You are no doubt wondering how I’m faring in the company of my new chicken painting, and the answer is absolutely splendidly. The chicken has brightened up my days — and you’ll be happy to know that she finds herself propped up next to a rather fierce print of a hawk by Sarah Kinsella Waite, another favorite artist from Vermont, so though chickens rarely flourish in isolation, mine is well taken care of; as long as the hawk doesn’t viciously attack and abscond with said chicken in his talons — as hawks are wont to do without notice — the two will happily coexist on my desk for years and years to come.
So, chickens aside, this weekend yielded some non-negligible birding thrills. The first was a full frontal view of a SORA — I kid you not. Beloved non-birder readers among you (and let it be known that I welcome and adore all types of readers, whether you’re birdy, non-birdy, or simply a really kindhearted relative of mine), seeing a Sora happens rarely. I’ve heard the call of a sora at least a half dozen times, but these creatures hang out in the reeds and cattails and camouflage perfectly with their surroundings. Imagine my total shock and awe when I finally saw a Sora and realized that it looks very much like a miniature chicken!
And as if seeing the Sora wasn’t enough to make me jump for joy, a VIRGINIA RAIL also leapt out of the cattails and into my field of vision! Two lifers within twenty seconds of each other! And would you believe that all of this took place just north-west of Stratford, in wetlands just outside Mitchell, while we were serenaded by the call of a BELTED KINGFISHER, which I could correctly ID (thanks, Larkwire)?
The whole thing was a bit much and I had to sit down for a while. And then we were on our way to some other wetland somewhere near aforementioned wetland (pardon the geographical ineptitude here; I passed out from the sora/virginia rail overstimulation and napped while we drove from wetland to wetland). As if the day weren’t already a banner day, I then saw a Wilson’s snipe (alas, I could only identify it as “OMG YOU GUYS THERE’S A FAT SHOREBIRD OUT THERE WITH THE LONGEST BILL EVER” — I do aim to be more eloquent and scientific than that, but sometimes that’s all I’ve got in me). And it turned out to be a Wilson’s snipe, and as far as I was concerned, I had just landed in heaven.
You see, this year I was robbed of the American Woodcock. Didn’t see a single one, though I did accidentally flush two of them at the banding station, but I tend not to count fly-by’s, and besides a woodcock has to be seen up-close-and personal to fully appreciate the spectacular accident of nature in all its glory. What other bird pouts so evocatively with eyes firmly planted WAY TOO HIGH on its head? I love the American woodcock. Anyhow, the Wilson’s snipe is a fantastic consolation prize for not getting a woodcock.
The following day, I stayed local and birded in High Park with the lovely folks at the TOC and we had warblers galore! Well, perhaps not galore, but enough to keep me happy: Wilson’s, northern parula, black-and-white, yellow-rumped, magnolia, American redstart, northern waterthrush, and I know I’m forgetting a few.
Beloved birders, I have a confession to make. There are days when I wonder why I keep this blog, what the purpose of it is, whether anybody out there is reading. But then every time I write a post I relive a birding adventure and it makes me inordinately happy. So perhaps that’s the only answer I can give: I keep this blog going for myself. To recap and relive.