My favorite question, when I meet other birders, is to ask them about their favorite bird. I know it’s an annoying question, but I’m always so curious! It’s also a question that I myself hate answering, because the answer changes almost every day.
My spark bird — the one that started this whole obsession — is the ubiquitous red-winged blackbird, whose shrill call and scarlet epaulets still thrill me every time I see it fly. The bird is common and reminds me of the necessity of admiring even the most habitual birds.
Another bird I can’t help but worship is the Northern Flicker, mainly for its cacophonous plumage patterns; the bird is a living fashion statement. And then there are the warblers: I adore the black-and-white warbler best because it’s the first one I remember seeing, but I also love the hooded warbler for his daring balaclava look. In fact, I think I love all the warblers — even in the fall! — for their unexpected bursts of color. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a blackburnian warbler’s fiery orange neck or the palm warbler’s unexpected rufous crown or the Canada warbler’s slightly gaudy necklace that the bird wears with nothing but pride. And then there’s the unexpected classy look of the black-throated blue warbler, that dispels all fashion advice I had once heard about never wearing navy blue and black together; the black-throated blue assures me that there could not be more faulty advice! I love the prothonotary warbler mainly for its lemony yellow that lights up everything in its midst, but I won’t tell a lie: I also love the prothonotary because I live in Southern Ontario and the bird happens to be endangered and rare in these parts, and seeing the warbler is always AN OCCASION.
I’m slowly starting to see the wisdom in not having in a favorite. Or rather, in admitting that my favorite bird is the one I’m looking at. This weekend I spent a few hours birding with my husband at Ashbridges bay. Since it was just us, we didn’t hit double-digit warbler numbers, but the birds I saw and ID’d on my own thrilled me to no end. I couldn’t take my eyes off the gorgeous Cape May warbler, with its orange-chestnut cheeks and bright yellow breast — almost like a make-up job gone terribly awry — and here the getup spelled nothing but elegance. Next up was the Nashville warbler, which I usually find borderline dull, but yesterday I finally saw the red in its crown. And the Yellow-rumped warblers — common as they are this time of year — made me smile. My husband spotted the bird that turned out to be the Blackburnian and we watched it show off its shimmering colors for us. And even the drab-ish warbling vireo grabbed my attention, with its carefully etched white eye-stripe, and its insistent call.
There weren’t large numbers this weekend, but it didn’t matter. I’ll have time to see the other warblers. I think this migration season I’m going to take it a bit slower. After all, it’s all about the bird I’m looking at.