Let me introduce you to my friend, Catbird. Like many of us my appreciation of the outdoors has resurged in the last few years. The regulation, the resilience and the opulence of nature. Often times when we are out of our element, literally, we can notice nature more clearly. What may seem extravagant to a visitor is commonplace to a resident, and then there is the idea of overlooking the magical in the everyday.
Like birds.
We may take them for granted -- oh, it's just a robin.
But I ask you: Can you fly?
Birds have a powerful invitation for me, to take flight over the moment. To travel between the upper and the lower -- since they reside in both. Whether scavenging worms, or the predators that swoop up a fish or a squirrel, they soar and ground specifically, nesting in between often in the rooted shade of a tree. Rooted and soaring are they both.
That is why I am so enchanted by my friend catbird. We have a good deal of bird traffic this year with our intentional gardens and extra pollinator plants to help welcome weary travelers. But catbird, this non-descript grey feather friend, really caught my attention.
First, I noticed her noticing me. Sitting atop the fence, turning her head before darting back into the bushes. Many trees in the neighborhood were recently trimmed or taken down. Not because of a storm as much as a suburban wave of control it seemed to me. I noticed a bird a few weeks back darting in the air where a tree once was, circling, circling and then headed towards our maple to perhaps retrace her steps and wonder if she had lost her mind or indeed her home had vanished --which it had.
The funny thing about the older, and indeed some dead, trees being cleared out, our forsythia hedge, maple trees and old pines had risen in bird market values. So when I took to the back porch in the morning, I quite enjoyed the bird songs I was welcomed with. To be honest, at first, they would often slow down, at least those closest to the door, when I would walk out. A little, after call of, "She's here." I am quite certain rang out more than once. But nevertheless, the added bird feeder and the giving of space gave-way to a plethora of delightful new backyard tenants. Even parents looking to create a nest to hatch a family, which they did.
If I visually saw catbird, I could easily identify her. But it was harder when she was in the bushes, for a couple of reasons. First, I put in no outside research, I just listened, which is a fabulous practice. I did it for enjoyment and a soothing balm of sorts, but that left me bereft of saying who I was hearing. Plus, I had heard catbird got her name for her mewing, but I did not often hear that noise, and I did know the little brown fellow in the next hedge had quite a song; and I am partial to crows. I like their caw and rather fancy that they are keeping tabs on us, returning often when our call pulls up in the driveway. That all to say, there were enough friends that I didn't have to peg all my efforts on catbird, although she was the only one that would hop on the wood pile in the morning, turn her head and call out boldly with me only a few feet away, me intent on keeping my heart soft to welcome a coexistence and an invitation before she flew away she went into her day.
Next week, more on catbird. Until then, look up.
xx,
Kate
picture taken from feederwatch.org