Birding Notes

The past several days we’ve been enjoying another stretch of picture-perfect October weather, with cool mornings, sunny blue skies, and warm afternoons. In these picture-perfect fall days, birds all through the neighborhood have been scarce and widely scattered. I’ve seen few migrating birds, and haven’t yet found a feeding flock of small birds like those that used to visit big grassy yards – mixed flocks of bluebirds, pine warblers, chipping sparrows, house finches and others. Maybe they’ll still appear. But certainly there are many fewer birds this fall than ever in the past. 

Nevertheless, there are still many beautiful birds to be discovered – even when it seems there are almost none. And today was a good example.

It began when I stepped out the front door and saw a tiny little bird flitting around the trunk and low branches of an oak, moving quickly and flicking its wings as it went, and calling a soft, low jidit-jidit. A Ruby-crowned Kinglet, a very small and active olive-gray bird with white wing bars, a bright white ring around its eye, and yellow-edged wings and tail. The ruby-red crown is often hidden, so the head looks smooth and gray. Then a second Ruby-crowned Kinglet appeared from the other side of the trunk, and they flew at each other and up and away. Ruby-crowned Kinglets are among the birds that come here to spend the winter, from summer homes much further north, and this year they’re among the first winter birds to arrive. 

A Brown Thrasher called a smack call, then a musical tee-ur from a bush. A Northern Cardinal peeped. An Eastern Towhee called chur-whee! And an Eastern Phoebe sat on a branch of our front yard dogwood tree – still pretty with dusty, faded coral leaves now – and bobbed its tail. 

As I left the head of the driveway, a large brown bird flew across the road ahead of me, flashing a big patch of white on its rump as it stopped in a small pine tree. A Northern Flicker. A big, sturdy woodpecker with colorful plumage and lively behavior. Unlike most other woodpeckers, Northern Flickers search most often for food on the ground – not in trees – using the long, sharp bill to dig for ants, beetles and other prey. A Northern Flicker is a handsome, showy bird, predominantly in shades of brown, but with a round gray head, a sweeping black crescent on the chest and a black-spotted belly. Flickers here in the eastern U.S. have a red crescent on the gray nape of the neck, a black moustache strip and golden-yellow feathers in the wings and tail that show up mostly when they fly. All in all, the appearance of a Northern Flicker is remarkable, with many other subtle and complex touches of color.

In contrast to the flashy Flicker, a pretty pink House finch sat demurely in the top of a maple tree, facing the sun and glowing. A Pine Warbler trilled a gentle song. The sky was a soft blue with very small, isolated tufts of clouds here and there, a sun that felt warm and an easterly breeze that felt chilly. Perfect walking weather! 

About a mile further on, in a small tree along the edge of the road, I stopped to check out a few birds flitting in and out of the leaves – and spotted a slender little bird walking over the branches and bobbing its tail in a lively and constant way. Bright, warm yellow under the tail, and yellow on its belly and sides and flanks, with soft dark streaks – it was a very fine, quiet Palm Warbler that continued to forage in this little tree long enough for me to watch for several moments.  In breeding plumage, it would have shown a bright rusty crown, but at this time of year its colors were a little more subdued. Palm Warblers migrate through this part of Georgia on their way further south for the winter, so this one is just passing through. 

 A few minutes later, in a different, more shaded spot, two small birds flew into a tree right on the edge of the road, and when I looked more closely at one, I was happily surprised to see a Yellow-rumped Warbler – a small songbird that may be arriving for the winter. It’s the first one I’ve seen here this fall. Yellow-rumped Warblers are small, grayish-brown streaked birds that spend the summer months in northern North America and migrate in great numbers to the central and southern US. and Central America for the winter. Although they are brilliantly colorful in breeding plumage, at this time of year they look rather plain – just little gray birds – except for the butter-yellow patch on the rump, and their habit of giving a soft chip call each time they fly, so that when they’re around these little calls become a familiar background sound of winter.   

At seven o’clock this morning, still more dark than light, two Barred Owls began to hoot from somewhere not far away from my open bedroom windows. They hooted three or four times, back and forth, who-cooks-for-you and shorter hoo-oww, hoo-oww, and then there was a loud, piercing scream, followed by another piercing scream that kind of melted into a partial hoot. After that the owls fell silent and must have flown away. 

About an hour later, I stepped out onto our front porch into a clear, chilly day. The sun was just up, with pale traces of pink clouds still lingering in a soft blue sky. The yard seemed mostly quiet, but there was a rustle in the bushes here and there and some small birds high in the trees. A Brown Thrasher flew out of some shrubs to the rim of the birdbath, sat there for a moment, then fled to the cover of the big azalea bushes. An Eastern Towhee called a rich chur-whee, and emerged on top of the spiny mahonias. A Pine Warbler trilled its song from the wooded edge of the yard. An Eastern Phoebe sang from a neighbor’s yard. An Eastern Bluebird flew into the top of a pecan tree, calling a soft, blurry call, and sat with its rosy breast facing the sun. A chipmunk ran out of cover onto the sidewalk – and froze there for three or four minutes before it finally dived into a hole beneath a big rock. 

In a tall water oak next to the corner of our house a long, slender bird sat quietly in the shadows of a low branch. Though it was half-hidden by leaves and blurry light, its size and elegant lines and striking colors were unmistakable – a Yellow-billed Cuckoo, an exotic bird in every way. Taupe-brown back and head, creamy-white throat and breast, with a long yellow bill, and a cinnamon tinge in the wings. 

When it flew to another nearby oak, I was surprised to see the Cuckoo fly up as if it were hawking an insect from the air. It flew into the leaves on the tree in a rather awkward-looking way, and then it dropped to a low branch, where it sat and ate a long, wiggling caterpillar. Over the next few minutes I watched it do this several times. Each time it flew up as if hawking an insect from the air, flapping its wings and rustling into the dry leaves on the tree as it snatched a caterpillar from a leaf surface. Then it sat on a branch to eat – I could see the caterpillars as it ate them, one by one. 

As it ate, it was often in full, very clear view so I could see it from several angles, admiring especially the soft brown of its back and head, and the clean line of contrast with creamy-white on throat and breast. Its most showy characteristic though – a long black tail with big white spots – was too much in the shadows to ever show up well. I could make out the spots, but they looked muted. Once it paused to scratch its head with a foot. 

This water oak apparently had a lot of caterpillars – maybe an infestation of webworm caterpillars. I don’t know for sure. The Cuckoo stayed for 10-15 minutes, repeatedly flying up, rustling the leaves, and capturing a caterpillar from a leaf, then settling on a branch to eat. 

We were lucky enough to hear the hollow, percussive calls of Yellow-billed Cuckoos in trees around our yard and nearby woods frequently this summer, though it seemed to me there were fewer than we’ve found in previous years. The one I watched this morning would have been on its way in migration. Yellow-billed Cuckoos spend the summer in a large area of North America and migrate to South America for the winter.

Unfortunately, Birds of the World* notes that “the future of the Yellow-billed Cuckoo is uncertain. Populations are declining precipitously throughout its distribution.” The cause seems mostly to be habitat loss.

*Hughes, J. M. (2020). Yellow-billed Cuckoo (Coccyzus americanus), version 1.0. In Birds of the World (P. G. Rodewald, Editor). Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Ithaca, NY, USA.

Today I saw a small orange and black butterfly fluttering low over a rough grassy patch of ground. It settled for several moments on the low-cut grass with wings outspread. It was very small, with a striking pattern of vivid orange and black with tiny white spots on black near the upper wing-tips and a very thin outline of white around both upper and lower wings. Its coloring was such an intense orange and black I thought it looked like a good butterfly for Halloween. I also saw what I think was a faint hint of turquoise color on the body just behind the head. 

It was a clear, sunny late morning, and I was able to see it well but only for a few moments. When I tried to get a photo with my phone, it flew – and fluttered away in a kind of erratic pattern into a nearby line of trees, staying fairly low to the ground. After doing a little research, I’m pretty sure it was a Silvery Checkerspot butterfly, (Chlosyne nycteis), which is considered locally common in several areas of Georgia, and a large part of the eastern U.S. However, it was difficult to find much more information about it at all. I very much wish I could have gotten a photo. Butterflies in general have been 

After the Ovenbird flew, I walked on up our driveway on this beautiful, cool, sunny morning, and stopped to check out several small birds in the grass – six little Chipping Sparrows looking bright with their rusty caps. When they’re foraging close to the ground like this they could so easily be overlooked. I haven’t seen a Chipping Sparrow in a while now, so it was fun to watch them for a few minutes. Blue Jays cried, Cardinals peeped, a Carolina Wren sang, and an Eastern Wood-Pewee whistled its sweet song from a tree not far away. Some Brown-headed Nuthatches chattered, a White-breasted Nuthatch called its nasal call, and American Crows cawed in the distance. A Pine Warbler trilled its song from a wooded spot across the road. 

Then for several minutes I walked down the road without hearing or seeing many birds at all, until a flash of yellow on the edge of a tangled thicket caught my attention. It was a female Scarlet Tanager, pausing in full, clear view for only a moment or two. Pale, pretty yellow all over except for darker wings and tail, she briefly looked diaphanous in the early morning sunlight – before slipping back into the vegetation and out of sight.

Walking on, I passed the smack and tee-urr calls of Brown Thrashers, the rattles of Red-bellied Woodpeckers and Downy Woodpeckers, and a Northern Mockingbird singing a full, glorious song in an open, sunny spot. In the shade of one wooded yard, a large, shadowy form flew up to a low branch of a pecan tree where it sat quietly, looking down and around – a Red-shouldered Hawk with reddish breast and black and white banded tail. 

A little further on, I stopped for a few minutes to watch a small gray flycatcher hunting from low branches of an oak – an Eastern Wood-Pewee. It sat still and erect and quiet on first one branch and then another as it flew off several times to capture flying insects, again and again. At times it sat with its back to me, so that I could see its small shape, erect posture and the white wingbars folded over the back, and its rather long tail. At other times it sat facing me, even closer, so I could see its neat gray crested head, a dusky breast and even a flash of orange now and then from its lower bill. What I always think when watching an Eastern Wood-Pewee is how neat and compact it appears, both when sitting still on a branch and when it’s in flight. It looks crisp and efficient – while its lovely, ethereal song sounds almost completely the opposite, a dreamy, summery, whistled pee-a-wee . . . whee-oooh. I had already heard a Wood-Pewee singing earlier in the morning, but this one never sang while I watched.

In a line of water oaks along the top of a grassy slope, small birds were darting in and out of the faded, crusty green foliage. Among them was one that sparked bright yellow – so they looked like they might be migrating warblers. They were all high in the trees, moving quickly from one spot to another and staying mostly screened among the leaves. For several minutes I stood looking almost straight up, trying to follow one or another of the tiny creatures flitting quickly, weaving their way through the treetops. Finally I was able to see just one clearly – a Yellow-throated Warbler, one of the most colorful neotropical migrants we might find here. It’s a small, slender bird with a burning yellow throat and contrasting black streaks on the sides, and a black-and-white striped face, white eyebrow, black cheek. But especially that deep-yellow throat. Spectacular! 

On a cool, clear, sunny October morning, flecks of orange and red here and there among the faded greens, a small, soft-brown bird flew past me and into the tangled branches of a large forsythia bush on the edge of our neighbor’s yard. It might have been a leaf blown by the wind. Several minutes later, after watching and following it from one spot to another, I finally got a good, clear look when it flew back into our yard and walked out into the open, across a bed of mulch and crumpled leaves. A bright and lively Ovenbird!

With a soft, olive-brown back and dark, abundant streaks on its breast, the Ovenbird looked like a small, perky thrush. The crown of its head rose almost into a crest, and was striped in black and soft orange. A bold white ring circled its eye, giving it a wide-eyed, alert appearance. Its small bill was pointed, its tail looked short and was held slightly up, and its looked pink. All in all, it was a crisp and animated little bird, its colors reflecting the hints of autumn in the trees. It stayed on the ground and walked, moving in a kind of jerky way, searching for food in the mulch and fallen leaves and grass for several minutes. It came so close I barely needed binoculars to see it well. After several minutes, it finally flew again, low across the shrubs, back to the neighbor’s yard. 

I could not have been more surprised to see an Ovenbird here. Even though they are fairly common birds in their breeding areas, I’ve only seen one twice ever – and once was just this past summer, in the spruce woods along the coast of Maine, near Acadia National Park. Ovenbirds pass through this part of Georgia in Fall migration – and some even nest in the northern part of the state – but I haven’t been lucky enough to see one here in many years.

So this was a delightful surprise, and to watch it so closely and clearly for several minutes left an image that will stay with me as one of my favorite bird sightings ever.

An Ovenbird is a wood warbler. During the summer months in its breeding territory in a large area of the eastern US and Canada, the female weaves a nest with a domed roof and a side entrance that is said to look like a Dutch oven – which is where it got its name. 

An Ovenbird is probably heard more often than seen. Its loud and clear song – teacher-teacher-teacher! – is very recognizable and familiar throughout its breeding territory. But the Ovenbird I watched this morning was quiet as it stopped over here on its way further south in fall migration. 

As I stood at the kitchen window after lunch today, washing dishes, a Carolina Wren came to sit on the top of a shepherd’s crook on the deck, just outside the window. The leafy tip of a Carolina jessamine vine curls up the crook and reaches out from the top of it, and the Wren sat beside it, almost encircled by it, and preened for several minutes. 

Though Carolina Wrens will often come to this same favorite spot to sing, this Wren was quiet, intent on a thorough and methodical preening, addressing first one wing, then the other, its sides and breast and back, and everywhere it could reach. The small cinnamon-brown bird with a jaunty white eyebrow, a white throat and buffy breast, fluffed up its feathers here and there and gave itself a good thorough grooming.

Just about the time I was finishing my own kitchen cleanup, it flew away. But I’m happy to know it probably didn’t go far and we’ll see it again. Carolina Wrens come almost every day to check out corners and crevices and plants around the deck for insect and spider prey. We hear their bright, bold songs and their trills and burbling and fussing. And I try never to take them for granted. They are a gift in so many ways, and we are lucky to have them living near. Sharing a home and domestic moments like this. 

This morning a slight drop in temperature brought a big difference in how it felt to be outside. Instead of a hazy, bleached-out blue, the sky was a soft, pretty blue, with high, scattered wisps of clouds, and a nice fresh breeze from the northeast helped, too. So it felt pleasant to be outside again – not just something to be endured.

A Louisiana Waterthrush and an Acadian Flycatcher were singing down in the woods near the creek this morning early, along with a Yellow-throated Vireo. Ruby-throated Hummingbirds were coming often to the feeder off our back deck, sometimes finding a moment or two to sip nectar, often hovering and twittering and zipping in duels. American Goldfinches called as they flew over and mewed from nearby trees. They often come to the hummingbird feeder too, to drink from the water moat in the center. I’m not sure why they prefer it to the birdbath in the garden right below – but they frequently do. 

On a walk through the neighborhood later in the morning, though, birds were so very quiet and scarce that it felt unnatural, and I do not know how much of this is the usual seasonal quiet – and how much is a greater absence. But I’m pretty sure there are many fewer birds than usual. And almost no butterflies at all.

But there were a few nice moments this morning, when I walked past the dense thickets in what remains of an old field. A Blue Grosbeak sang beautifully from a spot too far away to see, ringing out through the noise of the busy highway nearby. No other birds were in sight at first – but then, unexpectedly, the clear, fresh, bright song of a White-eyed Vireo came from somewhere near the edge of the thickets. It sang again. And again. I searched for it – and what I spotted instead were at least three spritely Blue-gray Gnatcatchers, flitting in the leaves right on the edge of the thickets, with flashes of silvery blue and white. These tiny, lively birds with white breasts, blue-gray heads, backs and long, expressive tails are so fairy-like they are always fun to watch. With white in their wings and along the edges of their tails, they sparkled in the sun. 

On a hot and very humid summer morning – after a night of thunderstorms with strong wind and heavy rain – the streets of our neighborhood were littered with broken branches, twigs, leaves and pieces of leaves, and all sorts of debris. No trees were lost, at least. But some large limbs had broken from pecan trees. Cicadas were singing loudly.

Near the top of a large oak in a small wooded area just outside our subdivision, a Blue Grosbeak sang its rich, warbled song. I’ve been too busy for several days to pass this way and hear him, though he has continued to sing here all this summer so far, despite the fact that a large part of this area has now been developed into an office park and a new county building and a lot of road construction to create a roundabout. Now, only a small part of what used to be a sprawling old field remains – but that small area of weedy trees and dense thickets seems to have been enough for the Blue Grosbeak to stay.

He sounded pretty close, so I stopped and searched for him high up in the oak, and when he flew down to a branch not far away from me, it felt as if he had come down to say hello. He sat near the end of the branch and sang again. 

I hadn’t brought binoculars this morning, so I could not see his colors or any details. But I could see his shape, with the head held high and the very large beak, and also the jaunty switching and spreading of his long tail – so familiar! Then another bird with a similar shape flew down to the middle of the road not far away and sat there very briefly. I think it was probably a female Blue Grosbeak. She flew from the road up into a tangle of tall grasses and shrubs around the oak, and clung for a moment to the tall stem of a weed, with something in her beak. 

I walked on, not wanting to disturb them further. Traffic on the nearby highway was very loud, and it seemed a small miracle that these magnificent Blue Grosbeaks were here, in this small remnant of trees and weeds and thickets that still remains on the edge of the office park and highway. 

After two dark, cool, rainy days, by noon today the clouds were breaking apart, leaving blue sky and a bright, warm sun. In the trees around our back yard, a Red-eyed Vireo sang very clearly and close, weaving its way through the treetops. A Wood Thrush sang from much further away, down the wooded hill toward a creek. A Great Crested Flycatcher called deep Breets. An Eastern Phoebe, Easter Bluebird, Northern Cardinal, and Yellow-throated Vireo sang in the trees nearby. A Downy Woodpecker called its silvery whinny.

Yellow-rumped Warblers also were singing in the nearby trees, their pretty, softly chanting notes sounding as if the leaves themselves have begun to sing.

And then I heard a different song, almost like an echo of the Yellow-rumped Warblers but much more quiet and softer. A string of notes on mostly one pitch, high and almost whispery. I had no idea what it was, but when I used the Merlin app, it quickly identified Cape May Warbler. Wow. A male Cape May Warbler is a small, very colorful neotropical bird. A chestnut patch on the cheek and a yellow collar create a distinctive face, and its breast is yellow, streaked with black in a tiger-like way. It might be passing through here in spring migration, on its way from a winter home in the Caribbean to its summer, breeding home in forests of the far north. Though they are fairly common migrants in the eastern U.S., I haven’t seen them often. It would be a wonderful bird to see.

I searched the leaves of the trees from which the songs were coming. It sounded as if there were at least two or three birds somewhere very close, in a particular white oak tree or other trees beside it. In fact, the songs seemed to come from the oak leaves right in front of me. And yet – I couldn’t see any sign of a bird. They stayed hidden among the leaves. 

I watched and listened for several minutes, at first determined to stay until I’d found them. But then I stopped hearing the songs, and it seemed they had drifted away. Frustration – but at the same time, it was a delight just to have heard the songs and to know Cape May Warblers are here in our trees for this day.

Again this morning I decided not to take binoculars when I went out for a walk, this time because the weather was cool and cloudy with a possibility of light rain. As so often, I immediately regretted this because when I got to the top of our driveway, I heard a squeaking call from high in the pecan tree there. I couldn’t see the bird but there was no question in my mind – it was a Rose-breasted Grosbeak, a big, especially beautiful songbird. The male is colored dramatically in black, white and rose – a black head and back, white belly, and a patch of rose-red spilling down the chest. Its call is distinct, sounding just like the squeak of a sneaker on a gym floor. 

By the time I’d gone back to the house, picked up binoculars and returned, it was too late. I didn’t hear another call and couldn’t find the Grosbeak among the leaves. After only a moment or two of searching, I saw a bird flying from the treetop across the cul de sac and into a deeper wooded area. Alas.