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Archive for June, 2010
Thursday, June 24th, 2010
 Foggy trail. Woke up, got out of bed, looked out the window and thought I was dead.
 Butterfly wings. Well, not really—but the fog was so thick out there that I imagined I might’ve died and ended up in some kind of heavenly cloud. When dog and I reached the Beech Hill trail head, water was dripping from the trees and birdsong seemed more intimate, as if the birds were occupying the same room as we.
I noticed that black-and-white and chestnut-sided warblers are now singing their alternate, late-season songs: the former’s usual lazy, cyclical weesy-weesy-weesy taking a quick turn to another pitch; the latter’s simple “Please, please, pleased to meet you” become something of a warbling jumble. I neither saw nor heard any field sparrows today, but the other four species were evident. Catbirds seemed particularly defensive of their nests—to the point of actually letting themselves be photographed.
 Savannah sparrow. Water droplets clung to the vegetation, as they did yesterday. I didn’t mention that, yesterday, brushing up against a single bough of a sapling pine felt exactly like pouring a full glass of water down my sleeve. Today, I bumped a couple heavy-hanging branches with my hat and the water glass might as well have been poured over my head.
 Veery. Coming up the wooded trail, I noticed the separated wings of a butterfly littering the path: something had eaten the meaty parts, leaving just the wings. Later, Jack saw something in the trailside undergrowth, and both of us watched a small, brown, furry creature scuttle along for a few feet, mostly hidden by leaves. I have no idea what it was.
No jays today, nor any alder flycatchers. But a cardinal sang sweetly from the base of the open trail, and titmice called from shady green wooded areas. Heard the purple finch in the spruces at the summit for the second straight day; also for two days running thought I heard bluebirds.
The stewards of the hill have been clearing and cleaning the trails, meantime, and both dog and I sincerely appreciate not having to brush up against so many berry bushes on our hikes. On the other hand, by moving aside the trunk of a fallen tree and a fair-sized stone in the path, the stewards have affected our customary routine: Jack no longer leaps the familiar tree trunk, and I no longer have the familiar stone to step on. Funny, the things we get used to.
Eventually, the fog burned off and the day turned warm and humid. I rode my bicycle in afternoon just as a line of thundershowers began to form. But I rode as fast as my legs would take me and managed to avoid getting drenched.
All in all a heavy, humid, summery, feeling-alive kind of day.
 Gray catbird. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 7 a.m., I walked all trails.
1. Red-eyed vireo (voice)
2. Ovenbird (voice)
3. Eastern phoebe
4. Black-capped chickadee
5. Cedar waxwing (voice)
6. Common yellowthroat
7. Chestnut-sided warbler
8. Rose-breasted grosbeak
9. Northern flicker (voice)
10. Veery
11. Gray catbird
12. Eastern towhee
13. American crow (voice)
14. American redstart (voice)
15. American robin
16. Black-and-white warbler (voice)
17. Mourning dove
18. American goldfinch
19. Song sparrow
20. Tree swallow
21. Nashville warbler (voice)
22. Savannah sparrow
23. Yellow warbler (voice)
24. Tufted titmouse (voice)
25. Chipping sparrow (voice)
26. White-throated sparrow (voice)
27. Northern cardinal (voice)
28. Hairy woodpecker (voice)
29. Purple finch
Elsewhere
30. House sparrow
31. Herring gull
32. Rock pigeon
33. Common grackle
34. European starling
 Wet leaf.
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American redstart, American robin, black-and-white warbler, black-capped chickadee, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, common grackle, common yellowthroat, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, gray catbird, hairy woodpecker, herring gull, house sparrow, mourning dove, Nashville warbler, northern cardinal, northern flicker, ovenbird, purple finch, red-eyed vireo, ree swallow, rock pigeon, rose-breasted grosbeak, savannah sparrow, song sparrowt, tufted titmouse, veery, white-throated sparrow, yellow warbler
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Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010
 Savannah sparrow. I slept in this morning. I knew it’d be raining, and sure enough it was—as I confirmed when I heard the liquid rush of car tires on the road out front—so I went back to sleep and didn’t rise until 7:30 or so. Things were supposed to dry up this afternoon, so I figured dog and I would hit Beech Hill late in the day.
 Beech Nut. Which we did. Right about 5 p.m. Gray was the sky, drippy were the trees, muddy were the trails. We had to walk about a hundred yards before we hear our third bird (usually we’ll hear and/or see twice that many in that distance)—vireo, waxwing, ovenbird. But the lush, green, dripping hillside unveiled a series of gifts: a pair of rose-breasted grosbeaks chasing through the canopy; a flitting family of chickdees foraging in a poplar grove; the sound of a clutch of yellowthroat chicks being fed by their mother, who then paused to scold us for passing by.
An afternoon list differs form a morning list. No yellow warblers today or alder flycatchers or titmice. No redstarts or Nashville warblers—but black-and-whites were vocal. The air felt humid, and the birds’ voices sounded oddly near. I watched a veery sing it’s magical song.
 Beech Nut, blue sky. At the summit, the sun came out. A revelation unexpected. Fog and mist cloaked the bay and adorned the tops of the inland hills. But blue sky opened up, and sunlight streamed down around Beech Nut, and birds began to sing. All five sparrows again. Hermit thrushes in the steamy woods. Swallows in miraculous flight above the fields. Particularly notable were two species I never heard, but saw: black-billed cuckoo and northern flicker—each bird flew across the trail right in front of me like a field guide illustration of the species.
Returning, the clouds overspread the sky again. Among the several species hanging around the spruce grove at the summit, I heard the unmistakable strains of a purple finch and saw a collection of goldfinches heading off in bouncy flight. Waxwings perched and preened. And ovenbirds ruled the lower wooded trail—as without question they’re supposed to do.
And some earlier visitor had picked a wildflower and left it on the porch of Beech Nut. A sweet gesture. A lovely summer day.
 Beech hill fields. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5 p.m., I walked all trails
1. Red-eyed vireo (voice)
2. Cedar waxwing
3. Ovenbird (voice)
4. Common yellowthroat
5. Chestnut-sided warbler
6. American goldfinch
7. Rose-breasted grosbeak
8. Gray catbird
9. Eastern towhee
10. American robin (voice)
11. Veery
12. Black-capped chickadee
13. American crow (voice)
14. Mourning dove
15. Black-and-white warbler (voice)
16. Tree swallow
17. Song sparrow
18. Eastern phoebe (voice)
19. Field sparrow (voice)
20. Savannah sparrow
21. Hermit thrush (voice)
22. White-throated sparrow (voice)
23. Black-billed cuckoo
24. Chipping sparrow (voice)
25. Hairy woodpecker (voice)
26. Blue jay
27. Purple finch
28. Northern flicker
Elsewhere
None that I didn’t also see at Beech Hill.
 Wildflower.
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-and-white warbler, black-billed cuckoo, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, common yellowthroat, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, field sparrow, gray catbird, hairy woodpecker, hermit thrush, mourning dove, northern flicker, ovenbird, purple finch, red-eyed vireo, rose-breasted grosbeak, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tree swallow, veery, white-throated sparrow
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Tuesday, June 22nd, 2010
 Savannah sparrow. Fisherman, football coaches, and photographers all know the one that got away. As an amateur nature-picture-taker whose subject often flit around nervously, I’m used to this repeated sense of loss. This morning, walking around Beech Hill, there were several such instances: the chestnut-sided warbler that teed up perfectly, only to take wing as I was focusing; the white-breasted nuthatch hunting for food directly in front of me that simply wouldn’t sit still; the tiny mushroom nestled in a bed of green moss and lit by a filtered ray of sunlight… Well, I suppose I could’ve stopped and snapped that last photo, but Chuck and Greta had come up behind Jack and me on the trail, and I felt the press of urgency. Sure enough, on our return trip, the little mushroom was hidden in shade.
 Chestnut-sided warbler. Still, I can see that mushroom in its kelly green field just as vividly as if I had a photo. I can recall the exact endearing posture of the chestnut-sided—which, by the way, was singing. And I can even get to chuckling a bit to think of the nuthatch hanging upside down on the limbs of that conifer at the summit (the same one the red-breasted was poking around in yesterday, by the way).
It sometimes seems to me that the most valuable treasure we in the human species have is our memories. They’re how we learn. They’re tied up in our dreams. Familiar things and faces and feelings give us warmth and love; unfamiliar adventures thrill us with the promise of new memories. You might say our gift of recall is what makes us human in the first place. And I can only hope mine lasts right up until I inhale my last breath.
I swear I can still see that little mushroom in its sunbeam.
 Song sparrow. Otherwise, I saw a lot of birds again today—and heard even more. Most notable perhaps was the voice of a raven, first in a week or two. All five sparrows again. Many yellowthroats chipping from the understory.
The weather, meantime, was lovely. Not as hot as the past couple days, nor as humid. Somewhere in the 70s (F), I’d guess, with a slight breeze off the water. While out cycling this afternoon, with gulls and crows overhead, I felt sort of like I was flying.
This evening I attended a poetry presentation at which my friend Kristen read. She had her iPad with her—we share this ironic love of things both natural and technological—and on it were aerial photos she’d taken today of Beech Hill, which she showed me before the reading. I could’ve looked at them for a lot longer.
P.S. Tonight I saw my first fireflies of the year. Love me some fireflies.
 Savannah sparrow. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 7:30 a.m., I walked all trails.
1. Chestnut-sided warbler
2. Common yellowthroat
3. Ovenbird
4. Red-eyed vireo
5. Cedar waxwing
6. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
7. American robin
8. Rose-breasted grosbeak (voice)
9. Veery
10. Eastern towhee
11. Gray catbird
12. American redstart (voice)
13. Black-and-white warbler (voice)
14. Alder flycatcher (voice)
15. Yellow warbler (voice)
16. Common raven (voice)
17. Song sparrow
18. Eastern phoebe
19. Mourning dove
20. Savannah sparrow
21. Field sparrow (voice)
22. Tufted titmouse (voice)
23. Chipping sparrow (voice)
24. White-throated sparrow
25. Hairy woodpecker (voice)
26. Hermit thrush (voice)
27. American goldfinch
28. American crow (voice)
29. House finch (voice)
30. Nashville warbler (voice)
31. Tree swallow
32. White-breasted nuthatch
33. Wild turkey (voice)
34. Black-throated green warbler (voice)
Elsewhere
35. House sparrow
36. Herring gull
 Beech Hill strawberry.
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American goldfinch, American redstart, American robin, black-and-white warbler, black-capped chickadee, black-throated green warbler, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, common raven, common yellowthroat, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, field sparrow, gray catbird, hairy woodpecker, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, Nashville warbler, ovenbird, red-eyed vireo, rose-breasted grosbeak, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tree swallow, tufted titmouse, veery, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow, wild turkey, yellow warbler
Posted in Lists, Observations | No Comments »
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| Bird Report is a (sometimes intermittent) record of the birds I encounter while hiking, see while driving, or spy outside my window. —Brian Willson |
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