Over the past week I’ve watched (and photographed) hundreds and hundreds of restless semipalmated sandpipers take rest along the beaches of the Long Island Sound. I don’t know where exactly they’ve come from, nor do I know where they’re going. I can’t help but wonder — do they? I wonder what they’d tell us if we were able to listen.

The double-crested cormorant, Phalacrocorax auritus, is one of our most common waterbirds. Standing atop pilings and buoys, black wings spread like some fallen angel, cormorants do not receive the admiration egrets, osprey, and other coastal species do: one could call them the “dark horse” of our local avifauna.

I spent some time this week looking at bees. I know little about these insects, so this period of observation was one of child-like wonder, freed from the blinders of preconception. For this post I thought I’d walk readers through the process of observation, describing what I saw and learned from one peer to another.

The period around Fourth of July, in all its bravado, is one of high risk for beach-nesting birds. These remarkable species make do in an already exposed and unforgiving habitat, and the pressures put on them by human neighbors exacerbate such stressors to no end. As a result, they are some of our most threatened local species. Few are as imperiled as the much-loved, much-hated, Piping Plover.

Let us not forget that, while dragonflies certainly fall prey to some large insectivorous birds, they are formidable predators in their own right. Not only that, they’re a fascinating group of organisms to observe and study: a remarkable diversity exists here in Connecticut, but only becomes apparent when you take the time to look and learn. Introducing: The Seaside Dragonlet.