Windblown Sharp-shinned Hawk, Hairy Woodpecker and Song Sparrow
A soft, sleepy rain overnight left behind a sunny, blustery morning that looked and felt like March. A gusty wind blew big white and gray clouds across a blue sky, changing the light from blinding bright to dull and back to bright again. Cloud shadows drifted over the ground. The air felt warm and damp. The grass was wet from the rain. Dandelions, bluets, pale purple henbit and tiny dusty white weed-flowers have popped up, dotting and carpeting patches of grass. Daffodils bloom in shady, low spots. And birds sang, though hard to hear through the wind in the trees – Pine Warbler, Eastern Phoebe, Carolina Wren, Northern Cardinal, Eastern Bluebird. The sounds of early spring.
Though the wind muffled birdsong and most other sounds, a late morning walk turned up a few nice surprises – including a Hairy Woodpecker; an unusually handsome Song Sparrow; and a wind-tossed Sharp-shinned Hawk.
When I stopped to listen to the tapping of a woodpecker on a bare-limbed pecan tree, it was only out of idle curiosity, or habit, just checking it out and expecting to see a Downy. But I couldn’t find it. I could hear the tapping very distinctly, right above me, and it had to be there, but for three or four minutes at least, I walked one way, then another, searching all the limbs – all bare of leaves and nowhere to hide. It was impossible that it was not there – and very frustrating to know that it had to be right in front of me, but I could not see it.
All the while, I was thinking, why am I bothering? It’s just a Downy Woodpecker, and I see them every day. But it became a minor challenge, and finally I found it – a black and white woodpecker with a sturdy, long, pointed bill, a female Hairy Woodpecker. She was right out in clear view, of course, working intently on the top edge of a raggedly broken-off branch of the tree, close to the trunk. Her black and white plumage, ruffled by the wind, blended in well with the bark of the tree. Though Downy Woodpeckers are fun to see, too, the larger Hairy is much less common here, and I haven’t heard its sharp, emphatic call or seen one in several weeks. This one was not calling, somewhat unusually quiet except for the steady tapping. As I watched, she paused, looking around, maybe disturbed by my standing below her, but she didn’t fly away. I left soon, and she returned to her work.
In the wind, three Turkey Vultures tilted along low, almost like blowing leaves. Two Black Vultures soared higher, circling, and even they looked a little unsteady and ruffled by the gusts. A Red-tailed Hawk rode the wind up, wings spread wide and tail fanned.
A Brown Thrasher continues to sing in its privet-choked territory of young spindly oaks and weeds a few yards back from the roadside. But Mockingbirds were quiet this morning, and I only saw two, I think, and only five or six Robins in all. Lots of other common small birds were out of sight, maybe staying sheltered in the bushes.
In the old field, few birds were out, but one flew to a perch in a ragged bush and glowed like a light against the rusty-brown shrub. It was a Song Sparrow, looking unusually sleek and sitting unusually still. Its breast was ivory-white, with dark brown streaks on the upper chest and sides. Its head was striped in reddish-brown and gray, its white throat framed by dark stripes. Instead of the prominent dark splotch on the chest, there was only a slightly denser streaking. The long tail looked dull cinnamon, and a similar shadowy cinnamon showed in the brown, streaked wings. It sat very calm in the bush – not twitching its tail and moving restlessly as they most often do. I’ve heard Song Sparrows singing this past week, several times. But this one was quiet. I’m not sure if the markings and plumage were fresher and more vivid than most – or if its fine appearance was a trick of the light, and the fact that it sat so still and calm – maybe it’s their constant motion that usually makes Song Sparrows look more streaky and blurred. But it’s also true that Song Sparrows are known for showing a great deal of variation in the basic pattern of their appearance.
I was almost back home when a small, compact hawk came soaring high, flying out of the east, into the wind. At first, from a distance, it looked windblown, sailing on open wings and turning one way, then another. As it came closer, and a little lower, it flapped now and then, with quick, neat wing-beats, followed by a long, sailing glide. It passed directly over me, broad wings outspread, and long narrow tail with subtle dark and gray bands and a softly-square tip, barely rimmed in white at the end. A Sharp-shinned Hawk. It flew toward the woods and dropped out of sight.