Birding Notes

Late this afternoon, on a sunny, mild spring day, I heard the cooing calls of a Eurasian Collared-Dove – hoo-HOOO-hoo, with the last hoo very short. The calls came from beyond the treeline of a wooded area behind a yard, much too far away to see the birds, but the calls were distinct.

I have seen and heard Eurasian Collared-Doves in and near our neighborhood only now and then, on isolated occasions. These calls came from well beyond the neighborhood, in the direction of a much more developed area.

In another part of the neighborhood, a colorful Western Palm Warbler was feeding along the roadside, gleaning insects from the grasses and weeds, with very small, pale-purple flowers in bloom all around it. This was a much closer and better view of a Palm Warbler than when I saw two in a tree a few days ago. This one was close and vivid – a small, slender bird with red-brown crown, dark streak through the eye, bright yellow throat and bright yellow under the tail, a brownish back and streaks on the sides of a pale breast. It continuously, quickly pumped its tail as it foraged, and stayed on the ground for several minutes, before flying up into a low branch of a nearby tree.

Many other birds were active in this burst of sunshine and blue sky, among them Cedar Waxwings, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Great Crested Flycatcher, Brown-headed Nuthatch, Chimney Swifts, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker and one Hairy Woodpecker. Two Red-shouldered Hawks flew low out of the woods and across the road in two different spots. Eastern Bluebirds flashed their colors, hunting in grassy yards.

Birdsong seemed to be everywhere – Eastern Phoebe, Northern Cardinal, Tufted Titmouse, Carolina Wren, Brown Thrasher, Northern Mockingbird, Eastern Towhee, Chipping Sparrow, Red-eyed Vireo, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Pine Warbler, House Wren and House Finch all were singing. And I was somewhat surprised to hear the zhreeee calls of what sounded like a good many Pine Siskins still here in the trees around several yards, mixed with the mews of American Goldfinches.

The first few days of May have been unseasonably cool and rainy. Last night a hard rain fell all night long, tapering off to lighter showers that continued for hours. Finally, late this afternoon, the clouds began to part – and when they did, the change was sudden and dramatic, giving way to an intense, deep-blue sky with huge, gleaming white clouds. Dark purple rain clouds still hung on the horizon in the north and east.

Rainwater dripped from all the trees and shrubs, the ground was drenched and water stood in ditches along the roadside – and it’s all wonderful. It feels so good to have this much rain again, after years of dry springs and summers of scorching temperatures and drought.

A short walk during this sunny break in the rain held some highlights as bright as the sunshine on the wet, sparkling leaves. The first came as I was walking up a hill with woods on one side and heard a clear, whistled wheee-ooo, and then the full, sweet pee-a-wee; wheee-ooo of an Eastern Wood-Pewee. It’s another first-of-the-season for here, and an increasingly uncommon bird in our neighborhood, maybe because more and more wooded areas have been replaced by homes and yards, or maybe because white-tailed deer have browsed out so much of the understory in the woods that remain.

The Wood-Pewee was perched in a water oak on the edge of the road, out in full view, flying off to catch insects and returning again and again to the same spot, or close to it – a small, neat flycatcher, all-over gray, much paler on the under side, with faint white wing-bars and a slightly crested head. Its flight as it sallied out to catch insects looked crisp and efficient, while its song sounds dreamy, languid and sweet.

A quiet, thrush-like bird foraging in weedy grass along the edge of a wooded area stood out brightly, impossible to miss – the smooth, pure, tawny color of its back and head seemed to glow. It was a Veery, a cool, elusive bird with a fluted, fairy-like song that I’ve rarely heard or seen – but knew immediately. It’s not a rare bird, but it’s rare for me.

Veerys nest in damp, deciduous forests in more northern parts of the U.S. and parts of Canada, and in forests in the mountains further south – but not here in the deep South, so we see them only in migration. They are known for the ethereal beauty of their songs at dusk.

When I stopped to watch, it flew up into a small tree not far away, still in full view and facing me – with pale reddish spots high on the chest, white throat and a bright white belly, and a thin eye ring that gives it a watchful look like a Hermit Thrush. After a couple of minutes, it flew back down to the ground, where it scratched around in the crumbling leaves and weeds. Then it flew again, this time further into the woods and out of sight.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen a Veery here in Summit Grove. With the Yellow Warbler from two days ago, that’s two new birds for the neighborhood this spring, a reminder that even in a year when migrants seem few and far between there still can be something new and unexpected.

This morning a Black-throated Blue Warbler near the edge of the woods was close enough to see. It sang its buzzy beer-beer-beer-BEE as it moved through a tangle of wet green leaves in the undergrowth. First I saw its dark-blue back and the white patch in the wing, then it turned toward me, showing the black throat and snow-white belly – and it parted its bill and sang again – a beautiful view.

This last day of April has been a perfect April day, beginning foggy and cool, and slowly clearing. The pretty, jingling songs of Yellow-rumped Warblers still fill the trees, and I could also hear a Red-eyed Vireo, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Eastern Phoebe, Brown Thrasher, Carolina Wren, Tufted Titmouse, Brown-headed Nuthatch, Great Crested Flycatcher, Downy Woodpecker, Red-bellied Woodpecker, and the mews of dozens of Cedar Waxwings. Three Chimney Swifts flew below the murky clouds, twittering.

I was checking out almost every small bird – most were Yellow-rumped Warblers – when one turned out to be a female Scarlet Tanager, olive-yellow with almost-black wings, eating a large fat green caterpillar.

A Northern Parula sang in the same area of trees, but was very hard to find among all the Yellow-rumped Warblers. Finally, I did succeed in catching just a very brief glimpse of its small, round shape with blue-gray head, deep-yellow throat and chest, white belly, and a fleeting impression of a dark coral band across the breast – and then it flew again. It was too high and moving too quickly among the leaves to see all the field marks – the green back, white wing bars and white crescents around the eyes. But even a shadowy glimpse like this made it feel closer and more real.

In contrast, the radiant red and black colors of a male Scarlet Tanager in a pecan tree stood out clearly. It sang, and gave its chick-brrr calls around our yard for most of the day. I am delighted to have it staying around, and also kind of amazed, it’s like having a celebrity drop by and stay a while.

Wow. After a night of heavy rain, this morning all the trees and shrubs and grass were drenched and dripping – and full of songbirds, including migrating warblers probably forced down by the weather – a Black-throated Blue Warbler, a Yellow Warbler, and two Western Palm Warblers, and a Yellow-breasted Chat.

I’m sure I only saw and heard a very few of many that may have been here, and it wasn’t as spectacular as a full-fledged “warbler wave,” but in a spring when it seems there’ve been very few migrating songbirds here, it felt like an abundance, and each one of the four species – two only heard and two seen – left a vivid impression.

Late in the morning, clouds still hung low enough for foggy patches here and there. The light was gray and misty, the air cool, with a light breeze. The first thing I heard when I stepped out the door – and the background music almost everywhere – were the songs of Yellow-rumped Warblers, the familiar drab little birds that have been with us in great numbers all winter and lately have begun to sing and to change into spring plumage. They fill the trees, and their songs are lovely, even if it is so often frustrating to look at all the birds flitting around in the dense green leaves – and 99 percent of them are Yellow-rumped Warblers.

Blue-gray Gnatcatchers called spee-spee. A Northern Mockingbird, Red-eyed Vireo, Northern Cardinal, Carolina Wren, Eastern Towhee and Chipping Sparrow sang; a Red-bellied Woodpecker called quuurrr and a Downy whinnied. Mourning Doves cooed.

As I was walking up a hill with woods and a creek along one side, I felt the shiver of a quiet, buzzy beer-beer-beer-BEEE coming from the woods, and stopped to listen. Beer-beer-beer-BEEE. It was a Black-throated Blue Warbler – a small, roundish warbler that lives up to its name – striking dark-blue on the back, with black face and throat and snow-white belly, and a small white patch in the dark-blue wing. Though I knew what it looked like, I couldn’t see the bird. It was a very small bird, too far back in the trees in an area with a lot of undergrowth, and even though I waited and listened for several minutes, hoping it would come closer, it did not. But its song was unmistakable, and it sang again and again – especially lovely in this misty, green-leafed setting.

A little further on, at the crest of a hill in a more open part of the neighborhood, passing the bubbly songs of House Wrens, the breeet calls of a Great Crested Flycatcher, the chatter of Chickadees and Titmice, the trill of a Pine Warbler – two small birds darted up and out of a pecan tree, then back into the foliage in a sharp, crisp way. I stopped just to check them out – and when the round, sunny head and breast of a stunning Yellow Warbler appeared out of the green leaves, I could not have been more surprised. It’s the first Yellow Warbler I’ve ever seen here in Summit Grove, and one of the few I’ve ever seen so well.

For just a moment or two, I had a very clear view – an all-yellow bird; warm, buttery, bright yellow, with blurry, red-orange streaks on the chest and sides. It disappeared back into the leaves, but I found it again, and was able to watch it through a screen of leaves for a few minutes more as it preened. It was quiet, not singing.

Walking on, I heard the songs of White-throated Sparrow, Eastern Towhee, American Robin and several Brown Thrashers. I had passed the old field and turned around and headed home, when I heard behind me a harsh, prickly chet-chet-chet-chet that sounded like a musical version of the dry and thorny vines and weeds in the field. I took a few steps back and heard it again – a Yellow-breasted Chat. It seemed to be singing from somewhere in a small chinaberry tree choked in vines and surrounded in privet, honeysuckle and other weeds – an odd song of whistles, hoarse notes, and the chet-chet-chet-chet. After several minutes, it moved even further away – so I gave up trying to see it and walked on, just happy to have heard its song.

Only a few yards further down the road, two small birds were flitting around in a large pecan tree at the entrance to our subdivision – two Western Palm Warblers. Because of the gray light, and the way they were moving around among the leaves, the view wasn’t ideal, but both slender little birds were pumping their tails energetically and constantly, in a way so typical of Palm Warblers there was little doubt. Watching them for a few minutes, I was able to pick out some of the markings – the reddish-brown crown, especially, and a dark streak through the eye, faint streaks on the sides, pale underneath, and a grayish-brown back. I could not see any yellow, on the throat or under the tail.

As if to make the day perfect, a Scarlet Tanager sang and called around the yard off and on all day. A Northern Parula sang its sharp, zippy song in the woods. And from deeper in the woods, along the creek, a Louisiana Waterthrush whistled its anthem. Though I don’t usually like to count birds, I couldn’t help it today, and counted 39 species in all, including eight species of warblers. On a day like this, it did seem worth remarking just on the numbers. A fine day out.

On yet another cool, rainy morning, a Scarlet Tanager sang from a branch near the top of a pecan tree on the edge of our yard. After showers all night and early in the morning, the rain had slowed to a fine mist, but the clouds were still low and the light very gray. In this quiet setting, the Tanager’s bright, insistent song stood out more vividly than its red and black colors.

When I first heard and saw it, I was working in the yard, taking advantage of the break in the rain. All I could see was a small, dark bird against a misty gray background, but the song was familiar. I was surprised, as I often am, to be reminded how small a Scarlet Tanager is – when seen through binoculars, its colors are so bold and dramatic that it often looks larger than life, or maybe that’s just the way I remember it, because it makes such a striking impression.

Once I had gotten binoculars, I watched for several minutes as it sang and sang from the same spot – it still looked small, but brilliant scarlet-red all over, with ink-black slashes of wings. Now and then, he threw in a chick-brrr, or just a sharp chick. While facing in my direction, he paused and preened, scratched his head with one foot, showing some small white flecks in the plumage. Then he turned around and sang some more. After several minutes, he flew into a tree in a neighbor’s yard, where he continued to sing.

While I was looking for the Blue Grosbeak, I had noticed some movement among the leaves of another tree in the same area of trees and shrubs, but lower and closer to me. When the Grosbeak flew, I took a closer look, not really expecting to see anything unusual – and found a Gray Catbird in sleek gray plumage and black cap, framed perfectly in lush green leaves. After a moment, it moved further back into the leaves – and then, from its hidden spot, it began to sing, a creaky, halting series of phrases of different kinds – whistles, squeaks, warbles, chirps. Now and then it added a sharp mew. Like a Mockingbird or a Brown Thrasher, a Gray Catbird strings together various mimicked sounds and songs of other birds, as well as phrases of its own, but its song is more interesting and curious than musical. Though secretive, preferring to stay mostly in brushy areas of shrubs, weeds and thickets, a Gray Catbird is a very animated and lively bird to watch. I know this is purely my imagination, but it appears to me a bird with a somewhat artistic temperament, reclusive but jaunty and flamboyant at the same time, with wry sense of humor and a unique sense of style – both in appearance and in song.

The rich, warbling song of a Blue Grosbeak was a nice surprise this morning, coming not from a sunny, open perch, but from somewhere deep inside the leaves near the top of a sweet gum. It was another cool, cloudy, windy day. The tree was in a tangled, shrubby area across the road from the old field, and because the bird was well hidden, it was several minutes before I could find it. But it kept singing, and I could see rustling patches in the leaves – and finally it came out, just enough to see. In shadowy spot where it sat, and in the gray light of the day, the Blue Grosbeak looked dark. I couldn’t see its deep, intense blue color, or the chestnut-orange wingbars, but it was clearly a Grosbeak, with a big, silver, conical bill, and as I watched, it flicked its tail from side to side, and sang again. Then it flew away, toward the field and out of sight.

This morning – a cloudy, breezy, and very warm day – held the songs of two birds I usually hear much earlier in the spring or even late winter. A Black-and-white Warbler sang in a tangled area of shrubs and trees near the entrance to our subdivision – not an area where I would usually expect to find one. But its high, “squeaky-wheel” song was clear and sweet. In most years, Black-and-white Warblers are one of the first migrant birds to return or pass through the woods here, and usually I can count on hearing and seeing several – but this is the first and only one I’ve heard so far this season.

And in the old field near the highway, a White-eyed Vireo sang a crisp, percussive chick-a-perioo-chick! from somewhere hidden in a dense privet thicket. The traffic sounds from the highway were loud, and I could find few other birds in the field – an Eastern Towhee, Northern Mockingbird, Northern Cardinal, one Ruby-crowned Kinglet and a Brown Thrasher singing in a chinaberry tree. A White-throated Sparrow whistled a sweet, long, full song.