Each year is different. This one’s had way more mosquitos than usual—and also Chipping Sparrows. Don’t know how come the species has been reproducing like crazy, but these days it seems like every conifer you wander past has got some serious chatter of adult and fledglings.
Beech Hill List Beginning at 7:30 a.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. Red-eyed Vireo (v) 2. Tufted Titmouse (v) 3. Black-throated Green Warbler 4. Song Sparrow** 5. American Robin 6. Chestnut-sided Warbler** 7. Eastern Towhee 8. Common Yellowthroat** 9. Alder Flycatcher 10. Yellow Warbler (v) 11. Chimney Swift 12. Ruby-throated Hummingbird 13. Eastern Bluebird (v) 14. Field Sparrow (v) 15. Hermit Thrush (v) 16. Veery (v) 17. Chipping Sparrow* 18. Cedar Waxwing 19. American Goldfinch** (v) 20. American Crow* 21. Eastern Phoebe* 22. Gray Catbird* 23. Great Crested Flycatcher (v) 24. Blue Jay (v) 25. Black-capped Chickadee (v)
Elsewhere
26. Herring Gull 27. Mourning Dove 28. Rock Pigeon
v = Voice only *Also elsewhere **Voice only elsewhere
Rose-breasted Grosbeaks are not uncommon. They nest at Beech Hill, where I hike with Captain Jack every day. But they’re shy birds—frequenting the high canopy, where all the leaves are, and all too quick to fly.
I heard a grosbeak’s sweet melodic song as we climbed the hill this morning. As I had most mornings for the past couple weeks or so. Over that time, I only got one glimpse of the bird: a quick flitting image zipping away around a stand of trees.
Today, while at the summit, a rose-breasted’s song erupted from the spruce grove, not fifty feet away. Snuck over to the other side, so the sun would illuminate the bird, took a few steps back.
And there he was.
Beech Hill List Beginning at 7:45 a.m., I hiked the open trail.
Lovely, calm, warm, blue-sky morning. Cirrus clouds wafting high above, the slight sounds of young fledglings begging from the hedgerows. Bluebirds were assuming the summit bird box, abandoned when the Tree Swallows fledged. Several species hanging around the spruce grove.
Tonight there are fireworks within earshot—near earshot, to be precise. Damn, do I hate fireworks. (Why worship bombs bursting in air?) I’d rather be watching a red, white, and bluebird preen and sing its lovely, subtle song.
As Roy Bedichek wrote: Patriotism is the love of country. That is, country. You know—hills, trees, rivers, mountains, shores—“not flag and a lot of gaseous intangibles.”
Beech Hill List Beginning at 7:45 a.m., I hiked the open trail.
