American crow.
There was a change in the weather. The morning had a few glimpses of sun, but mostly a gray overcast cloaked this section of planet, and a cool, blustery breeze whipped the limbs around. I heard a cardinal singing, and a song sparrow. Then, at my desk, I quickly got in the Groove, the Zone. (This is unusual for a Friday, but there you go.) Not until about 4:30 did I figure I’d better get on my bicycle—the lowery sky (and the forecast) threatened rain.
Young fern.
A quick trip, a good trip. Gulls overhead, doves on the utility lines, chipping sparrows singing up in Rockport Village. A cool, damp breeze against my ears. Got home, tied up a few loose ends, grabbed Jack-my-dog, and took a quick drive to Beech Hill.
The air had gone somewhat still. The clouds seemed closer. Deer flies swarmed, but not too annoyingly.
And birds were scarce. Even the ever-present red-eyed vireos (ever-present at this time of year) were less vocal late this afternoon—I caught only snippets of their songs. I heard a distant crow. I heard a solitary goldfinch fly over. I heard the wheep! note of a single towhee. This got me thinking about my main birding method. I’m mostly a bird-listener.
Perhaps I’ve got a discriminating ear, don’t know. But for the thirty-plus years I’ve been birding in Maine, my forays have concentrated on sound. What’s that call? Whose is that song? Is that a bird or a chipmunk? Over the years, I’ve grown familiar with the typical—and even the not-so-typical—vocalizations of our resident species. I listen first, look later. Maybe that’s why I’m so compelled to take photographs of birds: their voices I can remember, whereas their feathers, their colors, the changes in their plumage at various times of year seem particularly precious and beautiful. I know the sound of their wingbeats (some of them), but an actual view of a bird through binoculars seems rare and fleeting. The photos help me remember them visually. They’re harder to see than to hear.
At least to me.
Beech Nut.
And today exemplified this dichotomy. For at this time of year, with vulnerable new fledglings about, you’re far more liable to hear a bird than to see one. E.g., my list today included: an eastern towhee, based on a single bird’s alarm note; a song sparrow, thanks to one individual song; waxwings, based solely on their voices from above. It might also have included a yellowthroat strictly because of a series of two or three chip notes, had I not managed to spot a comely female flitting through the undergrowth on our way back down the hill. I did see a catbird (after first hearing it), crows (after first hearing their caws), and a pair of purple finches (although they were far enough away that their voices are what confirmed the ID). I also saw the Beech Nut phoebe.
So many people hear birds’ voices and think of them as “birds.” Maybe I’ll write a book about how to stop and enjoy their company through use of our ears. It’s something I think I’d like to elaborate on, anyway. It’s a different sort of paying attention. Bird-listening just seems so natural to me.
Tonight, sure enough, it began to rain. Lightly. In fact, the rain in the foliage sounds exactly like a lovely, extended sigh.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 6 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Red-eyed vireo (voice)
2. American robin (voice)
3. American crow
4. American goldfinch (voice)
5. Eastern towhee (voice)
6. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
7. Gray catbird
8. Cedar waxwing (voice)
9. Eastern phoebe
10. Song sparrow (voice)
11. Hermit thrush (voice)
12. Purple finch
13. Common yellowthroat
Elsewhere
14. Northern cardinal
15. House sparrow
16. Herring gull
17. Mourning dove
18. Chipping sparrow
19. House finch
20. Golden-crowned kinglet
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-capped chickadee, Cedar waxwing, chipping sparrow, common yellowthroat, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, golden-crowned kinglet, gray catbird, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, northern cardinal, purple finch, red-eyed vireo, song sparrow
