Ramblings of a bird man

  

A woman used to write a column in our weekly newspaper called Ramblings of a Bird Lady. I never understood her obsession with birds and, to be honest, I rarely read her writings. 

Now, 20-some years later, I’d love to read it. I’d like to know how she coaxed all those birds to come to her backyard. I want to know what species, how many, and what she fed them. 

Over the past few years, I’ve become a rambling bird man. I know, that doesn’t sound quite right, but birds have somehow captured my imagination and I can’t stop talking about them. 

It started about seven years ago when I was helping my dad with seeding. For the first time, I noticed the farm was alive with bird songs. My dad was already an avid birder, with many bird feeders in front of the house, but I just didn’t see the appeal. 

These covid years gave me more time to develop an interest. Some may even call it an obsession; there’s rarely a bird I won’t stop to identify before passing it by. 

It can lead to some interesting walks, as my daughter will attest, where I suddenly veer off the trail into the bush because I thought I heard something. Recording bird songs with my phone is commonplace. Listening and re-listening to the recordings afterwards has become the new normal. 

Then I announce my new find to family and friends – It was an American redstart! –  whether they care for it or not. 

And whether you care or not, let me tell you about last spring, when we heard a Nashville warbler from our kitchen window. Not to be confused with the more state-like Tennessee warbler, this is a persistent country-singing warbler, up there with the likes of Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. I can only imagine why it would leave Nashville to sing for hours by our house on an unusually frigid spring day in Regina. But here it was, in Canada, singing as ferociously as Bryan Adams. 

Last year we also spotted the elusive Balitmore oriole. In fact, we ended up seeing many of them. Putting oranges out on your deck is an easy way to attract them.  

My list of newfound bird species keeps growing. I’ve seen yellow-rumped warblers, mountain bluebirds, rose-breasted grossbeaks and brown thrashers.  

A year ago in January, I caught on video a purple finch singing as loud as it possibly could across from our house. I have no idea what inspired it to belt out the tunes in the middle of winter.  

Perhaps it heard our canary. Even indoors, our home is filled with the sounds of birds. Our newest canary has a voice on par with an opera singer. It’s so loud, we can barely hear ourselves talk at the dinner table. “Pass the salt!” must be shouted. 

            We also have a budgie, who tries desperately to copy the songs of our canary but typically fails. Much easier, it seems, to copy our cat’s feeble meow instead. Many times we’ve been tricked into thinking our cat is locked in a room when it’s that cunning bird. 

Birds are unique animals to observe. Descendants of dinosaurs, they look anything but, yet what we have today are some of the most interesting biological remnants of another age. 

This spring, I’ll be out on the prowl again, noting which birds migrate first. Perhaps I’ll spot something unusual like a red-headed woodpecker or a savannah sparrow or possibly even a Tennessee warbler – not to be confused with the less state-like Nashville warbler, the country-singing warbler that’s up there with the likes of Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton...  

Oops, sorry, I’m rambling again.