Birding While I Lunch

I took my lunch outside the other day. The temperatures were more summerlike for the first of May.

I enjoy sitting in the sun for short periods, absorbing the free vitamin D and the natural springtime circus performing around me. Nature sprinkles my light fare with seasonings no human can buy or sell.

I sat on the cultured stone patio in my late mother-in-law’s red and white painted metal rocking chair. A light wind played with my napkin until my cell phone secured it.

I enjoyed the Swiss cheese and crackers and the birds flitting back and forth, singing their luxurious songs until the bully common grackles chased them away.

That gave me an idea. I opened an app on my phone that records birdsong. Soon, I discovered more birds in the immediate area than I realized. My old ears, with their diminished hearing, could not detect them.

The “flying cigars” called Chimney Swifts chitter-chatter high overhead, zooming in wide arching loops, capturing as many insects as possible. The dark, stubby birds that flap their wings faster than the eye can see were hungrier than me.

A clutch of American Goldfinches landed on the thistle sock hung in the tulip poplar tree, its greenish flowers just now blooming. Unfortunately, the grackles heard their gregarious interaction and quickly chased them away.

My app told me a Yellow Warbler was nearby, but I neither heard nor saw it. It might have been a flyover going farther north than Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.

The ubiquitous House Sparrows jabbered atop the bluebird house attached to an old metal fence stake my congenial father-in-law gave me years ago. I made a mental note to check the box to see if the sparrows had built a nest.

Mourning Doves cooed from the neighbor’s rooftop while I finished my potato salad. Though their song is monotonous, I found it pleasantly reassuring.

American Robins bobbed in the grass, searching for their own lunches. Soon, one chased another to the neighbor’s.

A pair of Northern Cardinals zipped from the Colorado blue spruce along our back property line to the fountain-fed birdbath by the screened-in back porch. Birds get thirsty, too.

For the first time since last fall, I detected a familiar chorus. The Gray Catbird’s liquid warbling gave it away. Its feline mimicking completed the hearty song. The variegated sound proved as joyous as the catbird’s return.

A Carolina Wren and a recently returned House Wren each called from opposite corners of the property. The Carolina adjusted its vocalization according to need while the house wren’s noisy melody beckoned a mate.

I washed down the last bit of ham salad and crackers with sweet tea, the only kind to drink in Virginia. As I reentered our home, the resident Song Sparrow skittered low along the ground and disappeared beneath my wife’s peonies.

That was all the dessert I needed.

© Bruce Stambaugh 2024