I think it was last August when I wrote about it, that dearth of songbirds that had come to my world. In particular, I mentioned that I had noticed how the Western meadowlark was absent, and how lonely the sagebrush grasslands seemed without his song. My best friend, Stephanie, recalled the Western meadowlark from her childhood in Cody, Wyoming. Now, of course, Stephanie is in an urban area in Utah and wouldn't have noticed the absence of meadowlarks so much. But to hear that they weren't even here, in the heart of the sagebrush-covered West, disturbed her as it did me.
This year a hint of spring came early. Way back in March we had warm weather--above average, they said. But that was only a teaser, for little did we know what was coming. Between a cold, wet April and the coldest recorded May on record for Pocatello, this has been a remarkable spring, remarkable for its dreariness. But out of it all a Phoenix arose, so to speak. Out of the figurative ashes of the cold and the wetness of our Idaho spring, came all kinds of songbirds I hadn't seen on my property before: goldfinches, western tanagers, evening grosbeaks. In fact, two grosbeaks greeted my wife one morning about thirty seconds before I pulled into the driveway when they ran headfirst into my new picture window. I went to pick up the male and found the female sitting there beside him, stunned. Being the bird lover I am, I put the female in the pocket of my coat with only her head protruding and held the male in my hand as I called my mom to tell her about this remarkable experience, most importantly, the appearance of the long-absent grosbeaks. Well, as you might guess, the male got his strength back and flew out of my hand, and the female took strength from her mate's revival and took wing out of my pocket. So I no longer had "two birds in the hand," but unfortunately two birds in the house! After both birds managed to once again knock themselves senseless from INSIDE the house, I had the foresight this time to take them both outside, where in short order they revived and flew away.
But back to the songbirds. For some reason they are back. I never dreamed I would see the incredible black, red and yellow plumage of the beautiful western tanager in my yard, but there they were. And the goldfinches--both birds whose absence I had mourned. Yet above all, there in the sagebrush meadow behind my house, piped the song of the meadowlark. Filling out their bright yellow chests, with the black chevron pinned so boldly across it, they let their melodies fill the air. They are back, and I am soaking in the beauty of their song. I guess it is last year's absence that makes this year's music sound so sweet, and I suppose that's how life always is. You have to have the sadness to know the joy.
All I care about when I walk into my forest is this knowledge: The meadowlark has returned.
This year a hint of spring came early. Way back in March we had warm weather--above average, they said. But that was only a teaser, for little did we know what was coming. Between a cold, wet April and the coldest recorded May on record for Pocatello, this has been a remarkable spring, remarkable for its dreariness. But out of it all a Phoenix arose, so to speak. Out of the figurative ashes of the cold and the wetness of our Idaho spring, came all kinds of songbirds I hadn't seen on my property before: goldfinches, western tanagers, evening grosbeaks. In fact, two grosbeaks greeted my wife one morning about thirty seconds before I pulled into the driveway when they ran headfirst into my new picture window. I went to pick up the male and found the female sitting there beside him, stunned. Being the bird lover I am, I put the female in the pocket of my coat with only her head protruding and held the male in my hand as I called my mom to tell her about this remarkable experience, most importantly, the appearance of the long-absent grosbeaks. Well, as you might guess, the male got his strength back and flew out of my hand, and the female took strength from her mate's revival and took wing out of my pocket. So I no longer had "two birds in the hand," but unfortunately two birds in the house! After both birds managed to once again knock themselves senseless from INSIDE the house, I had the foresight this time to take them both outside, where in short order they revived and flew away.
But back to the songbirds. For some reason they are back. I never dreamed I would see the incredible black, red and yellow plumage of the beautiful western tanager in my yard, but there they were. And the goldfinches--both birds whose absence I had mourned. Yet above all, there in the sagebrush meadow behind my house, piped the song of the meadowlark. Filling out their bright yellow chests, with the black chevron pinned so boldly across it, they let their melodies fill the air. They are back, and I am soaking in the beauty of their song. I guess it is last year's absence that makes this year's music sound so sweet, and I suppose that's how life always is. You have to have the sadness to know the joy.
All I care about when I walk into my forest is this knowledge: The meadowlark has returned.
Dear Kirby,
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad the birds are back! We have had more tanagers, etc. around here than before, too. Maybe it was all the rain that brought them in? Who knows how it all works, but thank Heaven for the little birds. They and the other wild things make life worth living.
Love,
Marq