The Big Yard: Notes from a Pajama Birdwatcher

July 22, 2024

It’s all black and white now.

To see any warbler this time of year is unusual—the summer doldrums, the sweltering days between our bookend equinoxes of migration.  Even the resident Lucy’s and black-throated grays make themselves scarce.  Other summer visitors like yellow warblers hold to the lower riparian woods while Grace’s and red-faced warblers rarely venture away from the high, cool forests.

But here it is, a black-and white warbler, combing through the chokecherry green for insects.  Finding Birds in Southeast Arizona says they’re “casual,”—recorded in at least three but less than nine of the last ten years.  The Big Yard is on a roll.  This is the second appearance of a black-and-white warbler in two months.  And the second time in my life I’ve seen one.  I may have to update “casual” to only “rare.”

The first was back in May, you might remember.  I was attempting to reach an all-time goal of 100 birds in one month, and as the end of May approach I was stuck at 99.  Then, miraculously, on the last day of the month, the bird materialized in the same chokecherry tree and scrambled for a drink and bath at the fountain. 

And now, bird #177 for the yard and #476 for me has returned.

This is a male Black-and-white Warbler (above and below). Possibly the same male that appeared on May 31st.

Black-and-white Warblers are rare in the western US. They winter in Mexico and Florida and spend the summer breeding in deciduous and mixed forests across the eastern and northern US and Canada.

A male Yellow Warbler from May.

A male Red-faced Warbler from April.

A male Grace’s Warbler from April.

A male Black-throated Gray Warbler from March.

This week: A Convergence on the East Fork of the Black River.  The family—the “Collective”—gathers at 8000 feet in the spruce and fir forests (Grace’s and red-faced warbler country) in Arizona’s White Mountains near Alpine for a week of tent camping and fishing.  The wife and I, the daughters, sons-in-law, and the four grandchildren.  There will be Hobbit breakfasts of trout and pancakes, Dutch-oven stew and pineapple upside-down cake.  Smoky campfires with hand-cranked peach ice cream and banana boats and s’mores.  Wild mushrooms and currants. Crayfish and worms and hooks. Maybe a bit of fly fishing.

And birds.  But, unlike some warblers, I may not return.

Last summer: Granddaughter Gia with breakfast, a nice brown trout.

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