White-breasted nuthatch.
I suppose every American over a particular age remembers just what they were doing on this date ten years ago. I was downstairs watching the TV news. A tragic, eventful day.
Cloud in the north.
Unlike this one. Then again, perhaps the weather was similar—sunny, relatively mild. Although a bit breezy here. Chilly. Chilly enough, in fact, that I decided to take a break from bicycle riding. Meantime, as if to mock my laziness, a friend this morning swam (with a friend of hers) from Lincolnville to Islesboro. “Who needs the ferry?” is how she put it about her upliftingly memorable morning.
Here, I sat at my kitchen table working on fonts and writing some. Heard blue jays out there. Out my window I saw crows and gulls. Finally, at exactly the same time as yesterday (sweet routine?), Jack and I took off for our hike up Beech Hill.
Plenty of vehicles in the parking lot. As soon as we hopped out of the truck, I heard chickadees in the spruce tree above us. Then the soft voice of a nuthatch. For the first two or three minutes, we didn’t take a step as I craned and leaned to try for a nuthatch photo. Only managed a half-way decent one before we began to walk.
We met people coming down. We met a puppy on a leash. We felt the southeast breeze in our faces, smelled the fragrant late-summer air. We hiked down to the blackberry brambles—where I ate a bunch of nice berries. But no other birds presented themselves. No waxwing, no goldfinch, no crow.
What lovely views. What spectacular skies. Crickets singing. No birds.
Southwest sky.
Until we’d nearly descended all the way back down, when I did finally hear a waxwing. It was calling from a clump of small trees quite near us. As I stood looking for the waxwing—their thin, directionless voices make them hard for me to pin down—a dog-walking woman approached. And stopped a ways away. I gave up looking for the bird and we continued down when the woman said, “Sorry, he’s not very friendly.” And sure enough, as we passed, the dog lunged at his leash, barking and snarling. To my surprise (her muscular dog outweighed him considerably), Jack lunged and barked and snarled right back—but we passed without major incident.
I couldn’t help wondering afterward, though: if you know you’ve got an unfriendly dog, why would you walk him on a popular, public trail?
Otherwise, an uneventful day. Few birds, nice sky, full moon.
Addendum: this day seemed so uneventful that I completely forgot about the red-tailed hawk I saw soaring over South Street as Jack and I made our way to Beech Hill.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:45 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. Black-capped chickadee
2. White-breasted nuthatch
3. Cedar waxwing (voice)
Elsewhere
4. Blue jay
5. Herring gull
6. American crow
7. Mourning dove
8. Red-tailed hawk
Tags: American crow, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, Cedar waxwing, herring gull, mourning dove, white-breasted nuthatch
