Birding Notes

Among a tangle of vines in this same thicket, a shimmer of glistening copper caught my eye. It was a very large and frightening-looking insect sitting on a leaf in the sun. A Cicada-killer wasp. 

Its body was long and black, with a distinct pattern of yellow stripes, and its wings were a beautiful translucent copper. It was sitting with wings folded on a large, leathery-looking leaf of a vine that I think was some kind of greenbrier. 

Cicada-killers are fearsome-looking solitary wasps that dig underground burrows for their larvae and feed them with paralyzed cicadas. They are the largest wasps found in Georgia and are considered beneficial because they help to control cicada populations. The sting of a cicada-killer wasp is powerful but they are not aggressive at all, and they do not normally sting people, only cicadas.

This morning a rough and thorny tangle of privet thickets, chinaberry trees, wild pears, and a mess of weedy shrubs and vines turned out to be a small spot full of beautiful songbirds – including a Blue Grosbeak, several Blue-gray Gnatcatchers, a White-eyed Vireo, a Yellow-billed Cuckoo, two Great Crested Flycatchers, a Northern Parula, and – most surprising of all – a warm and sunny Yellow Warbler.

It all started with the calls of Blue Grosbeaks – bright calls of clink, coming from somewhere in the thickets as I walked along the dead-end road that runs by this small remnant of an old field. When I stopped to see if I could find them, instead I saw two silvery Blue-gray Gnatcatchers flitting in and out of shrubs on the edge of the field, and lisping wispy spee-speecalls. Tiny, animated birds, blue-gray and white, with long, slender black tails edged in white, they flew up to catch small insects in the air, and hovered to glean prey from leaves. Constantly in motion, they look like little sprites, airy and bright – and lots of fun to watch.

Walking further along the field, still following the calls of Blue Grosbeaks, I found several more Blue-gray Gnatcatchers spread out all along the edge of the thickets, catching the light and sparkling against the drab background of weeds.

A larger, more stocky songbird with a slightly crested head flew into the top of a chinaberry tree on the other side of the field from where I stood, and sat in full view, looking golden yellow in the sun. When it turned its head in my direction, a big, pale, conical beak showed up clearly. It was a Blue Grosbeak – a female or an immature male. Both are a warm cinnamon color all over, with brown wing bars, and the sunlight made this one look gold from a distance. 

A little further along, two Great Crested Flycatchers emerged from the weeds with a flash of wings and tails, foraging down so low they were almost on the ground. Large gray flycatchers with big, crested heads, lemon-yellow breasts, long cinnamon tails, and cinnamon touches in the wings, they snapped insects out of the air and from low in the grass. It’s more common to see Great Crested Flycatchers hunting from perches much higher in trees, so they looked a little out of place, but they are known to search for food near the ground, too.

They didn’t stay out long, and as I watched them move back into the thickets and out of sight, I came across the stunning view of a very long, dramatic black tail with big white spots. That’s all I could see, just the tail of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo. Its top part was screened by leaves, and before I could get a better look, it fled back into the bushes, leaving me with just the image of its isolated, spectacular tail, a little like the smile of a Cheshire Cat. 

Two more Blue-gray Gnatcatchers appeared, and I spent a few more minutes watching them, then walked along the field until I heard the song of a White-eyed Vireo that sounded close to the edge. I was surprised to find it almost at once, moving through a very thick tangle of grape vines, greenbrier and privet. A small songbird with a gray head and yellow spectacles, a white throat, yellow sides, and bright white wing bars, moving quickly but pausing often to sing.

At the same time, another bird was moving through the tangle of vines and branches a little lower than the vireo. This one was tiny and round, with a very yellow throat, a white belly, and small, bright white bars on each wing. White half-crescents surrounded the eyes – and its back was mossy green. It was a Northern Parula. An immature, I think, because it had no dark band across the chest. 

Then a very small, all-yellow bird popped out completely into the open, very low along the edge of the shrubs, and hopped daintily across some rough grass and sticks. It was a female Yellow Warbler. All smooth, warm yellow on the face and breast and belly, and the shadow of olive-yellow on the upper parts. It had a very round head, and a bright black eye that shined. It only stayed in view for a very few moments, before flitting back into the thickets. I’ve rarely seen a Yellow Warbler here, and only during spring or fall migration. Their breeding territory appears to be a little further north. But I’ve learned that Yellow Warblers are among the earliest species to begin fall migration, and they may be moving south by mid to late July. 

Rough, scrubby places like this remnant of an old field can offer valuable habitat for a variety of songbirds, both for nesting and for food and cover after the nesting season and during migration. So it’s really not surprising to find any of these birds here, but to see so many in a small spot in just this one morning did feel amazing. 

Early this afternoon, on a very warm, sunny day, a bird that looked golden-brown in the sun flew in a flashy way across our back yard to perch briefly in a pine. It flew again right away, to an oak, a little deeper inside the shade of the woods, where it sat on a branch and quivered its wings, begging to be fed. 

It was a juvenile Summer Tanager. Beside it on the same branch sat a rose-red adult Summer Tanager, feeding a second juvenile also quivering its wings.

For the next hour or more, I watched as the Summer Tanager juveniles flew from tree to tree around the yard, and the male parent hunted and fed them. There might have been more than two, but two was all I saw at the same time. I didn’t see a female parent, but she might have been around. Her coloring doesn’t stand out as well as the male – who’s impossible to miss. The male sang from time to time, and I heard a few pik-a-tuk calls now and then. 

At one point, one of the juvenile tanagers flew to a shepherd’s crook on the edge of our deck and perched there for several moments, in perfect view. Its color was mostly yellow all over, but not the deep, full yellow of a female. Its plumage was mixed with olive, brown, buffy-brown and gray; and mottled on the crown of the head. It sat in full sun, highlighting the yellow feathers.

As it sat on the crook, it snapped several times at flying insects in the air and seemed to be catching something at least part of the time, wiping its bill on the edge of the crook after one – or it might have been subduing an insect before eating it. Summer Tanagers specialize in capturing bees and wasps, and they may beat an insect and remove a stinger by wiping the prey on a branch before eating it. 

At least this one was getting in practice. Once it flew up to catch an insect out of the air, and then back to the perch on the crook. But soon after that, it flew up and away – with sunlight pouring through the yellow feathers, looking golden-brown again.

We’ve been lucky enough to have a pair of Summer Tanagers around our back yard all this spring and early summer, hearing their songs and calls often, and now and then catching glimpses of the rose-red male and yellow female. It’s a happy feeling to know that they must have nested somewhere near and that the nest has been successful. 

Summer Tanager fledglings are barely able to fly when they leave the nest. They’re fed by the parents for at least three weeks, and during this time stay mostly hidden in the forest canopy, and are difficult to observe. For this reason, it’s not known exactly how soon the young can acquire their own food. Even after they’ve learned to fly well, they continue to follow the adults and beg to be fed.* So it may be that the juveniles I watched today fledged at least two or three weeks ago and are just now becoming able to fly well, and beginning to capture their own food, while still begging to be fed by the parents.

Summer Tanagers are neotropical migrants that spend the summer breeding season in the eastern and southern U.S. and Mexico, and winters in Central and South America. They are handsome, robust songbirds with rather long, sturdy bills. The male’s song is a lilting series of musical phrases, similar to a robin’s song but with its own quality that’s easy to get to know. The calls of Summer Tanagers are clicking pik-a-tuk phrases that often lace through the foliage as the birds move, a lovely, evocative summer sound. 

Robinson, W.D. (2020). Summer Tanager (Piranga rubra), version 1.0. In Birds of the World, (A.F. Poole, Editor). Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Ithaca, NY, USA.

The highlight of a walk this morning was seeing a tiny, colorful Northern Parula in the dense, leafy top of a young water oak. I’ve heard the quiet, buzzy songs of Northern Parulas around our back yard and in other places in the neighborhood fairly often this spring and early summer, but this is the first one I’ve seen in a while. They most often stay well hidden in the trees.

Because this one sounded so close, I stopped to look for it. The leaves in the treetop rustled – and the delicate little bird came into view for just a few very clear moments, looking like a feathered jewel. Blue gray head, and very yellow throat and breast, crossed by a dark, rusty-orange and black band; a white belly, a green patch on the upper back, and small, bright white bars on blue-gray wings. Its face was blue-gray with tiny white crescents framing each eye. It appeared to be gleaning insects or spiders from leaves or the small branches there, curled over them at times. And it was in constant motion. Not too fluttery, just quick moving and never still. At one point, it turned its head up, showing the deep-yellow throat and thin, sharp bill very well. 

A Northern Parula is a small wood warbler, here during the spring and summer months. They spend winters in Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean. They’re most often found in forested areas, especially along streams, swamps and other wetlands, and their lives are intricately connected to forest vegetation. They suspend their nests in hanging clumps of mosses or lichens, from the end of a branch, very high above the ground.

On a mild, unusually gentle June morning, with a soft blue sky veiled in high white clouds, a brown bird with a slightly crested head and a long, expressive tail flew back and forth several times between a dense privet thicket and a wide strip of tall grass along the roadside. It seemed to be capturing insects in the grass, most likely grasshoppers and crickets, and as it hunted, it frequently called a strong, ringing clink! Once when it flew out of the privet, it clung to a tall-stemmed weed among the grass, facing in my direction and in full, clear view for a few moments, lit by the sun. 

It was a beautiful Blue Grosbeak – a female or an immature male, with handsome coloring in shades of cinnamon and brown, rather than a breeding male’s deep blue. Its crested head was held high, with a very large, pale beak. When it flew from the tall stem, back to the edge of the shrubs, it remained in view for several more moments, switching its long tail rapidly and often, as Blue Grosbeaks often do. Then it went deeper into the vegetation and disappeared.

Blue Grosbeaks are colorful, very interesting songbirds that may not be as familiar as other species because they prefer to nest in scrubby, rough habitats like this old field. They nest during the summer season across a large part of southern North America, including here in this part of Georgia, but they are not generally common or frequently seen. A male in breeding plumage is deep, ink-blue with orange-brown wing bars and a large, prominent silver beak. He sings a melodious, warbled song, often from the top branches of the tallest tree or bush around, but he and his mate nest low, in a small tree or bush or briarpatch or tangle of vines, usually well hidden in dense vegetation.

A great deal about the biology and habits of Blue Grosbeaks is not yet known, maybe because they are so widely dispersed and live in habitats like this one here that are often overlooked. I’ve been lucky enough to find Blue Grosbeaks here in this part of an old field most summers for the past decade or more. They’re not often easily seen, but when they are out, their behavior can be very animated and fascinating to watch. 

Late this afternoon, a thundershower and briefly heavy rain cooled off a day that had been muggy and hot. When I sat down on the screened porch, the air felt wonderfully cool and fresh, and rainwater still dripped from the trees all around, so I sat in a green, wet world. With dark-gray clouds still lingering, light seemed to be fading already, even though it was more than an hour before the sun would go down. It looked like early twilight. 

The fluted notes of a Wood Thrush drifted up through the woods, and a second Wood Thrush also sang. One was closer, and slightly to the east, the other further away, to the west. The soft, ticking pik-a-tuk calls of Summer Tanagers moved through the trees much closer, on the eastern side of the yard. And the quiet, crisp chick-brrr calls of Scarlet Tanagers came from oaks on the edge of the woods, not far away. These tanager calls both are among the most alluring sounds of the spring and summer woods, little-noticed hints to the presence of the brilliant-colored and exotic birds. Just knowing they are here is a gift.

On the east side of the yard, where young trees and vines and shrubs blend into a very dense and leafy area, a Northern Parula sang its buzzy song – a small, blue-gray wood warbler with a green back and a black and dark-coral band across a yellow breast. It stayed well hidden in the leaves, but sang for several minutes. 

The call of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo – which always sounds sudden and surprising – came from a treetop just inside the woods. A loud, percussive, exotic-sounding ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-cawp-cawp-cawp. A Louisiana Waterthrush whistled its bright anthem from somewhere along the creek that runs along the bottom of the wooded hill that slopes down from our back yard. And a Great Crested Flycatcher called a full-throated Breeet! from a tall pine.

To have all of these birds around our own back yard and woods this spring and summer seems to me an amazing and hard-to-believe abundance. The Summer and Scarlet Tanagers, Northern Parula, Louisiana Waterthrush, Great Crested Flycatcher and Yellow-billed Cuckoo all are neotropical migrants that are only here in the summer breeding season, and will leave for winter homes much further south in the fall. A Red-eyed Vireo often comes to sing here, too, though it’s not as frequent as the others. I’m more likely to hear its song in the mornings than late in the day. Earlier in the spring a Yellow-throated Vireo was sometimes here singing here, though I haven’t heard it in a while. 

A pair of Gray Catbirds may be nesting in some of the large wax myrtles in our front yard, but I’ve only seen and heard their raspy, mewing calls and awkward, distinctive song now and then. I’m not sure they’ve stayed around. 

A female Ruby-throated Hummingbird twittered as she came to the feeder just outside the porch. She sat and sipped nectar for several moments, looked up and around, sipped some more, then flew away, around the corner of the house. Northern Cardinal, Carolina Wren, Eastern Towhee all were singing too, at different times, and Tufted Titmouse, Carolina Chickadee. Red-bellied Woodpecker rattled, and Downy Woodpecker whinnied its delicate call. A White-breasted Nuthatch made small, nasal calls as it traveled over the branches and trunks. An Eastern Phoebe sang. 

A gentle, steady rain began this morning in the dark, well before dawn. I opened a window wider and lay back down in bed and listened for the first bird songs – a Northern Cardinal, then an Eastern Phoebe, Tufted Titmouse, Carolina Wren, Eastern Towhee and Chipping Sparrow. The rain, a beautiful sound in itself, made it hard to hear the full morning chorus of birds all around, so I only heard the closest ones, but gradually, as the day grew into a soft gray light, a Red-eyed Vireo sang in the trees around our front yard, a Great Crested Flycatcher called a deep, rich breet, and both Summer Tanager and Scarlet Tanager sang in the woods nearby. The rain gradually slowed and stopped, leaving trees and shrubs all drenched and dripping. The clouds lifted and lightened, but the sky stayed mostly overcast all morning.

A couple of hours later, on a gray and damp walk through the neighborhood, a bird sang from some oaks near a side of the road, a string of very high, sweet notes with a rising note at the end. With its flashy colors, it wasn’t too hard to find. An American Redstart – a small black bird with showy patches of bright orange in the wings and tail and on the sides. It was flitting from tree to tree among the dark shadows of this small wooded area, and singing and singing. There were at least two, both males, with orange and black plumage, and I think there were more, but I only saw these two for sure. 

American Redstarts are lively, very colorful birds that flash their wings and tails often as they hop through branches searching for insects. They sang the whole time, and I listened intently, trying to impress this song in my memory. Because I don’t hear it often, it’s a hard one for me to remember well, even though they are common migrants here and I should know it well by now. 

In another wooded spot a little further on, I found a female American Redstart with a small feeding flock of other birds – gray with patches of yellow in wings and tail and on the side, she also flashes her wings and tail often, just as animated as the male. In the same trees with her, were a Black-and-white Warbler, Great Crested Flycatcher, Downy Woodpecker, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Tufted Titmice, and a Red-eyed Vireo.

There also were some other, very small, grayish birds with neat streaks on the sides that I couldn’t identify at first. They were up pretty high, so I was seeing them mostly from underneath, and had to be patient to finally glimpse part of a head, a wing, a face – and orange legs. They were Blackpoll Warblers, and the one I could see best was a female, a small gray bird with a short tail, a thin, sharp bill, a pale breast, white wing bars, a pale, broken ring around the eye and a thin dark streak through the eye, fine streaking on the sides – and orange legs. She moved in a delicate and quick way over the branches, not fluttery, but moving steadily, intent on searching the branches and leaves for prey. I did not see a male, whose spring plumage is a brighter black and white pattern.

Blackpoll Warblers are here in this part of Georgia only in migration. They spend the breeding season in boreal forests of Canada and Alaska and the far north, and migrate to South America and the Caribbean for the winter. Blackpoll Warblers migrate the longest distance of any North American warblers, some traveling from Alaska to Brazil. So the small, delicate bird I’m seeing here in May is in the middle of an amazingly long journey, on its way north for the summer.

Early this evening, very late in a day of heavy rain and storms, a brilliant Scarlet Tanager appeared among the wet green leaves of a small tree on the edge of our back yard – its clear, bright red gleamed in the mist and light rain and green leaves, with black wings glistening. It moved along the branches, staying in view, searching for insects and other prey. Another bird of a quieter color came very near it briefly, but stayed in the shadows. I think it was a female Scarlet Tanager, though it didn’t stay long, and I didn’t see it well enough to be sure. A few minutes later, after the male had moved out of view, the electric chick-brrr calls of Scarlet Tanagers drifted through the trees, as a gentle rain continued to fall. 

A male Scarlet Tanager is a medium-size, roundish songbird with a thick bill. A pure, clear red with jet-black wings and a black tail, it’s a stunning bird to see, exotic in appearance, and it’s hard to believe it can stay as well hidden as they usually do, deep among the foliage of hardwood trees. It’s unusual to watch one that stays out of the leaves in view as this one did, for any length of time. The female’s color is a mix of olive and yellow, with darker wings and tail, striking in her own way, but in colors that blend more easily into the background shades of a forest. 

We’ve had the very good luck this spring to have a pair of Scarlet Tanagers singing and calling in the trees around our back yard and the nearby woods. Almost every day the male’s insistent song can be heard nearby, a series of hoarse, robin-like phrases. The quiet, expressive chick-brrr calls of the pair lace through the trees. I especially love to hear them late in the day, even in early twilight, because the calls reveal that these beautiful birds are here. They stay so hidden in the foliage that without the calls and songs, we might not even know they were around.

Scarlet Tanagers prefer to nest in large areas of deciduous forest, especially in oaks. They are particularly sensitive to the loss of forested habitat and to forest fragmentation. In smaller patches of woods where they do nest, they often are less successful, often parasitized by Brown-headed Cowbirds and suffering other risks because of not having the protection of a deeper forest interior. 

So while it’s lucky for us to have such exotic, colorful songbirds nesting near our home, it may not be so lucky for the Scarlet Tanagers themselves, because the woods that surround our home are very patchy and fragmented. We do have a lot of large and beautiful oaks, and I can hope that these will give the tanagers enough protection and good success in this nesting season. 

Early this morning I stepped out into a foggy, wet, copper-brown world that seemed to have changed overnight. The leaves on all of the white oaks – only yesterday still half green – this morning are mostly brown. There’s still yellow in the sweet gums, red in the maples, rose-coral in the dogwoods and some green in the oaks. But a big change came overnight, and we’re more and more surrounded in deep autumn-brown.

From somewhere in the trees on the edge of the woods came the sweet chup, chup calls of a Hermit Thrush. It’s been around for several days now. I haven’t yet succeeded in seeing it among the speckled leaves, but haven’t really tried too hard. It’s just very nice to hear its calls. It feels like a fall and winter counterpart of the Wood Thrushes that sang last summer. Not singing, of course, but with its very lovely, liquid calls, reflecting the background and sense of the season. 

Lots of little birds flitted around in the branches and leaves of the oaks – mostly Yellow-rumped Warblers, which I’m very happy to see. Also three or four Carolina Wrens, two Eastern Bluebirds, and some Carolina Chickadees and Tufted Titmice. 

Later in the morning, on a walk through the neighborhood in very cloudy, soft gray light, things seemed mostly quiet in a peaceful way. The clear mewing call of a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker drifted through the trees. Too far away to see, but the call was very clear, and repeated. A White-breasted Nuthatch called a nasal ank, ank, ank. An Eastern Phoebe sang. I passed the mewing calls of two more Sapsuckers, in widely different places, and the whistled songs of White-throated Sparrows from the thickets in the field. Around Pond Corner, I stopped to watch a handsome Northern Flicker searching for food in the grass. The bright red crescent on the gray nape of its neck reflected the softer, coral-red leaves of four dogwood trees nearby. 

The blackbird flock was around the area where it’s often been since late October, at least three hundred and probably many more pleasantly noisy birds spread out across grassy yards and in the bare branches of pecan trees, constantly moving from one spot to another, flowing like a river. Almost all were Common Grackles, but I saw a handful of birds that I think were probably Rusty Blackbirds, though I didn’t see them well enough to be sure. This is always a challenge for me. I think a better birder would be able to spot Rusty Blackbirds among a flock much more quickly – but for me, I always have to look hard, especially when the flock is steadily moving even on the ground, and often startled into flight. A Common Grackle is easy to identify – big, bold, iridescent black, with a long, heavy bill and long tail. But when I do find other blackbirds among the grackles, smaller, with a different shape and thinner bills and tails not quite so long, it takes me longer to be sure, and most of the time the flock flushes up with a rush of wings and moves further away, just when I’m finding a good clear view. The rusty color rarely shows up so well that they’re easy to spot from a distance. But it’s fun to try. And I’m very happy to have such a good flock around again this fall. It’s a good year for pecans here, and acorns, which may help.

Early this afternoon a Hermit Thrush called from trees on the edge of the woods around our back yard. A Yellow-bellied Sapsucker flew to the trunk of an oak, a juvenile, with a ruffled look all over, and no red showing on its throat or crown, but a white and brown striped face, and a bold white bar down the wings.  

Red-bellied Woodpecker, Carolina Chickadees, Tufted Titmice, Carolina Wren, Northern Cardinals and an Eastern Towhee all were calling now and then – on a warm, windy afternoon with low white clouds blowing fast across a gray sky. The landscape has become multi-colored, confetti-like, with green and brown and orange oaks, yellow sweet gums and tulip poplars, coral-red dogwoods, and leaves blowing and showering down.

The Yellow-bellied Sapsucker didn’t stay long, but a Ruby-crowned Kinglet flew into the oak and began moving quickly through the leaves in its flickering way, a tiny, gray-green bird that looked especially green and crisp today, with hints of yellow in the flicking wings, a bright white ring around its eye and a small white wing bar. 

Meanwhile, in the oaks all around the yard, lots of Yellow-rumped Warblers flitted from spot to spot, scattering their check calls as they searched for food. I watched one move along a branch, methodically pecking at the branch as it went. Now and then one flew up to capture an insect in the air. Yellow-rumped Warblers are little gray birds, looking very nondescript in winter plumage – brownish-gray, with touches of yellow on the sides, and a bright yellow rump that can be hard to see when their wings are folded, but shows up especially when they fly. 

I’m especially happy to see them because the past two or three years the number of Yellow-rumped Warblers here in our neighborhood has been far fewer than in the past. While there used to be so many they seemed to be everywhere, last winter on many days it was hard to find more than a handful. So it’s very encouraging to see so many here this fall – not only around our own yard, but also in other parts of the neighborhood. It felt joyous just to stand and watch them, as if a part of life that had been missing had returned. 

Yellow-rumped Warblers are known for arriving each fall in very large numbers across much of the central and southeastern U.S. They are still described as widespread, and the most common winter warbler in North America, with no special concern for their populations. So I don’t know why I have observed such a dramatic drop in their numbers here in our own neighborhood in recent years – and I’m hopeful that this year they’ll continue to be abundant as the season goes on.