I noticed a tiny green caterpillar float by on a southerly breeze. He was hanging by a thread. Now, I thought, it is time for the birds to come.
The next day, a thunderstorm out of the south swept over us, ushering in warm air and our first big wave of long-distance migrants. When these masses of air and inclement weather intersect with a flowing river of migrating birds, the birds drop out of the sky. Birders call this a fallout. If you are out in nature the morning after a fallout, birds are everywhere you look.
This happened in our area on April 28. A great wave of birds settled into our community. I saw an Orchard Oriole at our birdfeeder at 6:30 a.m., and I knew it would be a good day. I immediately headed out to walk the trail in our local park. When I entered the woods, I heard common birds singing, but new voices were also in the mix. I stopped and listened. The songs of long-distance migrants filled the air. “Bee buzz,” said the Blue-winged Warbler. “Sweet Sweet Chew Chew,” called out the Indigo Bunting. “Three eight you lose,” chimed in the Yellow-throated Vireo. “Sweet sweet sweeter than sweet,” said the Yellow Warbler. “See me! Here I am! Over here!” beckoned the Red-eyed Vireo. “Drink your tea,” commanded the Eastern Towhee.
The energy level in the woods was thrilling; the more I listened, the more I heard. There were songs overlapping songs overlapping songs. I opened the Merlin app on my phone and hit Sound ID. My screen instantly filled up with birds. Within seconds I had a list of 15 species, all singing nearby. I paused, took a deep breath, listened, and let the sounds sink in. All those tiny voices put me at ease.
A new robin-like call caught my attention. I walked farther down the trail and got closer to the bird. I knew it was a thrush, but I was unsure which one until the beautiful flute-like “Eee Oh Lay” song of the Wood Thrush rose above all the other voices. Being immersed in this great wave of life, I thought, “Everything will be okay. Life will find a way.” There were so many birds! All winter, I walked these same trails and would see 12-20 bird species. That morning, I saw 61. A dazzling array of colors and sounds filled the air, the tree canopy, and my senses. The austerity of winter had vanished, brushed away by millions of wings. An exuberant spring had taken flight.
Spring called out to me. It seemed to come from high in the canopy. No, it was low in the shrubs. It was hard to locate. Maybe it was everywhere. I scanned with my binoculars. A group of Yellow-rumped Warblers were foraging nearby. But one of the birds in the group was more slender and brighter yellow.
I circled the tree to get a better view, and I realized the bright yellow bird was the source of the bee buzz song. It was a Blue-winged Warbler, busily plucking small green caterpillars off the elm leaves.
I was not the only one watching this uncommon warbler. A fallout of bird watchers had also dropped into the woods. We came together to revel in the abundance around us and to enjoy a special day when the park was alive with birds. In this situation, it is normal to not make eye contact with people. There is too much to look at. So we all raised our binoculars as we talked about birds, weather, and how lucky we were to be there.
And then someone’s phone buzzed. After checking the message, a fellow birder said, “An American Bittern is perched in a tree off the bridal path trail!” This was truly shocking, as American Bitterns had never been seen in this wooded, urban park. The only water is a small creek, most of which is paved with cement. The group consensus was that the storm had caused this rare bird to drop down into the park. We went to where it was last seen and scanned the treetops. We saw no sign of the bittern for the next 2 to 3 minutes, and then I noticed it circling overhead. Everyone caught glimpses of it after it landed in a nearby tree. More birders appeared out of nowhere, and before I knew it, a group of 10 of us were standing around reminiscing, telling bird stories, all of us at ease and in our element.
We eventually dispersed throughout the park, and my group found a flock of warblers foraging in an elm tree. These colorful birds spent 5 minutes foraging in the tree, and then one by one, they flew across an opening in the canopy, settled into a different elm tree, and repeated the same pattern of foraging.
There were Golden-winged Warblers, Blue-winged Warblers, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Tennessee Warblers, Orange-crowned Warblers, Northern Parula Warblers, and Baltimore Orioles. The birds were quickly probing twigs and leaves, looking for food. They found and swallowed a caterpillar every few seconds. The oriole was so busy feeding that he couldn’t take time to sing. Instead, he produced a series of short whistled notes in between plucking caterpillars off the bright green leaves.
My favorite part of this particular outing was after we had identified the birds in the Elm tree and settled into watching and appreciating them as they fluttered about. We all enjoyed just being there with them. I found this to be reassuring.
Just as Birds rely on the stars to know where they are, I rely on Birds to know where I am. If, when in their presence, I am not awe-struck by the wonder of our shared existence, it is because I am not truly there.
Chloe Hope
By this time, a common refrain rang out amongst the birders. “I really need to be going. Oh! Look at that Nashville warbler!” A few minutes later, “I really need to be going. Oh! Look at that Baltimore oriole!” And on and on it went. The need to head off into the world of work eventually got the upper hand, but not before we had many more beautiful moments with the birds.
When I got home, I was treated to one of the most beautiful sights of spring. The notorious RBG’s had taken over coveted perches on the perimeter of our platform bird feeders. Six Rose-breasted Grosbeaks were cracking seeds. Their bright red chests were shocking in their beauty. As if that were not enough, we also had two male Baltimore Orioles feeding on oranges just above the feeders, their plumage more orange than the oranges themselves.
I sat down in front of my computer, just inside a sliding glass door about ten feet away from our bird feeder. As I sat watching the grosbeaks and orioles, a Brown Thrasher flew in, landed below the feeder, and started eating seeds. I rarely get a chance to photograph Brown Thrashers as they are wary. I slowly swiveled my chair and took on the demeanor of a Great Blue Heron standing in a creek. I very slowly stood up, faced away from the thrasher, slowly lifted my camera off my desk, and began to inch across the four-foot opening over to where I could hide behind a wall and slowly open the window. The four-foot gap seemed like a mile. When I got to where I could turn and see if he was still there, I expected him to be gone. But there he was! So, I slid up behind the wall and slowly pushed the sliding door open about 2 inches and managed to capture images of this shy and elusive bird with brilliant yellow eyes.
The birds that we see are a tiny percentage of a vast wave of migrants that sweep over us spring and fall. If you go out into the night and listen for flight calls when movements like this occur, you can hear one bird per second calling as the great flocks pass over.
That is a lot of life that goes unnoticed. If most people miss the chance to connect with this remarkable phenomenon, then we should bring the birds to the people. Thanks to reader Sandy S., I recently learned about a Procession of the Species Celebration in Washington State. The event features people wearing homemade bird, insect, flower, and animal costumes. Parts of the parade happen at night, and the costumes are lit from within. I mentioned this to my wife, and she immediately responded with the idea that we should have an Ovenbird and Woodcock section for participants who want to strut. It is fun to think about - a parade combining nature, music, dancing, ritual, and community. All things we need to nurture.
Birds know us as “the people of the feet.” I am watched as I walk around and around my Green studio, a man of many beaten paths. Near me, a willow flycatcher arcs in its air dance to catch a grasshopper, a swift move that I compared to nothing whatsoever that I do. They own the air we breathe. I’ve studied the feet of the bridal titmouse for years, how they seem to be made of spiderwebs so precariously attached to perch or ground, Also the feet of the golden eagle which are death angels, and then the wings of all birds which on close inspection don’t seem possible. Most birds own the ancient clock of north and south, a clock that never had hands, the god–time with which the universe began. As the end draws near, I’ve taken to praying to be reincarnated as a bird, and if not worthy of that, a tree in which they live so I could cradle them as I did our daughters and grandsons. Three times last April down on the border, a dozen Chihuahuan ravens accompanied me on walks when I sang the right croaking song. I was finally within them. For the first time in my life, I dared to say aloud, “I am blessed.”
Jim Harrison, “Old Bird Boy” from In Search of Small Gods
I always learn something new from your posts. “Fall Out” is a new one to me. I shall now know what to watch out for. And I especially always love the bird pictures. It inspires me to want to invest in a decent camera just to get some good close ups of the birds at my feeders. The closest shot I ever got was when I was filling a feeder on a little 3-step ladder and a red breasted nut hatch just couldn’t wait. It swooped down before I could get off the little ladder and performed all sorts of antics as it was trying to pick out the “Just right seed”. I had my iPhone on me and was able to get some really close shots within less than two feet away. Other close shots have been when birds have occasionally “clocked” themselves flying into my window panes. I’ve been able to pick them up to make sure they are still alive and have gotten some good unintentional photo’s that way before they fly off. The RBG’s have started coming here the last couple days. Such colorful entertainment!
The joy and comaraderie of birders . I love how it all starts with a tiny green worm on an invisible thread . I walk every morning around a beautiful woodland path sharing the shoreline
of a quiet lake. Merlin App on. ‘Binos’ at the ready. I feel your excitement as your screen lit up with a new a Symphonic arrangement. Giddy. Swoon worthy.
And yes, magic. I love how you added the ‘human’ language version of birdsong. On ‘our’ little lake, there is a different kind of excitement. This lake is one of many selected for The Loon Conservation Project in Vermont. We’ve gone from just 7 pairs , 3 decades ago to over 90 and counting , breeding pairs. It takes a small community of volunteers . ‘Loon Watch ‘, nest platforms are carefully made and placed in a quiet bay, at just the right time of year. Signs put up to keep boaters out. A breeding pair arrived three days ago! Periodically circling the platform. Though the Geese and a Great Blue have climbed aboard to try it out for size. Those ‘in the know’ patiently wait to see a Loon sit on the nest. Off to the lake, ears and eyes wide open . And just maybe the Loons will have moved in.
And thank you for sharing Chloe Hope. Only Chloe can capture our own bird loving thoughts and gently form them to words that sing to our hearts.