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After a long, long, long workday, an unexpected surprise welcomed me home. A rose-breasted grosbeak was at my feeder; late in the day when the sun and my energy level were on the wane, like a candle about to flicker out. (Let's hope they both rebound or tomorrow is going to be dreadful.)
The splendid grosbeaks and scarlet tanagers are in my woods for only a few days every spring; just passing through, ships in the night; on their way to their nesting grounds farther north. At times, their songs confuse me, but the tanager is oh so raspy, like a gravelly-voiced blues singer. The books say like a robin with a sore throat. Indeed.
The grosbeak's song is more pristine.
Thoreau had the same problem. His journal entry dated May 24, 1855: “Hear a rose-breasted grosbeak. At first thought it a tanager, but soon I perceived its more clear and instrumental—should say whistle, if one could whistle like a flute; a noble singer, reminding me also of a robin; clear, loud and flute-like; on the oaks, hillside south of Great Falls.”
2 comments:
They are coming through. I was surprised by a rose-breasted grosbeak last week, along with a female scarlet tanager, and two warblers. The migrants are delightful visitors, busy visitors. Today I finally identified that whispery tune in my hemlock, American Redstarts. Busy spring.
hello Vickie.
I'll be on the look out for a redstart. I haven't been home that much this week. I'll listen for their whispery tune.
Spring IS busy. It comes on like gangbusters, making it hard to keep track of everything that's going on out there.
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