17 February 2025

Life sublime

Saturday, February 27th, 2010
Hooded merganser, Weskeag Marsh, South Thomaston, Maine, 27 February 2010.

Hooded merganser.

Before bed last night, I looked out and saw a trace of snow on the deck. This morning, I saw no trace of snow. In fact, before I knew it the temperature had risen well into the 40s (F) and the sky was about half blue. Quite a little wind, though. Out back were crows, a singing titmouse, and a little gang of chickadees.

Black duck, Weskeag Marsh, South Thomaston, Maine, 27 February 2010.

Black duck.

Truly, there’s no snow. We’re snowless. Oh, you can find a few dwindling, slushy piles of it where the plow drifts were, and in the woods are slushy scraps in the shady areas. Still, February’s been crazy. Each winter’s different at the 44th parallel, I’ve learned in my thirty years at this latitude.

In early afternoon I decided to check out the Weskeag Marsh, no doubt clear of ice already. Heck, cars and snowmobiles have been sinking to the bottoms of ponds all up and down the coast—luckily, with little or no loss of life—as residents just can’t get their brains around this kind of crazy thaw. And sure enough, the Weskeag had no ice that I could see. Just soggy, watery channels divided by lovely bronze marsh grass.

Weskeag Marsh, South Thomaston, Maine, 27 February 2010.

Weskeag Marsh.

Right away I heard the geese. Scanned the wide expanse for ducks and saw mostly black ducks—but also a solitary male hooded merganser. Mallards also. A handful of crows. I walked down into the marsh a hundred hards or so, about as far as I could go and stay dry. A large group of dabblers took wing against the blue billowing clouds that had by then gathered in the south.

From Weskeag, I drove to Beech Hill under what were now overcast skies. Still in the 40s, not much breeze. The wooded trails were snow-free for the most part—but hardly water-free. In fact, runoff from the big storm was following the lower trail and had already caused quite a bit of erosion. It felt like Mud Season already, and in fact I spooked a chipmunk. Heading up, I passed a casualty of the storm: a medium-sized spruce had toppled over, its shallow roots having lost their grip. Oddly, the crown of the tree had snapped clean off and folded over against the trunk.

Eastern chipmunk, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 27 February 2010.

Eastern chipmunk.

Unlike on recent trips, I heard birds on the hill today—chickadee, downy woodpecker, robin. I mostly kept to the soggy grass on either side of the muddy trail. And I lost myself. As I often do, I lost myself in the there and the now of the woods. My feet on the trail, the smell of last fall’s leaves, the sound of bird wings—a couple of robins in the sumac. At the summit I spooked a mourning dove, whose whistling wingbeats headed downhill. Descending, I heard the dove sing its poignant song. And I stood there, listening, soaking up the moment—the chill, the moistness, the fragrance of last fall, the dove—lost for I don’t know how long in a sense of life sublime.

Farther down the trail, I came upon a pair of chickadees. I pished them close, and they got within six feet of me, and I managed a single photo.

Black-capped chickadee, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 27 February 2010.

Black-capped chickadee.

I love it on Beech Hill.

Today’s List

American crow
Tufted timouse
Black-capped chickadee
Herring gull
Ring-billed gull
Rock pigeon
Canada goose
Black duck
Hooded merganser
Mallard
Downy woodpecker
American robin
Mourning dove

Penobscot Bay, from Beech Hill, Rockport, 27 February 2010.

Penobscot Bay from Beech Hill.

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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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