October 25, 2023
Yesterday’s half inch of rain and hail dampens the morning birds. Two dark-eyed juncos make a halfhearted attempt at fountain play, skittering across the rocks to the pool and shaking droplets from their feathers. The towhees and sparrows and nuthatches stick to the trees, preferring the 43-degree shadows to sunlight. My favorite trio of hermit thrushes are no-shows.
Then, one of those ordinary/extraordinary moments. A male pyrrhuloxia ornaments the peach tree—all crimson-faced and yellow-beaked. I haven’t seen the desert cardinal in six months, and then only a few times. The bird was absent all of 2022.
The pyrrhuloxia tops October at 88 species, which will be my total count for the month, since tomorrow I leave for Flagstaff and then Grand Forks, North Dakota, with the son-in-law for two weeks. Something about a major plumbing project at his mother’s home I volunteered to help with years ago. Probably, rashly, thinking summertime and birds. And trout fishing.
Yesterday’s hailstorm, a rataplan of marble-sized chunks of ice that shocked the air and tore leaves from the trees, should stand as a warning. North Dakota. As the season’s first winter storm shoulders into the Midwest. My youngest daughter, who married the North Dakota boy, says to bring lots of clothes—all the clothes I own. Not just my flannel PJs.
But will there be birds? I don’t know. I’ve listed birds I’ve seen and identified for 1306 continuous days, mostly in the Big Yard but also while traveling, like rock pigeons and house sparrows in a motel parking lot at El Centro or Santa Nella, California. Three and a half years of daily sightings since the beginning of the Pandemic.
Soon, there may be a day without birds.
Thanks for subscribing! See you in North Dakota (if I see any birds).
You will see birds because you do. Wherever you are. Even in Grand Forks in the teeth of the first fall snowstorm. Definitely bring all of your layers!
There were 33 species seen in Grand Forks on 9/30 so I'm sure you'll see birds barring a blizzard!