Fall Birding

 

Fall birding is a different kettle of fish.

You don't expect to see much, because there won't be much there

and you've already seen a lot anyway.

A few flashy warblers? Let's face it: none.

I would like to have seen a golden eagle or a goshawk at Hawk Ridge.

It could happen. But no such luck.

We did see a pipit on the sidewalk in front of the Java Moose in

Grand Marias.  Equally good. Haven't seen one in ages.

Birding is an act of unexpected sensuous immediacy, but lurking in the underbrush

is the desire to see something new—for this year, at least.

The fox sparrows have been moving through the yard. They scrape vigorously

amid the leaves, and I know what they're thinking:

"This would be a lot easier if I had arms."

The distinctive call of the white-throated sparrow

is now a feeble, half-hearted whistle. But give him credit:

he's the only one still trying.

We drove down to the river this morning—the Old Cedar Avenue Bridge.

Lots of geese and coots, with trumpeter swans in the distance.

A young birder standing nearby helped us locate a few pintails

on the fringe of the cattails a hundred yards upriver.

Elegant birds.  It's been years since I saw one.

"There are some pied-billed grebes nearby," I said.

"How can you tell?" he said. "They all look like coots."

"Longer neck, lower in the water, squarish head, comically proud. Often alone.

And maybe you can see a little crook in the beak."

"Oh yeah. I see him."

We thanked each other for the tips.

The visit concluded with a smattering of sparrows

flitting here and there through the underbrush, and

a cluster of green-winged teal amid the mallards

in a backwater near the trail.

Then a stop at Patrick's Bakery for croissants and coffee

in a backwater east of Southdale.

Apartment buildings everywhere.

Geese flying overhead.