Early mornings are like an avian highway out here in East San Diego County. We are lucky to be at the intersection of two major diverse bird populations: Those that inhabit the coastal environs to the West and others that make their home in the mountains and deserts to the East.
Hummingbirds are the first morning visitors. They are the smallest and feistiest of all birds. Like opposing magnets, they cannot stand to be in proximity to one another without battling for territory. And that territory includes our very popular bird bath and fountain, which is within view of our kitchen and reading room. They crave not only water to drink, but like also a morning dip. Yet due to their diminutive stature, Hummingbirds cannot afford to immerse themselves in the pool. Instead, they hover over the fountain and hang their body in the stream, dipping periodically to drag their lower extremities over the surface.
Several times, out of a desire to experience a different sound or appearance, I have changed the way the water flows in the fountain. And each time, for a few days after, they struggle to complete their morning ritual. But soon, they learn and find new ways to accomplish the task. They clearly possess the ability to adapt and innovate.
Fountain antics continue as the sun rises. Drops of gold begin falling in and around the water. as the gold finch and the yellow rumped warbler make their morning appearance. They too like to start the day with a fresh dip in the pool.
On most mornings, you'll find me sitting in the back yard with my coffee, only feet from the fountain observing them. For a moment they are taken aback by my presence, then quickly they surmise I'm probably not a threat and begin frolicking in the water. Though I couldn't catch them even if I wanted to, they remain tentative, frequently glancing in my direction as they bathe. This is the closest to trust as I can ever hope to achieve with these timid creatures.
The Towhee is also a frequent visitor and he, or she, usually comes with a friend or mate. They are the clowns that illicit my first laugh of the day. They're always in a hurry, as if they have a long list of yards to visit and find themselves far behind schedule. They hop and dance, run and flutter just above the ground. Sometimes going aloft for a few feet, then skidding back to the ground, with their little legs extended in braking mode.
Hawks like the Red Shouldered and the Cooper's Hawk also drop in, but much less often. They can usually be seen soaring above the yard during migration or mating times, or when they have young to feed. Their gorgeous plumages and piercing eyes are mesmerizing, made all more supernatural when considering the stealth by which they evade my gaze until just before an attack. They are experts at their craft. I have seen them catch small birds in mid-air, clasping their talons between an unlucky sparrow's wings and body, carrying them off with a silent, aerodynamic glide. I once awoke to one perched on a hay bale on my back slope, gorging himself on what I presumed was our one of our favorite avian residents. My suspicions were confirmed when our mockingbird's mellifluous melody was suddenly absent and remained so for the duration of that Spring.
But by far, my most evocative memory is that of a Roadrunner that appeared out of nowhere one Summer afternoon. He landed on a low wall just outside my window and proceeded to immediately run toward an unsuspecting lizard distracted while bathing in the warm sunlight. The poor reptile didn't have a chance. Before another second had passed, the predator had him in his beak. He began flailing the lizard wildly, up and down, using his neck as a sort of whip to increase the speed. He slammed the helpless victim onto the pavement several times until the life was literally thrashed out of him. Then, with one gulp, down the gullet he went. Lucky for me, the Roadrunner stayed for a time, exploring my patio, thereby allowing me amply opportunity to snap some surreptitious pictures.
Other perodic visitors include the Black Phoebe, who perches nervously on a top a thin branch, swaying in the wind as he anticipates his next plunge, which usually results in the catching of a tasty insect. Sparrows, Finches, Bluebirds. Orioles, Ravens and the beautiful and shy desert dweller, Phainopepla, (featured). His call sounds like someone whistling to get your attention. On more than one occasion, I've reflexively turned around expecting to discover an unexpected guest standing at my door, only to realize I was once again duped by this dark and secretive little visitor.
I've often speculated what it is about birds that makes them so universally loved. I've settled on several unique characteristics that endear them to us such that they have woven their presence into our art, literature and folk tales from the beginning of recorded history.
- They have the ability to appear and disappear without notice. The magic of flight allows them to easily breach natural and man-made barriers that deter or repel other creatures. As such, pagan communities in ancient days began relating their sudden presence to the foretelling of significant events in the lives of those that witnessed their arrival.
For an example: In India, the incessant cawing of a crow might portend a visitor. Upon receiving this foresight, a family would prepare extra food in anticipation of welcoming their guest. In early Hebrew writings, the Tree of Life bares all the souls that have ever or will ever exist and only the Sparrow can see the souls descending in the the flesh of Humanity. It is that joyous event that causes the sparrow to sing. But one day-as the myth details-the Tree of Life will have produced its last soul, after which birds will cease their song. This was described to be one of the 7 ominous signs of an impending Apocalypse.
Their appearance and disappearance corresponds with the changing of the seasons. Even in the midst of all our technology, we can still see ancient patterns playing out around us all the time. Spring brings new growth, flowers, pollination by birds, bees and butterflies. Summer hastens the ripening of fruit, which is subsequently gathered in preparation for fall wines, jams and pies. Fall and Winter too have their unique character, which may be more or less apparent, depending on the climate where you live. Birds respond to these seasonal signals, often migrating thousands of miles to warmer or colder climes in search of food and or optimal breeding habitat.
I can see and hear these patterns from my kitchen window. The appearance and the song of the White Crowned Sparrow signals the return of Fall. Hawks also appear in rare flocks overhead in response to Autumnal urges. The Bluebird and Oriole return for Summer nesting habitat. Their colorful plumage, a stark counterpoint to the reds and greens so prevalent in a summer garden.
The songbird lays down an audible tapestry which help to define a sense of place. One of my favorite activities when traveling is to listen for and attempt to identify the birds I find there. If their songs are substantially different from those I hear at home, I know I'll most likely be adding a new bird to my life list. I don't actually have a written account of all the birds I've seen over the years, but I make a mental note of the locale, the color, the shape and song of each new species. I find this to be a great way to recall my visceral experience of a place, adding an additional layer of complexity to its flavor. Much like experiencing a fine wine with all of it commensurate and unique nuances.
Bird Watcher or Nature Lover? Is there a difference?
Casual observers passing by a group of bird watchers (or birders, as they are often derisively called), may assume they are a group of nerds that have chosen to focus their propensity for detail and minutia on the poor birds, who just want to be left alone to behave as Nature intended. And there may be a grain of truth to this characterization. But there is much more that can be gleaned by noticing the birds that are almost always in your midst, regardless of where you live: They are the epitome and the expression of wildness in your own backyard; the conduits through which you can strengthen your connection to unseen forces that keep our planet and indeed all of creation running like a Swiss watch. The tides, cycles of weather, seasonal shifts, the blooming and recycling of plants, indeed the beating of your own heart are not unlike the observable patterns of birds, dancing on the rhythms of Nature, bringing beauty, serenity and as sense of wonder to our often busy and challenging lives.
-Shane Eric Mathias
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