Initials.
A cold, clear, windy day. The temperatures started in the 20s (F), rose into the 30s, and ended up in the 20s again.
I awoke to a medley of robin calls out the window at the head of my bed. Notes, chatters, etc. On my first excursion out with dog, I heard house finches and house sparrows and robins and chickadees and a hairy woodpecker drumming on a dead oak limb. And not long after that, Jack—whose senses I’ve come to trust—offered a low bark at the back glass doors. I went to see what he saw, and what he saw were wild turkeys. Probably a dozen or more, scratching around last fall’s leaves on the hill out back. Huge turkeys. I watched one hop up onto a fallen tree trunk and amble along it nonchalantly.
Herring gull.
In afternoon, I took my dog with me to run errands. Herring and ring-billed gulls, as always, around town. And while I was pumping gas, I spied a lone turkey vulture teetering low in the swiftly moving air above me.
We didn’t pull into the Rockville Street parking lot until rather late in the day. A single car there. As we started along the still snowy Beech Hill trail, I noticed some strange tracks—it was as if someone had been purposefully tromping down the snow, step by step, to even it out for future hiking. There was a sideways track of very short steps and a straight-ahead track of connected ones. Odd, I thought. But then I got distracted by several robins poking about in the sugar bush.
Not far in, we met a couple of people returning down the trail. I saw at once it was a young woman leading what appeared to ba a young blind man down—and right away I understood the unusual tracks. We exchanged pleasantries, I mentioned that my dog was friendly, and we wished each other a lovely day. And I got to thinking, what a great experience that must’ve been for a blind fellow. A hike up the wooded Beech Hill trail (can’t get much better than that), along a snow-crusted track not easy to navigate in any event, with a crisp, fresh wind and the sound of hardwood limbs squeaking and rattling against each other. And the subtle calls of robins. And I thought—as often I do—about whether, if I had to lose a my sense of sight or hearing, which I would choose. And I thought again that although the loss of my sight would greatly lessen my freedom of movement, keeping my sense of hearing would let me continue to be a bird listener. And I wished I’d asked if they’d heard the voices of fox sparrows up the hill.
American robin.
And sure enough, soon after, I heard the little guys. Their percussive alarm notes, their sweet songs. The sparrows were flitting about near the sumac and the berry bushes, where I’d seen them a few times before. I also heard crows.
I followed the well-tromped tracks almost all the way to the summit. Impressive. It must’ve taken a while, but they’d gone a long way up and down. As we neared the top, as I watched my footing, I saw that Jack was looking up. I followed his gaze and saw two crows flapping away through the breeze. No one else up there. Just a strong westerly wind that chilled my hands and fingers and caused the branches of the spruce in the little summit grove to roar and sigh. Returning, I saw a cloud of many gulls wheeling around out toward the bay.
Coming down the lower trail, we found protection from the wind—that being the northeast slope. Old snow held fast on that side except for the mud and flood of snowmelt that persisted even considering the chill temperatures. At one point I looked up to see a fresh carving on a tree trunk alongside a blue trail blaze mark: “SK” and “MT” and a heart.
No creepers or nuthatches, but as we rounded one of the final curves, I heard the distinctive call of a titmouse. And then a chickadee.
Afternoon sun.
At right about 6:30, from my back deck, I watched the neighborhood crows begin to bed down. They called, flew low and quietly after each other, and ended up in the branches of the big pines near the crest of the hill. So that’s where they spend the night.
And soon after that, I heard the chips of the resident cardinals as they readied for another nighttime.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:15 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. American robin
2. Fox sparrow
3. American crow
4. Herring gull
5. Tufted titmouse (voice)
6. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
Elsewhere
7. Wild turkey
8. House finch
9. House sparrow
10. Hairy woodpecker
11. Ring-billed gull
12. Turkey vulture
13. Northern cardinal
Tags: American crow, American robin, black-capped chickadee, fox sparrow, hairy woodpecker, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, northern cardinal, ring-billed gull, tufted titmouse, turkey vulture, wild turkey
