January 29: Cedar Waxwing

Waxwing calling

as I enter the hair salon.

Not everything's frozen.

January 25: Duck wing

We were gathered at the window observing robins and waxwings foraging in the berry bushes down by the river, excited to see signs of life and color on this bone-chillingly cold day. Groups of black ducks flew upriver as we watched, moving quickly in small flocks of four or five--dark ducks with pale wing linings. We kept expecting to see an eagle at some point following behind--the reason for their flight--but we never did. I happened to be following one duck with my binoculars when the light caught the speculum--that patch of color--on its wing: such an indescribable, vivid blue-green. A millisecond later the color disappeared with a wingbeat as the duck flew on.

Fast-flying duck flashes
a breath-taking green.
Don't get attached to things.

June 14: Peonies

What better way to enjoy a summer evening after work than to have a drink with a friend on the outside deck at the Waterfront Restaurant, watching the sailboats cruising in for the evening while ospreys cry overhead? And later, back home, it's still light enough to stay outside a little longer to watch a gregarious flock of waxwings fly-catching in an oak tree, and pick the huge, fragrant peonies that had collapsed onto the lawn under their own weight.

Something of the sun
lingers now inside the house--
peony perfume.

March 18: Into the woods

With temperatures in the 70s, a hike was in order. And apparently it was in order for everyone else in town, too, because my first choice for a hike--Bald Mountain--was over-booked, with cars spilling out of the parking lot and up the street. So I headed to one of the Ragged Mountain trailheads and happily found myself alone there. Well, with no human company, anyway, unless you count the guys training their bird dogs in a nearby field down the road.

I brought binoculars because with weird warm weather like this, I didn't know what new spring arrival I might come across. I was hoping for a phoebe or perhaps a fox sparrow. Instead, the first bird I saw was a Bohemian waxwing--a boreal breeder that often strays southward during the winter months. A small flock of seven birds hung out in the treetops near the parking area. As with the snowy owl I saw on Friday, they've been observed by many birders this winter. I just hadn't managed to come across any until today. I'm really pushing the envelope with my winter bird sightings this year. It made me feel that I was diverted to the other trail for this good reason alone: to appreciate the beauty of these winter visitors and enjoy their soft trills, even as I could also hear a brown creeper singing his sweet, clear spring song and a pileated woodpecker calling loudly from deep in the woods.

A red-tailed hawk soared over the parking area as I set off up the trail, probably one of the resident birds I see every time I come to this part of the mountain. I enjoyed a mellow walk through the awakening woods, relishing the almost-sensuous sunlight, the soft flapping of last year's clinging beech leaves, the clear, unfrozen stream, and a sense of peace among trees slowly stirring back to life. The occasional bird sang from amid still-bare branches, and I sometimes lost the path in my distraction, wandering here and there amid stands of slender trunks shining in the sunlight until I found another blue blaze.

Hiking down the trail--
everything looks different
than when I went up.

August 30: Mountain Ash

Lately I've been noticing mountain ash trees, both wild and ornamental, as their clusters of berries have reddened (or orange-ed) and become more obvious. Not only are mountain ash--or rowan--trees attractive, but their berries  are a big source of food for wintering birds. When I see a tree full of rowan fruits, I see a stash of future bird food just waiting for that hungry flock of waxwings or robins to descend.

A few of our neighbors have mountain ash trees in their yard. In Celtic folklore, rowan trees carry protective powers, a good thing to have at the entrance of your home. Native Americans also put the tree, which is not related to the "regular" ash tree, to good use for medicinal purposes--the berries are apparently purgative and help ease digestive tract disorders, among other things. But don't eat them unless you know what you're doing. Or unless you're a bird.

Before the leaves turn,
orange rowan fruits ripen,
ready for winter.

March 5: Signs of Spring?

This time of year has its dismal moments--cold rain falling on ten-foot high piles of dirty snow, mountain shrouded in mist, foghorn lowing, everything looking rather bleak and blah. Perhaps that's why any little sign that spring is on its way seems so exciting. Last week my husband and I were unduly thrilled to see a turkey vulture soaring over I-95 in New Hampshire, the earliest we've ever seen a vulture in our neck of the woods. This morning while at the YMCA, I noticed out the window, against the backdrop of the town transfer station, budding pussy willows.

View-blocking mounds of snow still fill our yard, however. And on our way back home from the Y we observed a small flock of Bohemian waxwings--a boreal bird we only see here in winter--feeding in an apple tree. But then when we pulled into our driveway, we were greeted by a cacophony of singing birds: a pair of cardinals, goldfinches, house finches, titmice, chickadees... The days lengthen and they respond, regardless of the snow-encrusted landscape.

Above heaps of snow,
pussy willows waken me
from winter's long dream.

February 26: Owl in the Sun

Everyone's been seeing owls this winter. My husband and I saw a barred owl on the Christmas Bird Count, and several others were spotted that day. A friend regularly sees a barred owl on Beech Hill in Rockport. A co-worker in Appleton has seen three different owls in the past month. His partner saw at least two barred owls while she was just driving around running errands in Camden the other day. Bird rehab clinics in Maine are reporting record numbers of owls being brought in, mostly year-old barred owls that have been hit by cars. Must have been a bumper crop of owls last year.

After looking carefully during several long drives, I thought my own sightings this season were going to be limited to the one in December. But today my husband and I discovered a barred owl in the most unexpected place. We were leaving the YMCA in Camden after our morning workout when I heard Bohemian waxwings calling. So I stood around in the parking lot for a while (long enough for two different people to drive by and ask me what I was looking at) until I spotted a couple of these beautiful birds in a big spruce tree. I was happy. I'd heard and seen several flocks this winter, but nothing up close. But the morning got even better, because as we were driving out of the parking lot, there was the barred owl, eyes closed, roosting on a branch in the full sun. We paused for a moment to admire it, smiling at each other with shared joy. It's always cool to see an owl. Especially when you least expect to.

Even this owl must
enjoy feeling sunlight's warmth
after so much snow.

June 8: Waxwings

Even over the sounds of my washing machine, the neighbor's lawnmower, the Red Sox game on t.v., and the crunching in my mouth of a handful of Annie's Organic Snack Mix Bunnies (my new favorite junk food!), I can hear the high-pitched lisping calls of a small flock of waxwings somewhere in the vicinity of my front yard. This time of year cedar waxwings are primarily flycatchers, switching from an off-season diet heavy in berries and fruits to insects. Birds need protein too. And here along the river, we've got plenty of flies. So thankfully, we're graced by the presence of these beautiful birds. It (almost) makes up for all these damn flies.

Yesterday evening I could hear waxwings while I was gardening, but try as I might, I couldn't see them as they moved in the shadows of the leaves. I was reminded of the resonant final lines of Elizabeth Bishop's poem "Brazil, January 1, 1502," in which she describes Portuguese soldiers chasing through the jungle "those maddening little women who kept calling, / calling to each other (or had the birds waked up?) / and retreating, always retreating, behind it." I like to think of the waxwings flitting and whispering behind the green tapestry of leaves as feathered natives teasing me from the jungle of my yard. Unlike the conquistadors, I don't want to catch them. I just enjoy knowing they're there, hearing their gentle calls as they glean their dinner.

Soft voices in trees--
flitting, gregarious birds.
It's a lawn party!

May 30: Waxwing Love

We hit the Monhegan trails early this morning, drawn by anticipation of what might await us. This is my favorite time of day out here, as the sun rises over the Meadow to illuminate the corridor of blooming lilacs along the dirt road into the heart of the village. To the left is the harbor and Manana; to the right, past the old yellow house and above the Meadow, the lighthouse. Blackbirds flash their red epaulettes as they chatter and dive in the reeds of the marsh, and with any luck, small songbirds crawl through the greenery of lilacs and apple trees. Drenched in early light enriched by the vivid colors of flowers and the alluring warbles of birds, the morning lay before us full of promise.

Our first bird sighting, besides a mixed flock of grackles, starlings, and mallards eating bird seed in Tom Martin's yard, was just past the market, above a tangle of lobster traps, pallets, and colorful ropes. A pair of cedar waxwings, obviously a couple, sat perched side by side on a lilac branch. As we watched them, they passed a red berry from bill to bill several times. Then one flew down to grab a new berry, and they shared that one back and forth for a while. Waxwings are one of my favorite birds, in part because they're so beautiful--sleek brown with yellow bellies, a black mask, a crest, and red on the tips of their wing feathers like sealing wax (hence the name). But also because they're gentle, gregarious birds. You never see just one. Out here, even as some of them are obviously establishing pair bonds with these sweet, berry-passing rituals, flocks of a dozen to a hundred waxwings will sweep overhead with a rush of soft sounds and then land in a spruce tree all together like one big happy family. It's hard not to love them.

So no matter what the day ahead brings in the way of bird life, the joy we found at its start, with the two courting waxwings, will resonate throughout.

A berry shared, two,
gently passed from bill to bill
with such tenderness.