Northern shrike.
Today dawned gray and damp. I’d already heard the rush of car tires on wet roads from bed before the sun came up. I also heard a titmouse out there. And crows.
Pussy willow.
Was drippy at the end of the day, also, as Jack and I sidestepped great patches of mud on the open Beech Hill trail. (Jack does this, in fact—deftly avoids bad slop.) Lots of birds there: dove and cardinal singing brightly, voice of a jay, a secretive songbird flitting in the little bare trees that I couldn’t identify. Coming up the slope, I spotted a little small perched at the tip of the little oak tree. Before I could even get a good look I knew it was the shrike. As we got near it, it began to sing.
That’s a rare gift at this latitude: hearing the song of a shrike. I’ve heard it three or four times now, and I like it.
But not as much as I like the spring display of the American woodcock. He’s out there again tonight, in light rain.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:45 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. American robin
2. Blue jay (v)
3. Black-capped chickadee** (v)
4. Mourning dove (v)
5. Northern cardinal** (v)
6. American crow*
7. Northern shrike
Elsewhere
8. Tufted titmouse (v)
9. House finch (v)
10. Herring gull
11. Rock pigeon
12. Mallard
13. American woodcock (v)
v = Voice only
*Also elsewhere
**Voice only elsewhere
