Collecting Birds

OK, I admit it. I’m a collector. Of things. But they are all special things. And many of them handcrafted. And most of them with a story to tell.

So, yes, I collect birds. No, not dead or dying birds. And certainly not living birds. Just . . . birds. My collection is actually quite small, and until today I hadn’t given it much thought, but it began a hundred years ago when I was a senior in college and my roommate and I hosted a student from Great Britain in our dorm room for a week.

I honestly cannot remember her name or too much about her. But I do remember that at the end of her stay she gave us each a bird.

And I remember she told us they were of the Tit species, which didn’t mean a whole lot at the time, but now that I see and hear Titmice on a regular basis, I have a better appreciation. This little bird has graced my desk for decades and the young woman’s name keeps flitting in and out of my mind, so maybe I’ll recall it by the time I finish writing. I now realize I haven’t thought about her in years, despite my fondness for the gift she bestowed upon me.

Another gift was the carving of a Chickadee, and I received this one about 35 years ago from a sweet little man named Carl and I only wish he’d lived long enough to know how much I still appreciate it.

Likewise with this Loon, crafted for us by my Godfather Russell because he knew My Guy and I love our encounters with these birds who symbolize Maine. And he loved to paint, among many other talents.

I also cherish these two ornaments that never made it to a Christmas tree because they pose instead from a vase of twigs in my study. The one on the left was created by Dr. Fred, a founder of the Maine Master Naturalist Program, and the Hummingbird was gifted to me by my friend Marita after she spent some time bicycling around Cuba last year.

And then there is the Token Owl. Token, because if one is leading an Owl Prowl and there is no guarantee of spotting an Owl, it always pays to pull such a stuffie out of one’s pack so that everyone can leave saying, “I saw an Owl.” Sometimes you just need to make things happen.

All of this leads me to what I realized today is becoming quite a collection: my paintings of birds.

Pileated Woodpecker in our back forty, which is actually only five more acres beyond the house. One of his favorite trees, however, is at the edge of our yard before the woods, where we’ve left several super tall dead snags and he uses them to mark his territory early in the morning, and later in the day as he taps away. Every day.

Tom Turkey strutting his stuff across the yard in hopes of wooing a hen. I can only assume he did though I never caught them in the act, but so large is the Turkey population round these parts.

A Common Loon in front of the dock at camp. I admit that like dragonflies, I can never take too many photographs of loons.

Great Blue Heron scoring a wee fish for a snack.

And another searching for another meal.

And still seeking more, its eyes always intent as it stalks its prey.

A Barred Owl near the vernal pool, thankfully when there was still ice on it about a month ago, but he’s in the area, so anything can happen.

Ah, but how I love to meet these critters, who unless they are calling, remain incredibly still and blend in with the scenery and I’m sure I pass by more than I actually spot.

Mr. Cardinal, and I’ve been waiting for him to pass sunflower seeds on to his Mrs. because I’ve seen him do it in the past and it’s such a lovely gesture.

The Mrs. waiting for a gift from her betrothed. To my knowledge, she’s still waiting. One of these days he’ll surprise both of us.

Mr. Bluebird, who also visits daily, as does his Mrs., and from the direction of their travel, I believe they are setting up housekeeping in a house my neighbor erected just for them.

One of the zillion Juncos my friend Kate sent up from Connecticut. They arrived the day she told me they were on their way. That was a few weeks ago. In a snowstorm the other day, we had quite a large flock, but I think most are continuing their journey north as now I only see a few at a time.

My first attempt at painting a Robin following instructions in a book.

And then trying to tweak the painting and turn it into an American Robin. I fooled SEEK, a free app developed by iNaturalist. It came right up with A. R.

SEEK also knew this to be a male Red-Winged Blackbird. What it didn’t know is that it was one I saw calling a few weeks ago when there didn’t seem to be any females around.

And finally, my new friend, who has actually been in the neighborhood for a long time, but we only recently spent a few minutes together the other morning: Sharp-shinned Hawk.

As I look out the window right now, besides this Goldfinch, the Bluebirds are both here, plus Robins, Juncos, Chickadees, Tree Sparrows, White-Breasted Nuthatches, and Mourning Doves. And actually, there are more Juncos than I expected.

That is the extent of my bird collection–at least for the moment. Thanks for stopping by to take a look.

The student from Britain: Jillian. It just came to me.

Cheap Seats

Setting: A backyard in western Maine on what some might consider a bleak spring day, e.g. a snowy April 8th.

(Cock-eyed bird feeders indicative of ground thawing—really)

Act I, Scene i: I must wonder when “In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.” This one, however, marched on, soon to leave, not once uttering, “Nevermore.”

Act II, Scene i: (enter stage left), And then said one Junco to another, “Junco, Junco, wherefore art thou Junco?” (exit center stage only when sliding snow falls from the roof and lands on the ground with a smack, thus startling all)

Act II, Scene ii: (enter stage right) Where there’s a Junco these days, so is there a Song Sparrow, its conical beak ever ready to crack open a seed. (exit stage left after chasing the Juncos around)

Act II, Scene iii: (enter stage left, right and center) Not to be left out of the gang, Black-capped Chickadees flew in and out at a much quicker pace, grasping a seed and taking it to a Lilac branch to break it open. (exit stage left and then fly in and out, over and over again.)

Act II, Scene iiii: (enter stage right) Making noise as he arrived, a Downy Woodpecker showed off his preference for suet over seed. (exit stage left, with undulating flight)

Intermission: All goes silent as the lights go up in the theatre and in flies a Barred Owl. (finally)

As often happens during Intermission, the owl looked about at the offering of treats. 

He checked the cupcakes and cookies on sale to the left. 

And then he turned his focus to the right, where the drinks were on tap. 

He even checked out the items below his feet, hoping upon hope to find a morsel to his liking.

Despite all the choices, or maybe because of them, he had to stretch out one leg . . . 

and scratch an itch. 

Eventually he changed his orientation to take a better look at the entire spread of food. 

But still, he couldn’t make up his mind and so he looked some more. 

And swiveled his neck around. 

By the time intermission ended, he hadn’t made up his mind and so he moved off without munching any of the specialty items. 

Act III Scene i: (enter stage left, right, and center) The large flock of Juncos flew in, flew out, and flew in again. (exit the same way came in, dispersing in every direction)

Act III, Scene ii: (enter stage left) From the shrubs we hear the song first and then Mr. Cardinal flies to the Lilac. (quickly exit stage right)

Act III, Scene iii: (enter stage left) Mrs. Cardinal arrives only after her guy has flown off. She shows her determination to dine on some morsels of corn.

Act III, Scene iv: (stay on stage, move to the right, then turn sharp left) Showing her determination, she lets nothing stop her. 

Act III, Scene v: (center stage) With a kernel of corn in her beak, she shows off her success. (exit stage right as she searches for her Mr.)

Act IV, Scene i: (enter stage left, right and center) A repeat performance of the Juncos and Song Sparrows (exit every which way when the snow once again flies off the roof)

Act V, Scene i: (enter stage right) With its own flash of color an American Robin pays a brief visit to the stage (exit stage left)

Act V, Scene ii: (enter stage left) With its breast not quite as vibrant, a Red-breasted Nuthatch ponders the possibilities. 

Act V, Scene iii: (center stage) And a decision was made, a morsel of suet consumed. (exit stage right)

Act V, Scene iv: (enter stage right) Waiting until almost the end of the performance, a pair of Tufted Titmice flew in, grabbed a quick bite, and flew off again in the direction from whence they’d come. (exit stage right)

Act VI, Scene i: (enter stage right) Outlasting his Junco relatives, the Song Sparrow continued to eat . . .

Act VI, Scene ii: (center stage) and eat evermore, whether a caged bird or not. (exit stage right)

Act VII, Scene i: (enter stage right) And then a Hermit Thrush sat upon the Quaking Aspen sapling to mark the final act.

Act VII, Scene ii: (center stage) Its upturned bill will soon provide us with the most beautiful, yet hauntingly exquisite song; clear, musical phrases will blend brilliantly as ethereal, harmonious tones. Spring really has arrived in western Maine. (exit stage left)

Grand Finale: (center stage) Spring arrives in its own rendition each year. And the Barred Owl watches.

We watched as well, thankful for the cheap seats that turned out to be the best seats.