Birding Notes

The past three days have been cloudy, humid, and often rainy. It rained off and on all night last night, a hard, calm, steady rain, waking us in the morning with the sleepy sound of rain falling on the leaves of the oaks just outside our windows – making it hard to want to get out of bed, tempting just to pull the covers up and stay there and drift in and out of sleep – and rain continued most of the morning.

Late in the morning, I sat for a while in a doorway, watching the rain fall. The only bird I saw at first was a Brown Thrasher that dived from a Savannah holly at the corner of the house into a tangled thicket on the other side of the driveway.

The sound of the rain drowned out most other sounds. Then I heard the peep of a Cardinal and saw a very drenched pair of Cardinals perched in low branches. Titmice and Chickadees began to chatter and flit from bush to bush. A small grayish bird made its way through the highest parts of the trees, moving and behaving like a warbler, but I couldn’t make out a clear view, or hear a call. The leaves still are very dense and green and full on all the trees. Even with all this heavy rain, few leaves are washing down, only a stray solitary brown leaf tumbling down now and then.

Several Crows flew by, cawing. I heard the cry of a Blue Jay as the rain let up a little, and the rattle of a Red-bellied Woodpecker. Fog began to rise in a dense cloud all around, but the rain kept falling lightly, raindrops shuddering the leaves, spattering the ground, hitting in puddles, rainwater rattling down and out of gutters.

Rain continued most of the day, often hard. When I stepped outside in one brief break, with only a light sprinkle coming down, two Eastern Wood-Pewees and one Pine Warbler were singing in the woods. A Red-shouldered Hawk cried kee-yer from somewhere beyond the treeline in the east, and a Red-eyed Vireo gave a harsh, nasal REE-ang call. Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, Downy and Red-bellied Woodpeckers, Brown-headed Nuthatches, Chickadees and Titmice all were active around the yard, and a tiny blue-tailed skink, maybe two inches long at most, including the tail, scurried in and out around the potted plants on the back deck.

After several dry, hot summers, this stretch of rainy weather feels like the way a summer should end.

Late in the morning on a mostly cloudy day, after a good rain last night, the sun now trying to break through, trees still dripping rainwater. An Eastern Wood-Pewee far down in the woods sings its full song as it moves from place to place. I can’t always hear the wheee-oo at the end, but hear the sweet pee-a-WEE, over and over.

Two Carolina Wrens sing from different directions, singing different songs – one, jubilee-jubilee-jubilee; the other, churry-churry-churry, and what-a-WHEET-aree-WHEET-aree. Their songs are so familiar that often I don’t pay much attention to them, but at this time of year, when there are few other birdsongs to compete with them, I always notice them more.

Mostly the woods around our house have continued to be pretty quiet, with little bird activity and few migrants. I hear the distant rattle of a Red-bellied Woodpecker, the calls of Crows and Blue Jays, the humming zoom of a Ruby-throated Hummingbird coming to the feeder. A gusty breeze rattles the leaves of the white oaks, and they clack and shudder as rainwater showers down. Grasshoppers and crickets sing, and now and then a few cicadas raise a metallic whine. Raindrops glisten from the tips of little red tomatoes on the ragged brown vines in pots on the deck, one drop hanging from each fruit. Wind chimes ring softly. A Goldfinch sings its per-chick-o-ree song as it flies over.

Now a Carolina Wren – maybe a female – gives a long, raspy, rattling trill, almost a hiss. And another, a male, follows this closely with a bright CHEER-uppy, CHEER-uppy, CHEER-uppy, CHEEP, repeated several times.

There’s the distant blurp of a Bluebird. One quiet Robin flies in, stops briefly in the top branches of a dead pine, then flies into the woods. I’ve been watching and listening for migrants, with no luck so far, except for the Eastern Wood-Pewees. In the thick foliage around me, I hear tiny little chips, sips, tseets, whits barely audible, tantalizing, and I think mostly they are probably Chickadees and Titmice, and maybe insects, maybe my imagination. But there could be some warblers there, hidden in the leaves.

A Carolina Wren gives its long burbling call, then fusses fiercely, zhjee-zhjee-zhjee! Another sings churry-churry-churry-churry-churry-CHEER. And still another, in a different direction, calls a loud and repeated cheeer-cheeer-cheer-cheeer!

There’s the tsup of a Phoebe somewhere in the woods, and a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird comes alone for an unusually long, uninterrupted session at the feeder, going round and round it and sipping from each of the holes two or three times. A Phoebe sings, way down in the woods.

The mood of the day is quiet, somber and gray. Too quiet, I think, but I’m probably just impatient, and restless because a fractured ankle is keeping me from walking in the neighborhood or in the woods. So most of my birding right now has to be done from the porch or the deck. Not being able to walk makes me appreciate more how important a part of my every day a walk has always been. It’s when I do my best thinking, and also – on the best walks – when I succeed in letting go of restless thoughts and feel most fully alive, observing, but not thinking.

A Carolina Wren gives a long Downy Woodpecker-like trill, then breaks it up into several short trill-pieces. I don’t think I’ve noticed that call before. Another sings chorry-chorry-chorry, and another, chur-WEEE-chur, WEE-chur, WEE-chur, WEE and a third, chiminy-chiminy-chiminy-CHEE. The three wrens seem to be trying out different songs on each other. They switch songs frequently, and seem always to answer one song with a different one.

I’m not at all sure this is what’s happening here, but in his new book, Birdsong by the Seasons, Donald Kroodsma says of wrens, “. . . get two rock wrens or marsh wrens or sedge wrens or Bewick’s wrens or Carolina wrens or house wrens or winter wrens engaged in a dispute, and they pull out all the stops, using a much greater variety of songs than when each male sings by himself.” (page 81)

A male Carolina Wren may have a repertoire of 20-50 different songs. Though spring and summer are the main singing seasons, mated pairs stay together year-round, defending their territory, and the male continues to sing. The female, on the other hand, adds only buzzy or rattling trills or calls, though as Kroodsma points out in his first book, The Singing Life of Birds, the line between what we call a “song” and what we consider a bird’s “call” is not entirely clear. His detailed descriptions and analyses of the songs and calls of many different species make fascinating reading, and open up new ways of listening to birds and thinking about what we are hearing.

At sunrise this morning, a Pine Warbler sang its warm, sensual trill from somewhere among the foliage of the white oaks outside our bedroom windows. This is the first time I’ve heard its song in many weeks. During the hottest part of the summer, the Pine Warblers retreated somewhere into the deep foliage and became quiet.

The day has been warm and sunny, with light breezes that stir the wind chimes on the back deck and keep the air pleasant. Although many warblers, thrushes and other migrants are being reported in this area now, here around our neighborhood the only migrants I’ve spotted so far are the Eastern Wood-Pewees that continue to sing in the woods and around the edges of the yard. Today, two sang – one toward the east and the other toward the west – both giving their full pee-di-a-WEEE – WHEEE-oo songs.

Late in the morning I listened as one of them made its way closer and closer. Three or four Carolina Wrens sang and fussed, Chickadees and Titmice chattered, a Downy Woodpecker worked on the trunk of a pine, a Red-bellied Woodpecker rattled, a Summer Tanager called pik-a-tuk and one Robin flew into the top of a dead pine, paused for a few minutes, then flew away. Then there it was – an Eastern Wood-Pewee – lower in the same tall dead pine, perched on a stub and singing. All I could really see of it was a silhouette against the bright eastern sky, but the Pewee sang as it hunted, flying up from a branch, catching an insect, landing on another branch, and flying up again, then – too soon – moving further back into the woods.

In its wake, a Hairy Woodpecker called out an emphatic peenk! and was answered by another Hairy Woodpecker nearby. Like the Pine Warblers, they’ve been quiet or not even around much for several weeks, but the past few days we’ve heard their calls and the sounds of their working often.

August ended and September began with two good rainy days, bringing slightly cooler weather, especially at night. Through bedroom windows open wide, about two o’clock this morning, I heard the low, mellow hoots of a Barred Owl – who cooks for you, who cooks for you-oww – repeated several times, not close, but not far away. I could not hear an answering call, but it was very good to hear at least this one, because we have not heard them often lately. Its shadowy, expressive voice made the night feel more alive, and at the same time, more peaceful and right. I had been lying awake, worrying about something, but after the owl fell silent, I fell easily back to sleep, soothed by its presence.

By eight o’clock this morning, a soft blue sky was emerging from wooly white clouds and the sun was high and already bright, but bird calls were few and scattered. Carolina Wrens are among the most vocal right now, singing, calling, fussing, trilling, burbling from the low shrubs around the house and edges of the woods. And Ruby-throated Hummingbirds are the flashiest and easiest to watch. At least three or four stay busy around our back-deck feeder and the red geranium blossoms all day. One afternoon recently we watched as one persistent male visited almost all of the red cherry-tomatoes on a vine in a pot on the deck, coming back again and again, as if he just couldn’t believe all those glowing red fruits didn’t have anything sweet he could get to. At first I just laughed – then I wondered if sometimes the hummingbirds might get juice from overripe little tomatoes. I have not seen one do this, but will keep watching.

A Pileated Woodpecker trumpeted in the woods off and on all day, and once I heard the whreep! of a Great-crested Flycatcher. A Summer Tanager called pik-a-tuk-tuk-tuk, making its way through the woods but staying out of sight in the heavy, faded foliage.

On a walk through the neighborhood I passed the usual birds along the way – Chickadee, Titmouse, Cardinal, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Chipping Sparrow, Eastern Towhee, Phoebe, Bluebird, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker, House Finch, Blue Jay, Crow – and in all that beautiful open blue and white sky saw only two Black Vultures soaring, one very high, one very low.

In the old field by the highway, a White-eyed Vireo sang a surprisingly rich song from deep in a thicket, two Gray Catbirds mewed, and two or three young Mockingbirds were practicing their songs. The three Red-tailed Hawks that have been around almost every day for all of June, July and August weren’t there today – the last day I’ve seen them recently was August 27. I doubt they’ve gone far, and expect we’ll see them again, but I think the juvenile is on its own now and its period of screaming so often for attention has passed.

The last day I heard the Blue Grosbeak singing in the field was August 7. Though they may still be around, I haven’t heard their calls or seen them since then.

A mostly cloudy day, very warm and humid, but breezy. Highlights from a late morning walk included two Gray Catbirds mewing in the old field, a handsome Brown Thrasher sitting quietly among the branches of a weedy bush, a White-eyed Vireo singing a surprisingly rich song in a thicket, and about a dozen Chimney Swifts swarming against the clouds and chattering as they swept over, at first very high, then coming down low over the road around me.

A small flock of little birds in one grassy yard all scattered up into the branches of trees when I got too close. Among them were at least one juvenile Bluebird, looking very wide-eyed, sturdy and alert, and one juvenile Phoebe, looking rather rumpled and scruffy.

But the most memorable sighting today was a stunning Red-eyed Vireo in a large dogwood tree on the edge of a thicket. I saw it fly into the tree, but it was a few minutes before I could find it rustling among the thick leaves. When I did finally see it, it was a very close-up, clear view. The light must have been just right, coming through a break in the dogwood leaves, which were dense, but curled and fading, with lots of berries, a few already red. The Vireo looked sleek, with greenish back, creamy white breast and belly, and a pale, very faint wash of yellow below the wings and tail, a smooth gray head, elegant white eye-stripe and thin black eye-line – and the best part was a gleaming, ruby-red eye, something I’ve seldom been close enough to see.

This afternoon an Eastern Wood-Pewee’s soft puh-WEE call haunted the edge of the woods around our back yard. It moved from place to place, but I never was able to see the small grayish bird. We have not had a Wood-Pewee around regularly this summer, and I’ve missed them. So at least it’s nice to hear one visiting or passing through, and its shortened, late-summer song reflects a faded, somewhat weary, but still sweet end-of-summer mood.*

For the most part, birds have become pretty quiet. This morning when I stepped outside, at first all I heard were cicadas, grasshoppers and crickets. The sky was clear blue and the sun already high and warm, but not yet hot. Then a trill from a Carolina Wren at the edge of the woods was answered by some burbling notes from another. A Goldfinch flying over called its rolling ti-TEE-ti-ti. A Mourning Dove’s coo echoed through the trees. Several Chipping Sparrows in a grassy area across the street made little high-pitched, ringing calls to each other and flitted from grass to shrub to tree.

A Cardinal peeped, Chickadees chattered, a Titmouse rasped day-day-day, a Red-bellied Woodpecker rattled, a Downy gave a delicate whinny, a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher called spee-spee, and a Bluebird called in brief little blurry, warbled blurps. Crow, Blue Jay, Eastern Towhee, House Finch . . . most of the vocal birds these days seem to be common, year-round residents, while most of the neotropical migrants – warblers, vireos, tanagers, flycatchers and others – have fallen quiet, lurking in woods or shrubs or fields – or at least they’re not singing. It may be that I’m missing a lot, and just don’t recognize their less familiar and quieter calls as well as their songs.

Often I do hear a Summer Tanager’s pik-a-tuk call, or catch a glimpse of a Scarlet Tanager in deep yellow with black wings. But not today. The Blue Grosbeak that sang for several weeks in the field has fallen silent, and it’s been a while since I’ve even heard the whreep of a Great-crested Fycatcher, the sharp wheet-sit of an Acadian Flycatcher, the steady whistled song of a Red-eyed Vireo or the raucous cawp of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo.

But a Red-tailed Hawk screamed overhead, and a Ruby-throated Hummingbird zoomed past me and into some bushes. If anything, the Hummingbirds seem even busier and more active than earlier in the summer. Several come and go all day around the feeder and blooming plants on the back deck.

*David Sibley describes this song of an Eastern Wood-Pewee as “short, upslurred (given by migrants).” The Sibley Guide to Birds, David Allen Sibley, page 323.*

Six or seven American Crows often come together to a birdbath in our front yard. They don’t stay long and don’t make a mess – they’re much neater than many of the other birds that visit. Several of them usually crowd together, perching around the rim to drink, then they take turns bathing in an orderly way, one at a time.

A few days ago, one of the crows picked up a smooth brownish pebble from underneath the birdbath, and carried it up and dropped it into the water. The pebble was oval-shaped, about the size of a pecan. The crow turned it over in the birdbath a few times and another crow tried to pick it up, but the first crow took it out of the water in its bill, dropped down to the ground and hopped a few feet away. It seemed to be possessive about the small stone, hopping further away from another crow that showed some interest in it.

We wondered why a crow would be interested in a small stone.

Crows are known to use objects as tools in several ways. In Aesop’s fable “The Crow and the Pitcher,” a crow uses stones to raise the level of water in a pitcher so that it can reach the water to drink it, and I found some references to more modern observations of crows doing something similar. But in this case, there was no need to raise the water level, and the crow’s interest was clearly in the stone itself.

I also found a few references that indicated crows and other corvids like and often collect shiny objects like foil or jewelry.

But the most likely – and at the same time, the most intriguing – explanation might be that these were young crows playing with something they found, though why this particular pebble was chosen from the many underneath the birdbath I don’t know.

The species account in Birds of North America says, “Juveniles and sometimes yearlings play with objects on the ground – e.g., bones, twigs, leaves – carrying them around, occasionally having tugs of war.”*

A.C. Bent refers to an account of young crows raised as pets that notes, “During the day the crows devoted much of their time to collecting and hiding objects of various kinds. As they grew older, berries and other food were hidden with the definite object of using it later when hungry.”**

*N.A. Verbeek and C. Caffrey. 2002. American Crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.) Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

**Alfred Otto Gross, “American Crow,” in Arthur Cleveland Bent, Life Histories of North American Birds, 1947, Smithsonian Institution, United States National Museum Bulletin 191 (Part 2):226-257. From the online collection, birdsbybent.com, selected and edited by Patricia Query Newforth.

This morning, almost the same time as yesterday, two or three Mississippi Kites appeared again – and that’s how it seems. One minute the bright blue sky with big white clouds looks empty. The next, there are small dark birds with a slim, distinctive shape and way of flying. Two were soaring very high below the clouds, but the sunlight lit their round white heads and made their long gray wings – held out flat – gleam like pewter. Today they were not swooping up and down as they did yesterday, they were gliding in big, easy circles and climbing higher. After they passed out of sight to the southwest, another Mississippi Kite – or maybe one of the first two – flew back toward the northeast, still very high.

Mississippi Kites are often compared with Peregrine Falcons because they are raptors similar in size and shape – but the kites are much lighter birds, with more buoyant flight. They seem to me to belong to hot summer days. In temperament, they seem like southern birds, with southern ways – and artists in flight, expressive – telling stories in the air – and spellbinding to watch.