Birding Notes

Early this morning the trees all around our yard dripped with rainwater from a good heavy rain that came with thunderstorms late last night. The air itself felt wet and heavy and warm. Against the background of rainwater dripping from leaves, and crickets and other insects chirping and clicking, I heard the sharp little check-mark call of an Acadian Flycatcher, my first bird of the morning. Because I had not heard its call for the past two or three days, I was especially happy to hear it, even though it sounded pretty far away, down in the woods. It has been such a sweet, constant summer companion, heard calling almost every day for many weeks now, so I’m glad to know it’s still around. 

The sky was still deeply clouded with big leftover storm clouds, though no more likelihood of rain, and the day was still forecast to be very hot again. But the good drenching rain was welcome, and a few other birds seemed a little more lively and crisp this morning. 

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds came to the feeder, male, female and maybe juvenile, twittering and sipping, and snapping and humming now and then in quick encounters. The Eastern Bluebird pair made frequent trips to and from the nest box on the edge of the yard, feeding nestlings that we think have recently hatched. A Summer Tanager sang for a few minutes from trees on the east side of the yard. And a Brown-headed Nuthatch occasionally gave a squeaky-dee call. Carolina Wrens sang and trilled and fussed and burbled. A Carolina Chickadee sang, and others chattered their chickadee-dee-deecalls, with Tufted Titmice also chattering and singing. 

On yet another very hot and humid summer morning, cicadas were singing so loudly it was a little hard to hear much of anything else, and at first it seemed there were no birds around but a few Blue Jays. Then the small, intimate chatter of Tufted Titmice and Carolina Chickadees began to emerge from the background, and the peeps of a Northern Cardinal. An Eastern Bluebird warbled a blurry song. A Carolina Wren began to sing, too, more boldly and loudly. A White-breasted Nuthatch called a long string of nasal notes as it moved through the trees. 

A Summer Tanager began to sing, at first from down in the woods, then gradually the refrain came closer and closer, a rich, lilting song. A Brown-headed Nuthatch chattered its squeaky-dee as it moved through the pines.

But then – I caught a glimpse of what I first thought was a Downy Woodpecker on the trunk of a nearby oak. When I took a closer look, a very long bill and a sharply defined head with something of an angular, rather arrogant look made me think again – it was a Hairy Woodpecker. For several minutes I watched as it explored the tree, in and out of the cover of leaves, up the trunk, out a branch here, and another there, and back down the trunk. It worked quietly, and I wished for just one good emphatic call – but no. But several times I caught some very nice views. A Hairy Woodpecker’s black and white colors and patterns are very similar to those of a Downy Woodpecker, but it’s larger; its shape is more slender and its posture more erect, with a proud, cleanly defined head and neat black-and-white striped face. The long, sharp bill was parted much of this time, except when it worked directly on the tree. I wondered if it was panting from the heat. 

Downy Woodpeckers are very common around our yard and neighborhood, but we don’t see or hear a Hairy Woodpecker nearly as often – so this was especially nice. And it was really fun for me to spot it and watch for several minutes. For the past several weeks I’ve been listening to birds more often than watching, while I recovered from shoulder surgery. I’ve only recently begun to use binoculars again. So this was especially nice in that way too – bird watching again! 

Early this afternoon a hawk swooped suddenly from around the corner of the house to a low branch on an oak not far from one of our windows where we had a scope set up. We’d been watching a bluebird pair come and go from a nest box on the edge of the yard, and just happened to see the hawk as it arrived on the branch, shaded by the big green leaves of the oak but sitting on a dead, bare branch in clear view. We were able to watch it at unusually close range for several minutes. 

It was a juvenile Red-shouldered Hawk bringing something clutched in its talons. It held the prey with its talons against the branch and after only a very short pause, began to tear up pieces and eat. It was something too small to identify, maybe a small rodent or chipmunk. I watched it eat it completely, leaning down and tearing up each bite. When it was finished, the hawk searched the branch for leftover pieces for a few moments. Then it stayed for a few minutes more, at first facing away from the window where we watched, then turning around and facing toward us, so it was a rare chance to see and study its beautiful dark-brown streaks on the breast, where the patterns look like streams of falling leaves. Its back was brown, flecked with white. Long yellow legs. And a long tail with muted brown and grayish bands. 

Because it was a juvenile, it did not yet have the vivid red-orange and deep brown coloring of an adult Red-shouldered Hawk, or the striking black and white tail. But seen closely, its more subdued coloring and patterns have their own, more quiet beauty. 

After a while, it raised its tail and squirted out a poop – then leaned forward and flew away, into the trees of the woods and out of sight. 

When I opened a window this morning, the first thing I heard was the bright Whreep! of a Great Crested Flycatcher. A very fine bird to begin this midsummer day. It continued to call for several more minutes, Whreep calls followed by a burst of shorter whistles tumbled together in a bubbly way, and then a lower, more burry Breet!

A Tufted Titmouse and a Northern Cardinal also sang, and a White-breasted Nuthatch trailed a long string of short nasal calls. An Acadian Flycatcher called a short, crisp tee-whit, tee-whit.

The warm night had been filled with the raucous songs of katydids, and bright with very clear and strong moonlight, now several days past the full moon, but still lovely moon-white light that turned the woods into a black and white filigree of patterns from the trees. 

With morning, the katydids faded away and the songs of cicadas soon became loud all around. A Carolina Wren sang from our deck rail, a golden, sunny-bright song, and was answered by another and another and another Carolina Wren. American Crows cawed as they flew overhead. And a Summer Tanager sang its lilting refrain from somewhere among a dense tangle of trees on the east side of the yard. A Downy Woodpecker whinnied. An Eastern Bluebird mumbled a low, blurry song, and then a brilliant male bluebird flew across the yard and sat on a nearby very low branch of a white oak tree. A female bluebird, meanwhile, sat with her head coming out of a nest box a few yards away. They seem to be starting another nest, despite the extreme summer heat. 

But the Great Crested Flycatcher may be the perfect bird of the day for this midpoint of the summer. It’s a large, handsome bird with a big, crested head, a lemon-yellow belly, and a long, expressive cinnamon-colored tail, and wings with touches of cinnamon. Its flashy behavior and colors make it a joy to watch. It often may sit in clear view in the top of a tree and almost seem to pose there, showing off its regal appearance. And then it moves with a flourish to hunt from high branches, capturing flying insects in the air, or swooping down to catch beetles, grasshoppers, crickets and spiders and other prey from the surface of leaves or even from the ground.  

Great Crested Flycatchers are considered common in all of the eastern part of the U.S. in the summer. They seem to prefer patchy woodlands and second-growth forests, and especially edges of woodlands with a mix of fields or clearings – like the habitat around our neighborhood here. They are not so often found in denser forests, but do need dead or dying trees for nesting cavities. 

This morning, under a gentle blue and white summer sky, the sunlight shimmered through gaps in the oaks and pines around our back yard, and all the trees and bushes dripped with rainwater left by a good heavy thunderstorm that came through overnight. Small branches, twigs and leaves littered the ground and the deck and the roof. The rain was welcome, bringing a little bit of a break to a string of very hot July days. And now the world felt warm and wet and looked very, very green. Cicadas already sang loudly.

From somewhere down in the woods that stretch beyond the yard, maybe along the creek, came the morning song of a Wood Thrush. A cool, fluted melody that drifted through the dripping trees. An Acadian Flycatcher called its sharp, neat notes – a touch of clarity against a somewhat blurry background.

A Carolina Wren sat on our deck rail and belted out a loud and brilliant song, and other wrens nearby answered with trills. A Tufted Titmouse sang peter-peter, and a Carolina Chickadee fee-bee, fee-bay. Other birds sounded further away than the wrens – the distant, hollow cawping calls of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo; the ringing rattle of a Hairy Woodpecker; the hoarse, insistent refrain of a Scarlet Tanager.

A Mourning Dove began to coo from trees right on the edge of the yard, full, soft coos, like a calming, comforting touch. A House Finch whistled a pretty tune. An Eastern Bluebird warbled a blurry, sweet song, and flew across the grass in a heart-stopping flash of blue.