The night skies are nearly silent now, except for the occasional cries of Tundra Swans around 9 and 10 PM. The calls of the last of the regular migrants from the north, the American Tree Sparrow, are scattered across the hours of silence, along with occasional NFCs from what could be either Song or Fox sparrows.
Thursday
Today, I’m doing a dawn sit above the barn. The sky is clear, as it’s been for days, and the temperature is a bit above freezing. The thick, dead goldenrod jungles of First Field are now the preferred sleeping place for untold numbers of sparrows and other small birds. At 6:23 AM, White-throated Sparrows start calling, then singing, followed by Dark-eyed Juncos, Song Sparrows, Winter Wrens, and Fox Sparrows, all before the half hour.
At 6:31 an American Robin exclaims loudly, then Northern Cardinals and Carolina Wrens, followed by a distant Eastern Towhee—by this time, the last few towhees are mostly restricted to the barberry thickets beyond the northern corner of the field.
A slightly warm breeze, and a pair of Carolina Wrens start their antiphony, one down-trilling and the other teakettle-ing, along the barn wall and possibly inside the building.
By 6:50 AM, the dawn chorus exhausted, it’s dead silent again. This lasts a few minutes until the American Crows arrive, cawing along Laurel Ridge, hunting, perhaps, for deer carrion. Then, Song Sparrows begin to sing more decisively, and American Goldfinches, along with a few Pine Siskins, start bouncing across the sky.
Just after the hour, some 40 Rock Pigeons streak low over the barn, straight from Grazierville, nonstop to Sinking Valley. A Tufted Titmouse, the most faithful of feeder birds, begins to scold something, and the local Northern Flicker cries. At 7:08, a lone House Finch calls as it arcs over the mountain from northwest to southeast.
At 7:11 AM, the sun hits Sapsucker Ridge, now nearly devoid of leaves. More crows go over. Nine American Goldfinches show up and settle into the black walnuts, where they join a growing crowd of White-breasted Nuthatches, titmice, Black-capped Chickadees, juncos, White-throated Sparrows, woodpeckers, and an Eastern Bluebird. Mom’s feeders aren’t really a hub of activity yet, but the yard and surrounding field have already become the most popular location for birds in the entire hotspot. Finally, at 7:19, one of the local Red-bellied Woodpeckers joins in the second chorus.
Friday
Another mostly clear day, again around freezing. A quick hike to the pond yields only two pairs of Mallards swimming in the unfrozen duckweed scum of the west end. As usual, Winter and Carolina wrens are calling and singing, as a Golden-crowned Kinglet seems to follow me along hundreds of yards of track from perches high along Sapsucker Ridge. I suppose it’s more likely that a fair number of kinglets are about.
Something, probably corvids, has eaten out the eyeballs of the button buck; I’ll spare you the visuals. It or they have also been busy ripping viscera out of the rump, the beginning of the months-long process of reducing the body to bare bones.
When I’m almost back to the gate, the crows arrive in the distance and settle in the trees around the body. Some six or eight flutter down for breakfast.
The Waterfowl Fallout That Wasn’t
The downpours start Friday afternoon and continue into the night. At 5:19 AM, a Greater Yellowlegs flies over the field, giving its three-note call just once. Around 6, Dave and Mom head down the Hollow and are stopped short by a nest of downed trees; Dave chainsaws them out and then we swap cars and I drive everyone to a memorial service in Ohio for the day. It’s night by the time we return.
The water surfaces of the region were covered by waterfowl this morning, I find out later. Bufflehead and other species came down by the hundreds, and rarer finds turned up as well. I’m still on the hunt for Redhead and scaup, but by the time I can do an inspection of the river and pond on Sunday morning, there’s nothing left—just three Mallards. Near the pond, I hear a couple Purple Finches singing—they’ve been a bit scarce this year as the goldfinches and siskins steal the show. Golden-crowned Kinglets are even more tame and more common this morning.
When I go up to the garage to get the NFCs, the field seems to be flush with a new fallout of sparrows. In the little time I have, I’m please to finally see the season’s first American Tree Sparrow, and a bit later, I hear it sing, along with the ever-improving tunes of Song Sparrows.