May 17, 2007

The past three weeks and change have been rather frustrating for this birder. Business took 
me away from home from April 23rd until late Tuesday night 5/15, but actually 5/16. Two 
days after my departure the first big migrant push of the season through this latitude 
commenced, reported by all of you, my Ohio birding correspondents and friends, and 
vicariously enjoyed from my worksite in southern California.

Jet-lagged, I couldn't answer the call for the dawn chorus yesterday, so I planned a little 
better to do so this morning. Last night as I lay in bed about midnight, a barred owl began 
calling from the hollow behind the house. Jane tapped me and asked if I heard the owl, and 
I sleepily replied, "Yes, it's a barred owl," the first we have heard since last autumn. It called 
for about five minutes, and I drifted off to sleep.

Arising at 5:30 to the early strains of robin and wood thrush song, I quickly dressed, let the 
dogs out to bark at whatever, put them back inside, and ventured up the hill across the 
fields. The morning's first warbler was a yellow, singing from the trees along the road, a 
typical location. A quick survey of the nest boxes revealed that tree swallows seem to be 
doing well, with only two boxes out of seven occupied by interloping house sparrows. As I 
descended into our deepest ravine at the SE of our property I was delighted to hear the 
exuberant vocal bursts of Acadian flycatchers, always a favorite. I paused for a while at the 
upstream end of the ravine, disappointed that I did not hear the expected ovenbird. They 
have consistently nested in this area for the past half dozen years, but this morning; nada.

Voices from the canopy informed me of the presence of several scarlet tanagers and at least 
one rose-breasted grosbeak. Then at 6:15 a Louisiana waterthrush sang twice, rewarding 
my early arrival at the right spot. I am convinced that this species nests annually in this 
ravine, with possibly two territories that I regard as the upstream and the downstream. By 
this time of the season they only sing infrequently and early.

As I slowly surveyed downstream a yearling doe followed my progress. I assumed a very 
non-threatening pace, browsing through the birdsong as she browsed through the 
undergrowth, always twenty to a hundred feet behind me. An older doe bounded away at 
one point, but the youngster stayed nearby for perhaps twenty minutes. It was rather 
charming.

At the small cascade we call Valhalla Falls I paused again to listen. Another Louisiana 
waterthrush sang, confirming my notion of the two territories. An Acadian flycatcher 
actually twittered down to within 15 feet of the bench where I sat. Cardinals occupy this 
part of the woods in some numbers, actually acting like wild birds. It is easy to see how it 
became the state bird of eight states.

As I climbed the hill and emerged from the woods along our northern boundary I heard a 
turkey repeatedly gobbling from the ridge to the north. Titmice and chickadees sang, called 
and scolded, reminding me that these annual residents deserve some attention as well. 

My successional field was a bit of a disappointment: no blue-winged warblers could be 
heard. No indigo buntings either. Common yellowthroats are once again common, and 
delightful: a nice consolation prize. No chats yet, but they often seem to arrive late. A 
catbird mewed from the edge. I think I heard a Kentucky warbler singing in the smaller 
hollow, or it may have been an ovenbird. Pewees called from distant treetops. I heard no 
hooded warblers, usually a feature bird at this place. I will check out that ravine in more 
detail tomorrow morning.

As I stood at our hypothetical dream-homesite, I watched the approach of a pair of large 
waterfowl; Canada geese I thought, although oddly silent. I watched in wonder as the two 
flew less than a hundred feet overhead, and morphed into mute swans as I listened to their 
"singing" wingbeats. 

I usually don't care too much for mute swans; alien, invasive and disruptive. But alone on 
my hilltop with these big white birds stroking the morning air, I experienced a new 
appreciation. I think the swans are yardlist species 120. As my yet-to-be-met-face-to-face 
Morgan County neighbor, "Joe in the Woods" likes to say, "It helps when your yard is 60 
acres." Ours is actually 57. 

Bob Evans
Geologist, etc.
Hopewell Township, Muskingum County
DeLorme 70 A1

______________________________________________________________________

Ohio-birds mailing list, a service of the Ohio Ornithological Society.
Our thanks to Miami University for hosting this mailing list.
Additional discussions can be found in our forums, at www.ohiobirds.org/forum/.

You can join or leave the list, or change your options, at:
http://listserv.muohio.edu/scripts/wa.exe?LIST=OHIO-BIRDS
Send questions or comments about the list to: [log in to unmask]