I call my husband the human jukebox. He’s always humming, whistling, or occasionally bursting into song. Unfortunately, the musical selection runs to advertising jingles, children’s songs, or hymns. None of which appeals to me.
But the woods around us provide plenty of music we both like. Wood thrush are my current favorite, with Orioles chiming in. I hear robins, cardinals, chickadees, red belly woodies, blue jays, crows, Hawks, a barred owl, white breasted nuthatches, whip-poor-wills and several unidentified birds. Last spring, we had some construction projects going on around the house, so I think this year, we are hearing the more normal soundtrack.
One bird reminds me of the merry go round at the playground of the elementary school I went to…sounds rusty.
There might be a pair of Northern Flickers nesting nearby. I’ve heard that bird before, but only just recently saw a couple close enough to identify. Lovely birds, and the only woodie that eats off the ground.
Bluebirds seem more plentiful this year. One female has declared war on the house, flinging herself at two windows in particular. The Cornell Lab suggests soaping them, to protect the birds from injuring themselves. Feeling kinda like a teenager again, I grabbed some Ivory and stood in front of the window. Do I cover the whole window? I ended up soaping a hashtag with NO Bluebirds written. That oughta do the trick.
A few butterflies have been seen. We are in turtle season, when they cross roads and move around, and I’ve seen a couple on the property. I am hearing frogs and toads at night. I have seen bees. Always happy to see bees, and I’ve seen them around the fruit trees in the orchard. I’m planting more and more nectar producers, all around the property. Azaleas are in full bloom and the bumblebees have responded.
I am savoring these days of sun and warmth. Planning the various beds and planting is so much fun. I know these days are numbered. The trees are dying, species like bats, butterflies and bees are being extirpated. The loss of birdsong will be particularly painful. So I enjoy it now, as much as I can, even as I wonder how long a dying forest can support life.
We took our bird feeders down recently, after I read about pine siskins dying of salmonella poisoning caught at feeders. When Buddy showed up, I knew the feeders should come down, but couldn’t bring myself to do it until this article showed up. I’m still making nectar for the hummers, and it seems like we have more this year than last. The Baltimore Orioles have been interested in it, so I put some grape jelly out for them.
Listening to the woods while knitting, with the Chippet by my side, are moments I savor.