to ask what they would, and he would give it to them. The little birds said,    "We do not like the dark feathers which the Turkey Buzzard gave us. We want to look like the sun”   The fox looked about him. Beautiful sunflowers were growing near. He pressed some of the bright yellow color from them, and with the tip of his tail as a brush, he began to paint the dark little birds like the sun. The birds fluttered so with joy, he thought he would paint the bodies first. Before he could brush the wings and tails with the sun paint, each little bird had darted away, like a streak of sunshine.  Thank you, Thank you So happy and light of heart were the birds, that they could not wait for the fox to finish the painting. This is why goldfinches are yellow like the sun. It is why they have black wings and tails, why they flutter so with joy, and why they never finish their song.         

Goldfinch is just the bird to cheer you up! This is a great bird to have at your feeders. Our sources for this episode include: American Goldfinch https://abcbirds.org/bird/american-goldfinch/ Interesting American Goldfinch Facts http://www.birdhouses101.com/american-goldfinch-facts.asp 21 Facts on Goldfinches https://www.livingwithbirds.com/tweetapedia/21-facts-on-goldfinch Fun Facts about Goldfinches https://billingsgazette.com/lifestyles/home-and-garden/fun-facts-about-goldfinches/article_65165159-1e5d-5a6c-8c04-cc1dfa9e6fde.html Life Histories of North American Birds by Arthur Cleveland Bent https://birdsbybent.com/about.html

What's small, yellow and supposedly yells "po-ta-to chip" wherever they go? American goldfinches! Join Aimee and Hannah as they talk about this common North American finch and their unique presence in Chicagoland.

A podcast for people interested in wild birds. In this episode, Suzy takes a walk to the river. The featured birds are European Goldfinches and American Goldfinches.   Be sure to subscribe to the show! If you like the show, please rate us wherever you download podcasts, and tell a friend about the show!

Tom was named the winner in the Under 8s category! This is his poem, Robins, Cockerels, Goldfinches and Ducks! 

Goldfinches galore; Carolina Wrens on the march; and Canada's new National Bird?

It’s the question show! Gary talks about the first eukaryotes. Joann is in another pothole or kettle hole. Gordon’s sentimental favorite is Blue-eyed Mary. Then on to questions: polyploidy, black flies, Goldfinches, seed dispersal.