Scarlet Tanager, Great Crested Flycatchers, Red-eyed Vireo
Early this morning I stepped out into a steamy, wet, very warm day. Our summer heat has returned. Low filmy clouds still hung over the dripping trees and kept the light gray. But the sharp, clear chik-brrr calls of a Scarlet Tanager immediately brightened the day, the first time I’ve heard a Scarlet Tanager in a few weeks. Its calls were very clear and close, but it stayed deeply hidden in the foliage, somewhere in trees on the edge of the yard, so I was never able to catch sight of it. Still – just nice to know it’s here and to listen as it moved through the trees.
Several other birds were much more active this morning than they’ve recently been. Two Great Crested Flycatchers called whreeps back and forth. An Acadian Flycatcher sang its crisp tee-chip from not far away in the woods. Carolina Wrens trilled and burbled and fussed. A White-breasted Nuthatch called. Carolina Chickadees and Tufted Titmice kept up a running comment in low,
brief, chipping notes, kind of a background sound. Northern Cardinals peeped. Crickets chirped. Brown-headed Nuthatches chattered their squeaky-dees in the pines. An American Crow stopped by for a few minutes, cawing very loudly right overhead, but then flew away.
Ruby-throated Hummingbirds came frequently to the feeder, twittering fiercely when they encountered each other, which was often. Once I saw three in the air together, intersecting, then zipping off in different directions.
Then a Red-eyed Vireo began to sing. It wasn’t especially close, maybe somewhere around a neighbor’s yard, and it sounded a little muffled in the foggy distance – but it sang its repeated refrain over and over again for several minutes and was very nice to hear! Like the Scarlet Tanager, I have not heard or seen a Red-eyed Vireo in several weeks. So maybe the predominant quiet of summer is beginning to come to an end, as birds begin to disperse and prepare for fall migration.
After a while, many of the birds fell quiet or drifted further away, leaving a soft, wet morning, still punctuated now and then by the Acadian Flycatcher’s tee-chip, and the twitter of hummingbirds.
The gentle, blurry coos of a Mourning Dove emerged from the clouds and the fog.