I’m thankful for my eyesight (and sense of hearing). And as I’ve aged, I think I must look (and listen) more closely. I think it might have something to do with patience.

A bright, sunny, almost cloudless morning greeted me when I rose a bit later than I could have. (I’m imagining a really early Beech Hill tomorrow, like the hikes dog and I took nearly every warm day last year.) Earlier, before I opened my eyes, I heard a robin singing. (Robins, in my experience, are the first to sing at the summer solstice—as early as  3:30 a.m. or at this latitude—and among the last birds to bed down.) I heard the resident house finch. I heard the sweet, strident notes of a cardinal’s song. (I seem unable not to use the word sweet when describing a cardinal’s song.)

Warming, warming. At last, a warm Saturday in spring. Errands called. Grabbed Jack and took off—first stop, the bottle redemption center (which had already closed when I dropped by last Saturday). Just one pickup in the parking lot. (Nice!) As we pulled in, another pickup did also. And we two bottle-redeeming guys soon noticed that the party in front of us had about a dozen large trash bags full of bottles and cans. Oh, well. A warming day, a high blue sky. We didn’t mind the wait.

Patience.

And patience paid off, for little ol’ bird photographer me. Because house sparrows were all up in that bottle redemption center. A couple of males and at least one female, flitting about on the sign, on the gigantic tires of the big trailer adjacent the building, in the weathered trim of some old upper windows. I couldn’t help but recall how my friend (and birder extraordinaire) Kristen had asked recently if I had a photo of a house sparrow—and I did not. (I knew I’d taken at least one over the years, but I couldn’t find it.) So here—in the brilliant light of the late-morning sun—was a perfect opportunity. I snapped a ton of photos.

It took nearly an hour, but I also cashed in my bottles and cans.

Dog and I then headed to the post office (herring gulls, same starling on the same chimney nearby) and then to the grocery store (which I’ve learned is less crowded during lunch and dinner hours), where I bought a hundred dollars worth of groceries. And finally up Route 1 to the Rockport dump (or, rather, the transfer station), where I had a ton of recycling to deposit. Took care of that, and figured it’d be a nice time for a hike up the wooded Beech Hill trail.

Maybe not the perfect time. (Birds aren’t so active at midday.) But it was shirt-sleeve/tennis-shoes weather for a change. And as soon as we got to walking, I saw a butterfly. Now, I might not have noticed this butterfly years ago, when I didn’t look so closely—but there it was, a mostly black one, fluttering like crazy, not pausing for a photo. Nice.

On up the trail without hearing any robins (which, as I’ve mentioned, prefer early mornings and late evenings). As we crossed the boardwalk bridge spanning the little brook (which has a nice flow at this time of year), I paused to take some pictures of the crazy bronze-colored facets of water it displayed in the midday light. Suddenly a large shadow flew over. I looked up. A silent crow.

Not long after (looking closely), I caught sight of a silent song sparrow flitting about in the undergrowth. Then I heard a chickadee singing its fee-bee! love song. And herring gulls crying from off toward the bay. Only short sections of crusty snow remain on the trail. Won’t be long until the snow is gone.

I hadn’t really expected a fox sparrow at that time of day, but son of a gun if I didn’t see one suddenly zip off into the brush where they’ve been hanging out lately. (Would I have noticed had I not been looking closely?) It didn’t stray far from the trail but kept plenty hidden nonetheless. I did get one photo of its eye.

We hiked clear up to the summit. All told (Jack included), there were six dogs on the hill during our visit (four of them off-leash, although I kept my cool and offered gentle reminders of the leash rule). And nine people. I was frankly surprised there weren’t more.

Returning, we took the upper trail down again (as we had the previous two days). No fox sparrows, no robins—but more chickadees singing their perfect two-note love songs.

Nearing the parking lot, I heard a different sort of peep! We stopped. And I found the bird: a tail-flicking phoebe, which began at once to sing its own spring love song (from where it gets its name). Also heard a nuthatch off in the woods somewhere.

It being so lovely out, I couldn’t resist a bike ride—which added to today’s list impressively. Song sparrows, cardinals, goldfinches, a flicker, a downy woodpecker (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a hairy), a brown creeper (on upper Bayview Street in Camden), Canada geese (Aldermere Farm), Bohemian waxwings (in Rockport Village). I managed eighteen fast miles (faster with the southwest wind at my back, slower returning).

And tonight, not all that long ago, from across the road, the flight song of an American woodcock sent a spring thrill up my spine.

(And now, my day is complete.)

Beech Hill List
Beginning at 12:45 p.m., I hiked the upper wooded trail.

1. American crow
2. Black-capped chickadee
3. Song sparrow
4. Herring gull (voice)
5. Fox sparrow
6. Eastern phoebe
7. White-breasted nuthatch (voice)

Elsewhere

8. American robin
9. House finch
10. Northern cardinal
11. House sparrow
12. Song sparrow
13. Pileated woodpecker
14. Herring gull
15. Blue jay
16. European starling
17. Northern flicker
18. American goldfinch
19. Downy woodpecker
20. Brown creeper
21. Canada goose
22. Bohemian waxwing
23. American woodcock