Black-capped chickadee.
Everybody’s got secrets. I don’t mean the kind of secrets you share with one other person, whom you then swear to secrecy. I mean the kind of secrets that only one one person knows. You.
Mourning dove.
I’ve got a few. The name of the first girl I felt an attraction to way back when I was fourteen years old. Or one or two women I currently kind of have a crush on (i.e., the ones who don’t know I do). Certain things I think on a regular basis but never talk about—the kind of stuff I’d never share on Facebook, that’s for sure. But most of my secrets these days have to do with natural places: particular hollows or outlooks or forest glades or stretches of the Beech Hill trail.
There’s one place on the trail, for instance, where I’ve twice surprised ruffed grouse hens with broods in late spring. I think about the grouse every time I pass that place, but I’ll never tell. There’s an off-trail area down the wooded slope where I’ve stepped around patches of poison ivy while chasing uncommon warblers in May—Blackburnians, black-throated blues—on more than one occasion. It’s a beautiful spot. Lovely, cool, and green. I could show you a few hidden places where I know certain species build nests each year. But I won’t. They’re secret places.
This time of year, the birds are about as secretive as they’ll ever be—suddenly silent, for the most part, and especially intent keeping out of sight. In their case, of course, it’s a survival instinct. There are new young birds to keep track of, to keep fed, to keep safe from hawks and humans.
Common yellowthroat.
Few birds were calling when Jack and I took our late-in-the-day hike up the hill. Vireos were most vocal, unsurprisingly, but they keep well hidden in the canopy. Second most vocal today, curiously, were chickadees. Heard them calling from several points along the trails—and saw them more than once. A few singing yellowthroats (one sighting). Two dove sightings (no calls). I heard only the brief song of only one catbird—but happened to see two of them, when we’d stopped along a thicket so I could take photos of a chickadee.
No Savannah sparrows today. Two singing song sparrows. I got a brief glimpse of an alder flycatcher after hearing its subtle peep! And I caught sight of Chester, the chestnut-sided warbler. Also, a solitary waxwing perched on the same open branch where I saw one yesterday—likely the very same bird.
Down in the lower woods, I heard two hermit thrushes, one pewee, and just a snippet of an ovenbird call. Ovenbirds are all over the place up there, I have no doubt—but (shh!) just now they’re keeping secrets.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:45 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Red-eyed vireo* (v)
2. Black-throated green warbler* (v)
3. Northern flicker (v)
4. Chestnut-sided warbler
5. Eastern towhee (v)
6. Black-capped chickadee
7. Common yellowthroat
8. Veery (v)
9. Gray catbird*
10. American robin* (v)
11. Cedar waxwing*
12. American goldfinch (v)
13. Song sparrow* (v)
14. Alder flycatcher
15. American crow*
16. Mourning dove*
17. Hermit thrush (v)
18. Eastern wood-pewee (v)
19. Ovenbird (v)
Elsewhere
20. House finch (v)
21. Herring gull
22. Rock pigeon
23. Chipping sparrow (v)
24. Northern cardinal (v)
v = Voice only
*Also elsewhere
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-capped chickadee, black-throated green warbler, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, common yellowthroat, eastern towhee, eastern wood-pewee, gray catbird, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, mourning dove, northern cardinal, northern flicker, red-eyed vireo, rock pigeon, song sparrow, veery
