Each morning when I walk out the back door onto the deck I find it covered with a fine yellow dust. In fact, everything is covered with the dust that emanates from the multitude of budding trees.
The backyard is not a quiet place. There is the sound of car tires and loud accelerating diesel pickup trucks, but the sounds that grab my attention emanate from several pair of birds.
This being a smallish town and me being away from home, there is not much to do. So, I unpack my binoculars, find the bird identification book I gifted to my mother-in-law, and begin the frustrating attempt to identify the noisy avian.
The different birds seem to trade off in the calling for a mate. The most obvious birds are the cardinals. They have beautiful clear tones that occasionally end in a nasal slur, and they seem to have a more varied vocabulary then the cardinals that hang out in my Chicago backyard.
The closest tree has a high pitched chirping coming out from amongst the leaves. There are warblers about the size of the leaves and of a similar shade but duskier. For me at least, warblers have been the most difficult birds to identify. They pass through quickly, snapping up wayward insects on the fly.
Suddenly, I spot a large dark silhouette high against the bright cloudy sky. Its thick wings contrast with a blunt tail. It must be a hawk. It is another bird I fail to identify.
The cardinals finally quiet and another equally loud couple takes over the aural landscape. I begin to search. It takes a bit of time. The sounds are echoing from different angles. But I have been a birdwatcher since I was a teenager so I know to calm my breathing and wait.
I take the binoculars from my eyes and scan the foliage for movement. Then, two Carolina wrens reward me. They are the largest of their species. There is a compelling give and take between them. It keeps me watching despite my aching arms, and reminds me of the call and response between jazz saxophonists and it goes on for about as long.
The wind picks up and even though the sun peeks through the clouds, it starts to drizzle. The neighborhood begins to quiet and I start to pack my belongings. After a February sequestered in a Chicago bungalow and with COVID-19 cutting off other venues of distraction, I am loath to go back into the house.
Wait! There is a Baltimore oriole or is it an orchard oriole, but it has a rapid chatter, so it is probably the Baltimore. And now the cardinal has started up again in the tree right above my head.
I guess a few raindrops never ruined anyone’s day!
March 2020
