The Teens
Seventeen and excruciatingly clear. I’m finally going to see if my new winter gear, particularly the Arctic-rated boats, are up for it. I’m tired of feeling toasty except for my feet.
TR, the tannery raven, is all croaks and activity today at 7:08. I haven’t heard it make those crying honks in the last few days. Just croaks, departing left across my viewscape into town, to perch on the apartments for the elderly or some other vantage point, I suppose.
Seconds later, the familiar wing whistle of Mallards: a pair drops down out of sight into the Little Juniata. I haven’t seen much morning movement from this species recently, but perhaps freezing waterholes are shuffling them around.
The kids out of a nearby apartment find their beater’s windshield frozen and begin to rasp it with an inadequate scraper; after several minutes of effort, they’ve cleared enough to peer out of it, and off they go. From another apartment, the odor of cannabis creeps seeps out, mixing with the heavy detergent aroma from the laundromat.
Somehow, it’s both MLK Day and a school day, so traffic isn’t down much. The school bus comes and goes, and the first House Finch calls from overhead somewhere. It’s 7:22.
The first European Starling arrives two minutes later, wide circles and pipping, and over the next minutes, other singles and then pairs sneak into town and do the same. At 7:29, six American Robins have already arrived silently; I spot them perched in the tops of the tallest poplar at my 10, along Bald Eagle Creek. Long before the sun appears, they and a growing crowd of starlings perch there, and in various sycamores at my 1 and 2.
The Black-capped Chickadee goes off at 7:30 and the Tufted Titmouse sings at 7:32. Three American Crows go over rather than the normal lone individual. This feels like a real winter (except for the gray/brown everything) and my feet are still toasty.
Ten Rock Pigeons circle up and out. A sapsucker-like complaint from the trees along the river at 7:38 is from the Cooper’s Hawk: it doesn’t come out right away but keeps calling insistently. As the sun’s rays poke under the overpass, it flies up into the nearest willow to me, surveys the landscape a bit and is gone.
I haven’t seen our velociraptor go for starlings or robins, but they are certainly here in abundance today, in case the need arises. At one point, a flock crept up into a sycamore on my 3—I suddenly become aware of a group perched silently, facing east. The robins, in particular, are quite loud this morning, yelling and caroling from all over town, particularly up beyond the drive-in bank. One might think they gather to warm from the sun, as they seem to know what trees will get hit first. But they’re mostly lower down, feeding somewhere, when the sun does arrive.
The Downy Woodpecker calls at 7:43 and past 7:49, the Northern Cardinal, hidden as usual, is ticking vigorously. He’s still more than a month out from courtship, though.
I think I’ve finally gotten the right gear for cold weather. My toes, for once, are thankful. Now all we need is another snowstorm.
Later, the day warms close to 50. While doing the wash after 1 PM, we spot a Turkey Vulture circling over Bald Eagle Mountain to the right of the towers: the first of the year! Not only is it number 54 for the Plummer’s Hollow 200, but it’s the earliest ever for the year.