The Big Yard: Birdwatching in a Time of Quarantine

Or: The Evolution of a Pajama Lister

A female Hooded Oriole at her nest.

Day 381 of the Pandemic (April 2, 2021) 

            Yesterday, the wife and I rolled up our sleeves for our second Covid shot.  In two weeks we will be fully vaccinated but today, and for the next couple of days, we rest.  Then, officially end our quarantine.  For now. Because the Pandemic may be with us for some time.  She runs a low-grade fever and complains of soreness in her arm.  I mope around in a fog in my PJs, which isn’t necessarily anything new.

It’s a good day to relax in the backyard and watch the Covid fountain. The air lays its warmth against our skin.  The apple trees push out leaves and the peach trees lavender blooms.  Hummingbirds, spiced with pollen the color of saffron, make blurs of themselves among the salvia.  

Anything can happen now.  Especially since the migration is underway when Mexico launches its birds north into the western US.  Hooded orioles, already paired and weaving their nests like hanging baskets, visit the orange halves and hummingbird feeders.  Lucy’s, Virginia’s, and Nashville warblers, together with a gorgeous painted redstart, drink from the fountain and bathe in the dark, duckweed-rimmed pool where seep monkeyflower sprawls over the rocks. Stunning male agave orioles announce their presence and affections to females with the bright, ethereal music of flutes.

A male Hooded Oriole, one of three species of orioles to arrive in the yard from Mexico by early April.

The Virginia’s Warbler, another spring migrant from southern Mexico, prefers oak woodlands for nesting, especially in the Chiricahua Mountains and along the Mogollon Rim.

Nashville Warblers pass through the yard in April, coming from Mexico on their way to breeding grounds in the Pacific Northwest and Canada.

Painted Redstarts arrive in the woodland mountains of southern and central Arizona from the Sierra Madre of Mexico beginning in March, males appearing 2-10 days before females to set up breeding territories.

The Scott’s Oriole, what I call the Agave Oriole, arrives at the yard from Mexico in March and begins nesting by April.

            It is the wisdom of birds and troubadours that lovers must be won with song.  What could be more romantic?  The wife tells me she’s finding leaves and twigs in our bed. “I don’t know why I buy white sheets,” she says.

            “I get up in the night and go outside to listen for owls,” I offer by way of explanation.

            “Maybe you should wear boots?  For the scorpions?”  She has visited the ER three times after severe reactions to bark scorpion venom, once requiring two vials of antivenin.  Goat serum.  Yes, it exists.

            “I would gladly crush a scorpion underfoot for you, even take the sting.”

            “I’m not sure about this plan of yours,” she says, using a tone of voice that articulates the opposite.  “Seems foolish.” 

            So much for romance.

The infamous bark scorpion, an unwelcome houseguest.

Fortunately, Elf Owls eat scorpions. They are welcome houseguests.

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