Scarlet Beauty

When I retire, I plan on becoming a birder. You know, those people who wander the woods and lake sides with binoculars and cameras slung around their necks; a day pack or vest with 17 outer pockets containing bird identification books, birding logs, maps of birding trails, rain gear, and lunch. They are looking for those few elusive birds not yet on their list, or that one perfect picture that may win a bird photo contest. At first glance they look a little nuts. They seem to be walking very slowly and aimlessly and you wonder if they are an Alzheimer's patient escaped from some home. And then you see the essential birding gear.

Yes, that's what I want to be! But later on in life when I am a senior with not much else to do. Too old to backpack, too old to road bike, too old to run. But for now I am a birder by sound. I have memorized three cds worth of birdsong in order to identify birds by ear. I am a musician so it is not a difficult nor tedious task to memorize melodies and rhythms. I cannot tell you how many times I have listened to these birdsong audios, the narrator giving you helpful hints and "handles" for memorizing the vocalizations. My turn of the century house has taken up a lot of my time in restoration in the last 10 years, so when I spend a whole day smoothing drywall mud on plaster walls, it is a good time to put on the cds and master a dozen more bird songs. One day I was mudding a wall as my college-age daughter left for school, different woodpecker calls resonating around the room with the narrator (who she thinks is a goof) pointing out the differences in their songs. When she came home three or four hours later and I was still at it (the mudding and the bird calls) she looked at me incredulously and said, "How can you not be insane?"

So I have a start on some day becoming one of those demented birders! Most home repair people listen to music or AM radio talk shows. I listen to birding cds.

It all pays off. When I am out on a run, I know what kind of birds are singing all around me. When I am on a hike I think it is fun to count how many different species I can identify by sound. You often times can't see these birds, anyway. They are hidden away up in the tree branches, so it's good to know their song. When I am backpacking in the remote wilderness is when it's really exciting because I hear birds that only dwell in the deep woodland habitat. Or on a dusty hot afternoon when I feel like I am the only person on the trail for miles around, I can strike up a call and response bird conversation with a red-eyed vireo. He sings through the heat of the afternoon when other birds are resting and is good company as I pretend like we're talking.

I've also been known to rudely interrupt conversations with friends to point out, "Do you know that is a rufous-sided towhee singing away up in that tree there?" Some people are impressed or at least mildly interested but some are not!

My favorite birds are in the thrush family. The mockingbird is the perfect mimicker. Listening to it, I can identify all the different birds he is mimicking. The brown thrush as well. And then the wood thrush sings my very favorite bird call of all! His song is like a pan pipe playing high up in the tallest trees of the deepest forest; melodious, clear and sweet. I associate the beautiful wood thrush song with the shady cool air of the woods and intoxicating smell of soft pine needle carpets and the wood-smelling forest floor. The veery's song is one of the most magical and ethereal of all. He actually sings two notes at once, in a descending flutey spiral of echoing notes. Both of these birds have the power to stop me in my tracks. Whether I am biking on the bike path or hiking on a woodsy trail in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, I have to pause and listen--it's too good to miss. Listening to these two birds is like a balm for the soul.

This morning I experienced another example of being so glad that I know my birdsong. I was in my backyard sipping coffee, cup in hand, hair wet from the shower, perusing my gardens to see which seeds were sprouting and in general inspecting all the vegetables, herbs and flowers. My mind was miles away from birdsong. And then I heard a familiar chirping pattern. My mind zeroed in on the notes and my birdsong memory kicked in. That sounds like a robin with a sore throat! Which bird in the robin family is that? One sounds like a robin who has had singing lessons! But one sounds raspy, like this! Which one is which? Not the rose-breasted grosbeak. Not the oriole. Tanager! It's a tanager. But which tanager? I tore my eyes away from studying teeny green spikes poking up through the black soil wondering if they were the lavender seeds I planted and looked up in the tall tall old mulberry tree from which the quiet hoarse-voice robin's chirps were coming. All I saw was a bright red cardinal. "Not you," I quietly told the cardinal. "I know your half-dozen songs by heart, you don't chirp like a robin and you have a much louder song." I scanned the branches for other birds, but could find no others perching there, only birds flitting to and fro looking for breakfast or tending their nests. And then the "cardinal" sang again. Robin chirps! Gravelly and quiet, just like the tanager. But...but...this bird is bright red! Scarlet! The scarlet tanager! Stay there, bird, I'm going inside for my book.

I stole into the house for my birding book which is always handy on top of the refrigerator and went back outside in seconds. I found the page and looked back up into the tree. The bird was so high up I didn't notice before that it had no crested head or black-masked face. And now the bird is turning sideways, and the bright red color has all but disappeared. That's because scarlet tanagers have black wings and tail. Okay, but listen for the bird call note, different from the birdsong. There it is! A soft "chick, burrrr!" That's it then. A scarlet tanager in the backyard of my city house.

What a nice gift on a beautiful morning. A visit from a bird I don't normally see here. If I hadn't identified this birdsong while I was immersed in garden inspection, I never would have looked up just then. Or indeed, even if I had looked up, I would have spotted a cardinal and not thought much of it.

Hmmmm. Which begs the question when am I senior enough to get the birding binoculars and stash them with the birding book on top of the fridge? And then enter the scarlet tanager into my birding log, and journal about it in my birding journal? Then I might as well buy the vest with the 17 pockets. . .