Twined into the soft brown fur of the two small dogs, whom I call “the girls,” we sit on the back porch, the three of us nestled into a velvet Victorian couch, once maroon and now pink, which my son and husband brought home tied to the roof of the car. They had found it on a “FREE” pile near the United Church of Strafford rummage sale.
Most days, the girls and I oversee, from our velvet perch, the fast-flowing Ompompanoosuc River, a groundhog with her two pups, a doe and her speckled fawns, and a blessing of singing, mating, nest-building and parenting songbirds. Today, as the rain begins to fall softly and distant thunder growls, a red-eyed vireo repeats the same song over and over. “Look at me. Here I am. In the tree. Can’t you see?”
A dear friend, Sharma, once gave my husband, Carl, a small statue of the elephant-headed Hindu deity, Ganesha, who is, among other things, a remover of obstacles and a god of new beginnings. Sharma may have been offering hope to his friend, who worried so deeply about others. I have been thinking about Ganesha lately and have decided to bring the elephant-god down from his home on an overloaded shelf of tchotchkes and out to the porch.
The year 2020 began with abrupt changes — a novel virus that changed the social dynamic of humans in an instant, and a collective, global scream demanding changes to our cultural, racial dynamic after the killing of yet another black human. Staying at home allowed many of us to clean the house, plant gardens and see our kids in ways that, when off at work every day, we could not. Might Ganesha be offering opportunities for growth?
One of my new beginnings is learning a new language — the language of birdsong. A few decades ago, my hearing began to fade from childhood ear infections. I was a kid and now an adult who could not stay out of the water. So, birding became more visual — fast or slow wing beats, undulating or direct flight pattern, body shape and color, tail length. Now I am like a child learning to recognize and remember subtle sound patterns.
Hearing aids are hard to get used to. High-frequency sounds can be harsh, yet the trade-off to be able to bird by sound again is worth it.
Many songbirds in my backyard fall into three auditory categories: the sweet-sweet birds, the non-melodic birds, and the robin sound-a-likes. The sweet-sweet birds all start their songs with “sweet-sweet-sweet.” It is what they do after that distinguishes them.
The chestnut sided warbler ends it with “CHOU” (please-please-please to meet YOU). The indigo bunting ends with a long raspy buzz. The yellow warbler adds, “I’m so sweet” to the refrain, or “pantalon vite” in Quebec. The red and black splotchy American redstart just stays with a screechy “sweet-sweet-sweet” or “sweeta-sweeta-sweeta.”
A couple of fearless, prolific nesters around here are the house wren and common yellowthroat. They fall into what I call the non-melodic group — the house wren sings a long, buzzy warble and the common yellowthroat calls, “witchity-witchity-witchity-witch.” What they lack in song, they make up for in personality.
Dawn chorus begins with a plaintive cry of the robin, so ubiquitous that we may not even hear it anymore.
Robin-like songs all share similar phrasing. The rose-breasted grosbeak sings like a robin on a particularly good day, singing with a clear and strong-voice, even adding a few extra trills. However, if you hear a robin who seems to have been smoking cigarettes, you may be hearing the beautiful scarlet tanager with his raspy voice.
Most yards will have a robin-sounding bird who repeats the same phrases over and over and just will not stop. That is the red-eyed vireo singing, “here I am, in the tree, look at me.” The gray catbird, in the mimid family, could be a robin channeling a cat or a mockingbird. The icterids — the Baltimore oriole, the bobolink, the red-winged blackbird, grackles and starlings — could be called robin-like, yet they sing so strongly and beautifully, they are unmistakable.
There are many apps for your phone that help with birdsong identification, The Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s All About Birds has a review of the best phone apps for different users. I use my phone app every day, especially in the spring, when I seem to have forgotten everything.
Thank you, Ganesha, for removing an obstacle and giving me a new beginning. May we keep our eyes wide open, use our ears as best we can, and be willing to grow during this time of many obstacles.
Micki Colbeck, of Strafford, is an artist, a conservation biologist and a member of the Strafford Conservation Commission. Write to her at mjcolbeck@gmail.com.