I’ve never seen a yellow-bellied sapsucker other than in a photo . Same with the well camouflaged brown creeper.
These are both birds I’d have a good chance of seeing here in this part of Pennsylvania. But in all the hours I’ve spent birding, walking in the woods and scanning the trees in our backyard, these two species still elude me.
So they remain high on my wish list. Every day that I can grab a few hours to be with the birds, I watch for them. Will today be the day I see them?
A couple of weeks ago, on a warm early spring day, I got to spend several hours outside by the fire, watching the bird life here. It was a beautiful day, but unremarkable from a birding standpoint. I saw the same cast of characters: the woodpeckers, the house finches, the tufted titmice, the song sparrows, the white breasted nuthatches. The ordinary birds who live here year-round.
I ended the day kind of disappointed because there was no “big find.” No early spring migrating warbler or kinglet pausing in the apple tree on the way to their breeding grounds. No first-of-year brown thrasher with its repertoire of 40+ songs.
I hung out with that feeling of disappointment for a bit and discovered something.
There are no ordinary birds.
These are native birds who live here all of their lives, and the more time I spend with them, the more beautiful they become to me.
The blue jay is known more for its loud mouth and bratty behavior at feeders than for its beauty. But I capture their image a lot because they wear my favorite color in so many of its muted and bold shades.
Black-capped chickadees have to consume over half their weight in seeds and other food each day in order to survive frigid winters. That's probably why they're the first to appear at any new feeder station. It's hard to capture their eyes in their black caps. When I'm able to, it makes me happy.
I've been lucky to live in places where there are an abundance of northern cardinals. I never tire of them. I love them more the longer I watch them. Recently Jimmy built me a photo blind of brush and branches. Last week I captured this image of a male cardinal in late afternoon light. It was the first time I've ever seen into a cardinal's eye.
Northern cardinals are famous for mate feeding in the spring. I didn't know that house finches also mate feed until one cold afternoon in March this year. I watched this pair as he gently fed his mate, making sure she has what she needs for breeding season. In late May or early June, they'll be feeding their young in the same way, which is a joy to watch.
The tufted titmouse gets me through the winters here. It's a busy, friendly little bird that never met a nut it didn't like. I love its attitude, its songs that mimic that of the cardinal and its willingness to pose for me. They'll become a little scarce once breeding begins, focusing on raising their young.
I'm cheating on this next bird but it's because they're my favorite. White-throated sparrows are non-breeding residents here. They will migrate to Canada soon to breed. But they are with us for most of three seasons. This year, I learned that they have two color morphs: the white morph, shown in the first photo and the tan morph, as seen in the second photo. I love everything about this bird, including the way its slightly mournful song rises out of the trees in the morning. I whisper to them all the time, "You're so beautiful." I wish they could hear me and understand what I'm saying.
The song sparrow is one of the most common sparrows in the country. and a sure sign of spring when they begin to sing. They're easily overlooked because they tend to hang out in or near brush, foraging for seeds and insects. No two are alike. I'm fascinated by their streaky markings and subtle color variations.
Everywhere I look, there is astounding beauty in our non-migrating birds. Beauty that pops up, swoops in, and is found in tender moments among the leaves of our apple trees. Like this next moment that I will never forget--a downy woodpecker feeding her little boy who had recently fledged.
It’s a powerful thing to realize I have nothing to be disappointed about, only a multitude of blessings waiting outside the window for me.
Birding has taught me so many things about avian behavior and survival and how to be a responsible steward and landlord for these creatures I love so much.
It has also taught me something far more important: how to be truly still and how to look deeply into the world around me. When I can do that, I am constantly amazed at what I see that I would never have seen before.
I started birding in my late 50’s. I’m 61, and I am more observant, aware of and sensitive to the movements of birds than I’ve been in my whole life. That makes me happy.
When you’re new to birding, you like to keep a checklist of the species you’ve identified. That’s fun. But birding is about so much more than that. It’s about seeing the extraordinary beauty in the world around you and developing a love for its inhabitants.
If I approach birding always looking for “the next big find,” I’m missing the richness and the peace that’s right there around me. I learned years ago that anticipatory living—not being happy unless you are always looking forward to something—was kind of unsatisfactory and sad. Because that “something” was never quite as good as I had imagined it to be. And I had glossed over real life while I kept looking over the horizon. The moments of love and loveliness. The struggle that paid off. The invitations to friendship that I missed and didn’t develop.
There are no ordinary birds. And there are no ordinary days. We are literally tripping over beauty every single day of our lives. If we become still enough and look deeply enough, we will see it. For me, that’s where happiness resides.
Someday I will come upon a yellow-bellied sapsucker hammering around the circumference of a tulip tree. Someday I’ll see a slight movement on an oak tree and there will be that brown creeper I’ve longed to see. Those days will come. Until then, I will open the door and my heart to the birds that are here now, pausing between bites of seed in the late afternoon light, donning their breeding colors, caring for their young, And I’ll let my heart fill with gratitude for every ordinary, stunningly beautiful moment.
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