Oak grove.
The sun shone for a little while this morning, as the house finch and redstart sang. (If dinosaurs were as vocal as those two, the earth was one noisy ol’ place 100 million years ago.) And then a line of thunderstorms blew through. They were pretty strong storms, with hard rain and plenty of thunder and lightning—although none of the rumored hail—and in their wake, the air roiled and grew nervous, as if with expectation. I watched it all from my desk until sometime in afternoon, when I got wind of the tornado watch.
American crow.
Having grown up in Texas, I’m no stranger to tornado watches, but they’re pretty rare up here on the 44th parallel. Checked the online weather radar and saw another line of red approaching. Time for a quick hike up Beech Hill.
No rain when we arrived—in fact, things had dried up quickly from this morning’s downpour—just the roiling, nervous air. Heard a robin singing loudly at the parking lot, but that was the last bird for a while. Not that I could hear their usual songs in the distance anyway, what with the rush of the wind in the leaves.
So I listened to the wind in the leaves. And I noticed that there’s something full and soft about the rushing sound of the wind in new spring leaves—a sound much different from the hoarser whispering of summer winds or the papery sighs in the early fall foliage. The bright green maple boughs swayed against the dark gray of the sky. The aspen leaves shivered madly. The whole of the wood seemed alive.
Finally, I heard my second bird: a chickadee. But it wasn’t until dog and I had ascended half-way that a little flurry of species piped up. Within about thirty seconds, in fact, I’d heard chestnut-sided warbler, towhee, yellowthroat, yellow warb, veery, goldfinch. (The veery sang from the same stand of trees I’d heard it the past two days.) Then, as we entered the upper fields, we surprised six or eight crows browsing in the barrens. They flapped cawing away to the east.
Up at Beech Nut, we stood for a moment so I could watch flying clouds and waves of grass, but I neither saw nor heard another bird (no catbird, even) until we’d returned back to where the crows had been, when I heard a yellow warbler singing nearby. I stood there for a full three minutes, I bet, waiting for it to appear. It never appeared. But I did see a hummingbird fly over. Crow and hummingbird—the only two birds I’d yet laid eyes on.
Above the rush of the wind in the lower woods, I heard the screams an osprey. Then an ovenbird sang. And a hermit thrush. And I heard the voice of a pewee. Heard a little thunder, too, and felt a spattering of rain.
Back at the parking lot, I heard the pip! of the resident phoebe before making my third Beech Hill bird sighting of the day.
No funnel cloud appeared, nor even any more rain. But the wind continued for a while. And the nuthatches and phoebes were busy out back. And I did hear a catbird across the road.
Tonight I hear crickets. A light breeze murmurs in the trees. I see silent flashes in the southern sky and silent stars above.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:30 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. American robin (voice)
2. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
3. Chestnut-sided warbler (voice)
4. Eastern towhee (voice)
5. Common yellowthroat (voice)
6. Yellow warbler (voice)
7. Veery (voice)
8. American goldfinch (voice)
9. American crow
10. Song sparrow (voice)
11. Ruby-throated hummingbird
12. Osprey (voice)
13. Ovenbird (voice)
14. Hermit thrush (voice)
15. Eastern pewee (voice)
16. Eastern phoebe
Elsewhere
17. House finch
18. American redstart
19. Northern cardinal
20. House sparrow
21. Herring gull
22. Mourning dove
23. White-breasted nuthatch
24. Gray catbird
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American redstart, American robin, black-capped chickadee, chestnut-sided warbler, common yellowthroat, eastern towhee, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, northern cardinal, osprey, ovenbird, ruby-throated hummingbird, song sparrow, veery, white-breasted nuthatch
