Birding is one of my sabbath practices, and in the early months of 2024 I had made plans to improve my birding game for the coming spring migration. I had received a copy of David Sibley’s Field Guide to Birds of the Eastern United States for Christmas. I was planning to invest in a decent pair of binoculars. I found groups on Facebook linked to two local birding hotspots: Garret Mountain Reservation and the New Jersey Meadowlands, where I hoped to see warblers, wrens, sparrows, flycatchers, woodpeckers, raptors, and waterfowl in abundance. As the weather warmed I started exercising the necessary muscles and skills by visiting parks that I could walk to, where I listened to and looked for birds.
On one such trip, on the first full day of spring, I opened the Merlin app on my phone and it identified twenty different species by sound, with the disclaimer that it could not verify my location, so some identifications might have been incorrect. (Case in point: Merlin thought it heard a Eurasian Pygmy Owl. Given that I was not in Europe or Asia or near a zoo, that ID seems unlikely.) The list did include two lifers that could reasonably be expected to be in Northern New Jersey in late march: Eastern Phoebe and Pine Siskin.
Birding has always been more of an occasional interest for me. Sometimes—maybe usually—I spot interesting birds when I’m doing other things.* Serious birders, on the other hand, carve out time to respond to alerts and reports of unusual sightings: an irruption of Snowy Owls in the Poconos; the arrival of a Pink Flamingo in East Hampton, NY; the season’s first Blackburnian Warbler in the Ramble in Central Park. But I am conflicted about the thought of driving several hours in the hopes of a once-in-a-lifetime sighting, and that conflict, among other things, keeps me out of the ranks of serious birders.
Back to the first day of spring. On my way to the park that day I fell afoul of the laws of gravity, tripping and breaking my right kneecap on the sidewalk. I limped to the park, spent some time listening, recording, and trying to spot the birds Merlin was identifying, then limped home. The next day a medical facility provided me with a knee brace and restrictions that put my birding plans on hold for much of the spring migration season. I couldn’t drive, and I could walk only short distances for about eight weeks.
In time I was encouraged to go without the brace for brief periods. I used some of that time to visit Barbour’s Pond in the Garret Mountain Reservation. By then, early May, the trees were leafing out in earnest, and the birds I hoped to see were hidden in the understory or canopy. Thankfully there were some, like the Baltimore Oriole, who announced their presences clearly and flashed enough color to be unmistakable. Still, I was discouraged. There would likely be no Northern Parulas, Hooded Warblers, or Rose-Breasted Grosbeaks added to my life list this spring.
It took a visit to a friend’s backyard to reawaken some of the joy of birding after a disheartening spring. George and Jean live on the eastern slope of Garret Mountain, and their backyard faces the mountain. George has built many birdhouses over the years and there are at least a half dozen mounted on poles, trees, and the side of the garage. On one beautiful July morning George hosted Grace’s Men’s Breakfast, and we sat on his patio eating carbs upon carbs. A tiny brown bird flitted from birdhouse to birdhouse, presumably looking for a suitable nesting site. It was a house wren, whose call I had only recently learned to identify. I couldn’t recall ever actually seeing one; I had attributed the call to a house sparrow and hadn’t pursued the information any further. (I had done the same thing with the white-throated sparrow some years earlier.) In late July I also saw a house wren for the first time at our home.
Also in July our family spent a week at the shore, in Barnegat Light. Some of us visited the lighthouse and the adjoining natural area. Our son-in-law Phil spotted a large bird roosting in a tree about twenty yards from the trail. I had not brought my binoculars or long camera lens, but I was able to enlarge one photo enough to identify the bird as a Black-Crowned Night Heron. Not a first for me, and not a rarity, but it had been a number of years since I’ve seen one. We were all impressed with Phil’s skill at spotting this bird.
Right outside our front door, we have some purple coneflowers. I had learned a few years ago that if you let the flowers go to seed, they will attract Eastern Goldfinches, New Jersey’s State Bird. Sure enough, mid-August brought several pairs, including this male.
Now, fall migration season is in progress. All those colorful birds that passed through Garret Mountain and the Meadowlands in April, May, and June are headed south again. They have left behind some of their colors, making them less distinguishable from one another and giving rise to descriptions like “confusing fall warblers” and “little brown jobs.” I still hope to spend a few peaceful moments looking for them, even if only in my own backyard.
Pat Walsh
*As I was about to enter a local supermarket recently, another shopper was pointing out this hawk on a lamppost that I had just walked past. (So much for my powers of observation!) Thankfully I had my camera and zoom lens in the car.
