Let me tell you a story of woe. Months ago it was decided that my beautiful wife Susan and I would travel to Florida. Susan’s mother is in her 80s and the past two years have been very difficult on her. She is healthy and secure, but she has been isolated and quite lonely. Now that everyone has been vaccinated and boosted six ways from Sunday we decided that it was safe to visit.
So, spring break was going to involve a trip. Tests were ordered to ensure that there was nothing to worry about and Susan and I found ourselves increasingly excited about the prospect of seeing something different; exchanging the muddy browns of a New England spring for the more vibrant greens and blues of the Neotropics.
I had also made arrangements to visit my own parents for Easter and a wonderful time was had by all. The food was delicious (as always) and the company was even better. It was simply nice to see everyone and talk about the optimistic plans for May. What outside chores would get done when, what flowers would be planted where, and what special projects were planned by whom. So, it was a tremendous sense of satisfaction that we got into the car and waved goodbye to my mom and dad. We were headed home to reorganize and then jump on a plane headed south. This is where woe enters the picture.
A little more than half way home a message arrived on Susan’s phone. Our flight was canceled. No reason was given and no options were provided. There was no way to salvage our plans because every other flight had been booked weeks in advance. We were grounded and we were both feeling quite blue about the whole thing.
The next day simply rubbed salt in an open wound. Instead of waking up to palm trees and tropical birds I woke up to five inches of fresh snow. My mother and father, who live at a lower elevation, reported just a little snow, but higher up the snow was deeper. When I went over to the kitchen window to look out at the feeders I noticed a very large group of birds that looked even more unhappy than me. In particular it was the sparrows that seemed to be suffering.
Sparrows are generally ground-foraging birds and with the arrival of migrants from the south the birds’ numbers were up, but their access to food was temporarily cut off. So I shoveled a path to the feeders (even thinking the word “shoveled” is agony) and put out a fresh supply of seeds and nuts. Then I made some coffee and sat down at my writing desk to see who was around. I was impressed by the collection of birds, but as time went by things became more and more interesting.
The first birds to catch my attention were the chipping sparrows. They had first appeared in my yard on April 16, just before I had gone to visit my parents. On that particular morning I had only seen one of these tiny birds, but with the arrival of snow there were two of them. An hour later there were four, then six and by the end of the day there were no less than 12 chipping sparrows eating seeds on my deck. My house may have been the only game in town and the word spread quickly!
While taking photos of the chipping sparrows I noticed one bird that didn’t look quite right. Up came the telephoto lens and then I understood that this “wrong-looking” chipping sparrow was in fact a very proper-looking field sparrow. Not long after that I was astonished to see a male eastern towhee on the deck. He was quite content to munch on sunflower seeds right along with the song sparrows, white-throated sparrows, chipping sparrows, cardinals and other birds that were all clearly hungry on this cold, snowy morning. And I was so content taking photos that I ended up taking almost one thousand of them; the silver lining to this snow-filled cloud.
So, although I had been grounded and would not depart the Northeast, many of the migratory birds had just arrived from their own flights. Had I not been home I would have missed the entire thing and I would not have been able to offer these weary travelers any relief. Thus, my disappointment about missing out on a trip to Florida during the height of the breeding season was tempered somewhat by the opportunity to see some familiar faces as they arrived at their northern destination. If you would like to see my current list of arrivals, then head over to speakingofnature.com and take a look.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 24 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the U.S. Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more in formation visit his website at www.speakingofnature.com, or head over to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.