The white-throated sparrow sings at 6:42 AM EST. I heard it for the first time two days ago. I couldn’t believe my ears. It’s warm enough this morning to leave the window open. I believe the sparrow is in my rhododendron. If I move, it will spook him. Cardinal just called. It’s 40-degrees F and cloudy, with rain on the way.
I can hear the mourning dove and see the silhouettes of the breakfast crowd land on pine branches. I usually write with pen and notebook standing at the window.
Here’s what else I see:
Watching a blue jay sitting on a maple branch holding something, maybe a black oil sunflower seed, between its feet and pecking. Nuthatch and titmouse flit in and out and a squirrel stalks across the grassy area in front of the rhododendron that serves as my blind. Cowbirds show up and they all vanish. They’ll be back.
The rhododendron always lets me know how cold it is. If the leaves are rolled into tight cigars, I know I’ll need a hat. I love the book, The Other Way to Listen, by Byrd Baylor. Maybe one day I’ll hear the rhododendron sing.
Two blue jays, a mourning dove, a couple of juncos and a squirrel are back. The cowbirds are omnipresent. Blue jays and squirrels look to see if I’m home and knock on the window. I bring seed to a safe spot several feet away, where I can watch from my window. If the window is open, the squirrel just hops in. I’m trying to discourage that.
John Young, founder of Wilderness Awareness School, says it’s possible to understand bird body language. If birds all ascend, the threat is from a cat or other ground-level disturbance. If they dive into the spruce and arbor vitae, a hawk or other winged predator is too close for comfort.
A flock of geese flying so low they seem to graze the tree tops, honk in response to each other. The jays call. The geese will likely land in the swamp.
Two squirrels chase each other, while red-wing blackbird emit calls that sound like dentist drills. Now the blue jay imitates the red-wing blackbird.
I love the way the jay flies in overhead, wings spread, screeching an alarm. Everyone vacates and the jay settles down to a meal. He can’t pull this trick often, but when it works, he gets quite a haul. I’ve seen jays fill their crops and beaks with seed and take off, returning several times, until the rest of the birds and animals get wise to his game.
The rhododendron leaves are lightly curved, dotted with beads of rainwater. I’ll need rain gear today. The trails will be flooded and I’m torn between hiking and swimming. I need to move, even on rainy days. Maybe I’ll get an exercise ball. I’m not motivated to hike in a 40-degree F rain and I’m not motivated drive 15 miles, unless I can accomplish more than just swimming.
I could be as immersed in nature as I want staying right here; maybe even immersed enough to hear the rhody sing.