The last two mornings I heard a loon’s call just after dawn, then this morning walking the dogs along the river, Carole & I saw a pair of loons — a nesting pair we think — on the river right across from our house. When the male noticed us he took of toward the south, soon to be followed by the female; they made a broad turn over the highway bridge and headed back north toward the outflow pond from the dam, where they are probably nesting. I’d heard the call in previous years but never seen one here in South Colton, let alone a pair. Loons are an indicator species — they don’t do well in polluted water — so seeing them makes me happy for our local space. It means the world hasn’t ended yet.
This afternoon I took the terriers up along the Morgan Road & we saw a couple of wrens in the ditch weeds — couldn’t tell exactly what kind because they flitted away too quickly, but they had a prominent eye stripe. At the other end of the size scale, I heard a raven (not some measly crow) croaking away down by the river where I’ve heard them before. Then caught a brief glimpse of him (or her) through the trees just before we got caught in a downpour. The sun came back out as we turned for home.
The robins were a little surprised this morning — as were we all — to wake to a steady snowfall. We watched them grubbing in the roadside gravel as I drove Carole to work to meet her colleague for a trip to the airport and thence to Washington DC, where they are preparing an exhibition of Inuit art for the Canadian Embassy in the fall. One of the robins nearly flew into the windshield, but got caught in the slipstream and whooshed to safety, to everyone’s relief. And though I didn’t see or hear it — I was sleeping – Carole said that at dawn, while we were still in bed, a dark shape of a bird flew by our bedroom window screeching. Probably a kingfisher, though possibly a pileated woodpecker, she only caught a glimpse. When we walk the dogs along the Morgan Road, back in the woods along the river, we see the huge holes the pileateds hammer into old trees, piles of rough wood chips on the ground. Then there are the crows, which we both love, strutting around in the road and pecking at squashed chipmunks, etc. — so intent you have to hit the horn to get them to rise from their breakfasts. Have you ever noticed that crows have shoulders? Watch one walk, shoulders flexing beneath glossy blue-black feathers.
In winter the crows congregate deep in the woods, doing their philosophy presumably, and we only see them high in the sky, circling in large groups. Now that the snow is melting we see them solo on the tops of white pines and cedars scouting territory for the breeding season. Sometimes one crow will follow us as we walk the dogs, arcing from one treetop to the next along the road. This morning we also saw the first returning Canada Goose. One almost never sees them by themselves, but this guy was flying north and squawking his head off. Having arrived early, he must have been lonely and looking for company. It won’t be long before they have returned in their numbers to our bend of the river, where they nest on the sandbar and get handouts of corn from Betty, who lives across the water from us.