My Big Days

The annual World Series of Birding is on Saturday, May 9, this year. 

Ornithologist Ludlow Griscom and his protege, Roger Tory Peterson of the influential field guides, were among the first to popularize using binoculars rather than guns to study birds in the field. They were also among the first to popularize the concept of the Big Day.

(RE Berg-Andersson)

The Big Day is a sort of endurance test - how many different types of birds can a person see in a day. It is a very American thing to do to prove to others (and yourself) just how good you are in finding and identifying birds. Some Big Days take place in popular places such as New York's Central Park and Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx. Others can take place in your backyard.

Others take it to extremes, such as the three birders whose quest to see as many birds as possible in a year was made into a book and then a movie. Birding thus became another extreme sport instead of the walk in the park I enjoy. As I've said elsewhere, this isn't birding, it's listing. The bird's beauty is ignored, it is just a name ticked off on a chart.

Pete Dunne - not an ornithologist by his own admission - came up with the idea of marrying the Big Day with promoting citizen science. He called it the World Series of Birding, and it really took off when he got Roger Tory Peterson to come to Cape May, N.J., and ride with him and his team. 

The birds recorded during the World Series are reported to the organizations that study birds, including Cornell's Ornithology Lab and Audubon. This way they know which birds are thriving and where, and which are in decline.

But then nature- or conservation-oriented organizations realized a way to, in effect, cash in on the World Series in the name of citizen science. They asked people to donate funds based on how many birds the organizations' teams found, either per bird or in total. The funds would go to support the organizations' work. 

One example is the Land Conservancy of New Jersey, of which I am a member. I got the mailing below.

(Margo D. Beller)

The concept has become so popular the Cornell people expanded it to the world - literally. There is now a Global Big Day on the same day as the World Series of Birding.

As usual, this birder flies solo. I don't count the number of particular birds I find and I like to walk alone quietly. I avoid birding on the Saturday of the World Series because I don't want to run into teams of people rushing through with their checklists in an area where I am trying to bird.

However, early May is the height of northbound migration, when the birds are heading to their breeding territories. Now that I am retired I have the time to go out on a weekday morning and avoid the weekend birders. Thus I have been undergoing my own endurance test for the past two weeks, rising early most weekdays to visit some of my favorite places within easy driving distance (mindful of the rush hour traffic I will hit on the way home). 

One day is my own version of the "World Series of Birding" and it usually takes place in early May. That is when my husband (MH) drives us to the western edge of New Jersey, where the Delaware River flows, and we change places so I can slowly drive along Old Mine Road, an area of forest and high elevation. Many of the birds I want to see nest in this area and they all are singing as they proclaim their territories in preparation for mating and raising a brood. 

This place draws a large number of birds that would otherwise not be found elsewhere in New Jersey, as well as a large number of birders. 

A remnant of the former community on Old Mine Road
(RE Berg-Andersson)

There used to be homes along this road. But after too many floods the federal government decided there should be a dam across what is now Tocks Island. There was controversy over the dam, but unlike the fight to preserve Great Swamp from becoming an airport this fight was not successful for most of the people. They had to move, leaving their homes to be flooded.

Except the project was shelved in 1975, deemed too expensive. You can still see many of the abandoned homes, windows broken, covered in graffiti, on the verge of falling down like the barn shown above. (That picture is from a few years ago; as of May 4, 2026, more of the barn has come down). The homes of those who continued fighting to stay were grandfathered into the national park.

In summer people flock to this area where once there was a community to swim in the river or picnic. MH and I come before it gets too hot, buggy and crowded. During Covid, when very few federal parks were open, Old Mine Road was very popular. Lots were completely packed. At one the cars nearly spilled out into the road. 

That lot and several others are now blocked, no doubt because of erosion on the paths leading to the river that was caused by hundreds of pairs of feet.

Old Mine Road is where I do all the bad driving I accuse others of doing on the highways. Right hand on the wheel, left hand holding Merlin near the open window, stopping suddenly every time I hear something. MH knows I am going to do this and only grows testy when he wants me to pull over for the sandwiches I packed for lunch. 

Eventually, my stamina falters and I drive a little faster to get to the end. My head says to stop at every dirt path to hear what birds are around, but my body (and MH) tells me it is getting late. Five hours on one stretch of road goes by amazingly fast.

Near the end of the road we stop and MH takes over the driving.

Intrepid birder (me) on Old Mine Road a few years ago
(RE Berg-Andersson)

I enjoy all the birds I have found during these past two weeks, particularly the mornings after "big flight" nights when southwest winds and lack of rain brought thousands of birds northward. But finding the colorful challenges known as warblers is the main reason I go out in the early dawn hours in May.

This year at Old Mine Road the big search was for a Swainson's warbler - a bird of the south that prefers to stay low in brush where no one can see it. (I saw one - blink and you'll miss it - when we were in Florida in 2010.) We stopped at the stakeout but, as I expected, we allegedly "just missed it" because it was now deep in the brush off the road. But I heard something I had come to hear - the Cerulean warbler. As the name implies it is sky blue. It is also a bird, like too many others, whose population has declined due to habitat loss. 

Usually we are lucky if we can hear the buzzy trill of one Cerulean. This year we heard six. That made our trip a very Big Day for me. 

Walking Again

It was with great relief that for the first time in too long I was finally able to walk the paths of my favorite birding locations without fear of slipping on ice and falling. 

Picture taken from the path next to the Whippany River,
the water practically lapping at my feet.
(Margo D. Beller)

Just like last year, the melting snow had raised the level of the Whippany River that flows along one part of Patriots Path. Had I been there a day or two earlier there would've been water on the path. But the day I walked the path was mainly dry, with a lot of standing water on the ground on either side. Where the Whippany River joined Watnong Brook, however, the water covered the path and ice was beyond. At this point I turned around.

I noticed that more trees had fallen since I was last there. The areas that usually flood were filled with water. I could hear Canada geese on the move now that ponds weren't frozen solid.

I enjoyed the walk and hearing the singing cardinals, robins and others proclaiming their breeding territories. I saw three pairs of mallards in the river, a redtailed hawk quietly aloft and a not-so-quiet redshouldered hawk calling from deep in the woods. Even the deer browsing in a less-wet area were a fine sight (especially as they were not in my yard).

If you look closely you'll see four deer in this picture but there were actually seven feeding.
(Margo D. Beller)

The previous winter we had little snow but a lot of rain, which caused flooding in late March going into April. This winter we had too much snow and so the spring floods came earlier when the temperatures rose above freezing and the melting began. 

With the snow now mainly gone from my yard I can walk to the feeder poles and to the compost pile without using an ice chopper as a support. I dug out six months' worth of brush and put it at the curb for eventual pickup. I even tempted fate to pull out the driveway reflectors, hoping the snow is done for the season.

As far as I cared to go. (Margo D. Beller)

The first crocus have flowered, the daffodils are growing and there are signs the snowdrop will bloom, albeit later than usual because of the deep snow cover. The three plants I bought last fall don't look so hot. Nor do many of my shrubs. However, I've been surprised before by the resiliency of the perennials. The flowers remind me I have to start thinking about cleaning out the winter debris and cutting back some of the plants, as I usually do in March. 

As usual, I'm far from ready for that chore. 

The Breakup

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

(attributed to Albert Einstein, but maybe not)

Merlin and I are no longer together.

As in any relationship, when it worked things were wonderful. I opened the birding app on my phone, Merlin started, it listened, it identified what we were hearing. It was still good when I would have to restart the birding app six or seven times to get it recording.

Birding without Merlin (RE Berg-Andersson)

Thanks to Merlin I knew to look for the Canada warbler hanging around my property, a first for my backyard. Another day Merlin told me there was a magnolia warbler somewhere, and then I found the bird. 

But Merlin could also be frustrating. It would hear things I didn't, or couldn't. It would also hear things that weren't there. If a police siren sounded Merlin reported a screech owl, thinking it was hearing its whinnying call. If a mockingbird was singing, Merlin would report the various calls the bird was making as actual birds - Carolina wren, cardinal, killdeer, even an osprey. (Sometimes, in the case of the wren, the actual bird would answer.)

Then, for some reason, things came apart. Once I could turn on the app and it would work just fine. Then it started crashing several times before it would work. Did the techs at the Cornell University Birding Lab change something to make it incompatible with my old phone? Whatever the cause I would go out, hear things in the field and Merlin wasn't helping me until I could get it to work. Then everything would be fine.

I knew there was a problem but I didn't want to face it.

The parting became inevitable, however, when the app stopped working completely at Great Swamp the other day. The swamp is a very large piece of property, most of it administered by the federal government. There is a "managed" area and a "wilderness" area. I had gone to the wilderness area, not to hike in the mud but to listen from the parking area. Lots of singing birds including several types of warblers. I knew what they were but put on Merlin to hear if there was anything else. It crashed. I tried several times and it continued crashing. I thought I was in a dead zone so I shut off the app. 

Then I drove to the managed area, where Merlin had worked before. I heard a bird I didn't recognize from the lot. Merlin let me down again, and again, and again. It was taking up a lot of my time, energy and bandwidth to try to get it working so I finally gave up. 

I heard close to 50 birds in my travels, but without Merlin it wasn't the same. Not knowing that one bird ate at me for the rest of my time in the field. (All the people who showed up on a nice weekday didn't help either.)

Goodbye, Merlin (RE Berg-Andersson)

When I got home I uninstalled the program, waited, then reinstalled it. I went into the backyard. Merlin crashed again. So I uninstalled it for good. 

My husband (MH) shrugged at this news. He had given up on Merlin some time ago, depending on me to identify what he was hearing. That made Merlin's failure all the more aggravating for me. "We need new phones," MH said, thinking maybe Merlin needed more than I could provide. Well, we need a lot of things but a phone is not high on the priority list at the moment.

To identify the unfamiliar bird I went back to what I would do pre-Merlin. I noted how the song sounded, then eliminated all the kinds of birds it likely wasn't. I noted the surroundings where I heard it - wet swamp. My best guess: prothonotary warbler, a bird of wet swamps I last heard in Florida in 2010. But was that what it was? It would've been nice for Merlin to confirm this for me but I'm tired of putting up with failure.

If we do get new phones, maybe I'll try Merlin again. Maybe.

UPDATE: My guess was wrong. I did not hear a prothonotary warbler. In a very different habitat recently I heard the same call and saw the bird making the call - an American redstart.  

When You Know Migration Is Truly Over

As I write, October is nearly over. We have had nearly a month without rain in New Jersey, where I live, and the shriveled leaves rain down with every puff of wind. We had lovely color for a while but then the temperature, which had dropped, started rising again. Now, Halloween might be 80 degrees F, a new record.

The "Sparrow Bowl," Sept. 29, 2024
(Margo D. Beller)

Every day I check the lists to see what other birders have found and also the interactive "Bird Migration Forecast" map that uses the information picked up by the nation's radar system to track bird movement. Lately, movement has been light.

So in my head I know this year's southbound migration is just about over. But it was still a jolt to visit an area I only recently discovered to be a good place for a variety of sparrows, warblers and other birds needing a place to rest and where they can feed on the weed seeds and the fruits on assorted vines. 

This weedy area is in the Central Park of Morris County, which I still refer to as Greystone for the former mental hospital that moved up the road. The site is 5 minutes from my house, making it very convenient to visit daily. It is a very large piece of property and one can find birds, deer, even foxes if you hike early in the morning before the dog walkers and runners show up.

This particular area I'm mentioning consists of two drainage ditches located behind the playgrounds. These ditches became overgrown with weeds, as open areas like this will do. One of the ditches also has small trees in it, and that made a difference to what I now relate.

The same area, Oct. 30, 2024. (Margo D. Beller)

I came to the area today for the first time in a week. As I walked over from where I parked I saw half of what I called the "sparrow bowl," was gone - completely mowed down. The other half, where the trees are growing, was left basically alone except for the mowing down of ragweed at the edge. With my binoculars I looked up the path at nearby areas where I discovered more birds would hide in the ragweed. All gone.

Logically, I can understand why this county park would want to mow down ragweed. I don't like it in my yard either. This area of the park gets a lot of foot traffic between the dog walkers and the cross-country runners, with a birder like me showing up here and there.

Emotionally, I was ready to throw up.

There are still plenty of weeds near where I was standing in the park and in the fields beyond, but the only birds I heard or saw today were the ones I'd expect to hang around during the winter including juncos, various woodpeckers, jays.

[UPDATE: Between the time of this post and today, Nov. 3, the weeds in the second drainage area were cut down. The trees were left standing. I found late migrants in a field down the hill where they can hide among the dried goldenrod.]

The other part of the "bowl" (to the right) where only the weed
border was mowed down thanks to the trees.
(Margo D. Beller)

I was reminded of when I worked in Jersey City, on the waterfront. There were plenty of open, empty lots filled with weeds. During migration I'd find plenty of birds, including the types others reported from more typical migrant hotspots such as Central Park in New York City. But soon "development" did away with those open lots, and with them the birds.

Many weedy areas in parks and vacant lots are important stopovers for birds on the move, but most people don't look at weeds that way. What was a nearby bird paradise for me (and the birds) was just so much wasted land to the Jersey City "developers" and, I realize, those who want Greystone used by everyone, birders and nonbirders alike. So once again something has changed, and not for the better.

In this particular area, at least, migration is over. I'll have to look elsewhere farther afield and hope to find this paradise restored next year.

Before and After

 

Scherman Hoffman field, October 2024
(Margo D. Beller)

Same field after a controlled burn in 2017
(Margo D. Beller)

Everything changes. Nothing stays the same. Babies are born, they grow, they become adults and have babies of their own. Places where I used to walk often I don't visit for different reasons.

Years ago, working at a stressful job five days a week where I had to rise long before dawn to catch a train that would get me to my 7 a.m. shift, I would rise before dawn on Saturdays and go birding. One of the places I'd visit was the closest New Jersey Audubon center, one county away. I would take the 8 a.m. bird walk with the then-director or with the then-education director. 

Eventually, I overcame my squeamishness at being part of an organization and became a member. I started volunteering by putting plants in the ground. But soon I decided I'd rather write so I suggested running the center's blog. The then-director liked that idea.

The path to the river trail, one of the few areas that hasn't changed
much except for some erosion. (Margo D. Beller)

I wrote that blog for many years. It allowed me to attend various events such as an owl prowl and a program on the American woodcock. (One woodcock landed about a foot from me after doing its high-altitude mating flight during the group's subsequent night walk.)

Unfortunately, the head guy at the NJ Audubon organization decided that to strengthen the "brand message" all the centers should end their blogs and there would be only one, produced by a company that specializes in hiring freelancers to take press releases and turn them into articles. My blog was summarily obliterated, not even archived.

Luckily, I had kept copies of those posts, some of which I have republished on this blog. 

I was damned mad. I stopped going to Scherman Hoffman. There are plenty of other places for me to visit that are within closer driving distance. I did not renew my membership. The then-director, who said he was sorry I had to go, later retired. So have the people I once worked with for the blog. I even stopped buying my bird seed there.

The Passaic River from the river trail. Across is Morris
County. (Margo D. Beller)

One of the times I took my husband (MH) there was just after a spring controlled burn, done to eliminate the overgrown of invasive weeds and other plants. The 2017 picture above is from that walk.

I've written about the gnats that infested my bird seed. Slowly but surely the pail is getting emptied so I will need more seed. I went back to Scherman Hoffman recently to see if it was still selling seed grown by NJ farmers. Like everything else, it isn't doing that anymore.

As long as I was there I decided to take a sentimental journey and hike the trails again. After all, now I have much more time on my hands and I don't have to rise before dawn on a Saturday to get in my birding. What I found here, as I have also found at another place I once visited more often, the Frelingheuysen Arboretum, is things have changed, and not for the better.

At the arboretum, which is off a road that has become four times busier with traffic seven days a week because of the malls that have gone up where there were once woods, trails have been marked, paths have been blocked, other paths have been created and all have been made more "inclusive." It is too stressful to drive there unless I am going to the county library across the road, which I rarely do.

Autumn colors (Margo D. Beller)

Like the arboretum, the center was created from an estate - actually, two estates. The arboretum is a Morris County (NJ) park. The NJ Audubon center is privately run and depends on what funds it can wrangle from members and other sources. So while there are now many, many more plants providing food and shelter for the birds, the hillside paths have become seriously eroded from flooding rains and thousands of feet. Trees have been planted in some areas but some of the paths have become so rocky I was glad I was going uphill so I could steady myself with my stick and walk against gravity.

A bridge over a brook now has handrails, which is an improvement, but the path along the Passaic River - the border between Somerset and Morris counties - is so filled with tree roots as to be dangerous for someone like me who is not always steady. Another path, once marked "vernal pool" is now a "Pond Trail" named after someone I don't know and who has probably been a NJ Audubon benefactor.

Dogwood (Margo D. Beller)

Even the store where I once got my birdseed and some of my feeders has changed. Where once it was run by one woman - now also retired - it has two part-time managers; one woman who knows birds, another who knows retail. Retail is definitely important, tho the seed is relegated to the garage. High-end optics, however, are front and center.

I guess you can sum up my feelings with the old Yogi Berra-ism: Nobody goes there anymore, it's too crowded. I suppose it has to be that way for parks to survive. The more people who come, the more they will care about the environment. That's a good thing in the abstract. But for me those "popular" parks, even those with a nice number of birds in season, are not where you'll find me now.

The Stranger

It is a cloudy weekday morning with a chance of rain. The young woman pushing the baby carriage down the grassy park path sees a figure ahead. The figure is in black - pants, wool cap, raincoat. The woman has a moment of panic and hesitates, but as she comes closer she sees the figure is another woman who is wearing binoculars on a harness. This woman is leaning on a large walking stick and looking intently into a weedy area. She looks up, notes where the woman with the carriage is walking, and goes back to looking into the weeds. The woman with the carriage passes by. They don't speak.

(Margo D. Beller)

A short time later an older couple, each walking a large dog on a leash, also sees the woman in black. They come down the small hill from the parking area where the woman has also parked. They see her and the binoculars. The woman sees them and the dogs. She walks to the other side of the path from where the dog walkers go, her back to them, looking up into the trees. When they leave she goes back over to the weeds and continues to watch.

After a time she shifts her position as the birds' calls draw her attention. Over here, a flock of goldfinches. Over there, palm warblers, a little duller in color but looking not much different from their spring plumage, batting their tails every time they alight on a tree branch or tall weed. 

The woman looks over and sees the couple coming back. Once again she shifts her position away from them. Once again they look at her. No one speaks. The couple goes down a hill and are gone to another part of the park. The woman goes back to finding the calling sparrows her Merlin app says are in the area. She will ultimately find six types of sparrows that come out of the weeds and sit in the open just long enough for the woman to see and identify them.

I have been doing this a long time and knew what I was seeing. 

The weedy area ahead of me is in a depression that, ringed by ragweed and filled with that, some milkweed, goldenrod and other weeds, provides a deep, relatively secure hiding and foraging place for the sparrows, warblers and other birds I found there. I had discovered this birdy area, located behind a playground and picnic area at the Central Park of Morris County (formerly the Greystone Psychiatric Hospital), after birding in a different area of the park the day before. I came on this weekday morning to explore it further without the crowd of noisy people the park draws for after-school soccer practice or weekend sporting events.

The weedy field. (Margo D. Beller)

I try to imagine what others see when we encounter each other. I usually wear a hat to protect my scalp from sun and bug bites. I keep my hair down and my shirt and jacket collars up to protect my ears and neck. I wear gloves tho' if I use Merlin or write something in my notebook I have to expose a hand.

I figure the binoculars is what allows people to relax, realizing I'm just some old bird watcher and not a sex offender or thief ready to ambush them. Still, I must look strange all covered up as others are walking or running the same paths in shorts and T-shirts.

Greystone, as I still call it, is a more-open piece of property than some of the places I go to bird. Where the playground sits once stood stone dormitories for the patients. I don't know if the weedy depression where I stand was there before and, if so, its use. But Greystone is filled with weedy areas, and at this time of year they provide food and shelter for migrating birds and those that will be hanging around for the winter.

Ragweed, in another part of Greystone. (Margo D. Beller)

When I am in areas where the paths are more narrow people passing me will sometimes say hello or good morning or even ask me what I am seeing or have seen. Runners don't usually speak to me unless it is to say "on your left" as they pass. Most people on bikes say nothing, don't even ring a bell. I have to hope to hear them coming so I don't step in their way. If I hear them and step out of the way maybe one in three thanks me.

Most of the time I am not out there to be sociable or exercise, I am out there looking for birds, particularly during the migration periods in spring - when birds are colorful and singing - and autumn - when they are dull and, if I'm lucky, making soft contact calls.  

One of the narrow paths I usually walk.
(Margo D. Beller)

People with dogs can be troublesome, particularly if their dogs are not on a leash. I used to make comments but after a few times I stopped because the reactions ranged from ignoring me to downright hostility. Concerned birders know unleashed dogs can kill birds. Dog owners know these concerned birders can be troublesome, too. We pass each other and I hope they don't come back this way.

Most times the people I see with dogs are pleasant, leash their pets and clean up after them. If the dogs are friendly I pet them. Since Covid there seems to be more people spending time outside in the parks, often with the dogs they bought during the pandemic. When someone is heading my way with a dog I stand aside and let them pass.

If they look at me as strange, I don't care. They are strange to me, too.

Odds And Ends

Most of the leaves have come down, except for those of the white oaks in back and the walnut in front between my property and the neighbor's. The acorns finished coming down, at least on my porch roof and patio, weeks ago but there are still plenty of pods left in the locust tree. 

All the important plant work is done, the pots stowed away. With the exception of a couple of small jobs, I can rest for the winter. 

So now I'm looking through the pictures I took that didn't get used in a blog post. 

For instance, here is Speedwell Lake, located not far from where I live. It is stocked with trout, drawing fishermen and fishing birds, including great blue herons, double-crested cormorants and the occasional osprey. I liked the mirror effect in this picture taken in August.

(Margo D. Beller)

This next picture, meanwhile, was taken in October. I was walking along Patriots Path, a Morris County park near me I've written about many times. I was in an area where once heavy rains would create a lake. When many of the trees were removed because of emerald ash borer infestation, there was more light and so more grasses and weeds started filling in the space. On this day I noticed stands of cattails had suddenly (to me) appeared. Unlike phragmites, which are invasive and considered a biological threat, cattails are important for preserving wetlands. Finding these shows the environment is never static. 

(Margo D. Beller)

Sometimes I find things I can't identify, such as this flowering vine. 

(Margo D. Beller)

In October we had several mornings when I woke up to thick fog. This was the view out my front door one such morning.

(Margo D. Beller)

I enjoy the colorful autumn leaves, especially if I don't have to rake them. The camera does not do the scene justice, unfortunately.

Oct. 28, 2023, Patriots Path
(Margo D. Beller)

I like pathway pictures. This is another section of Patriots Path that, unlike the area where I took the picture of the leaves, is paved. It is popular with walkers, bikers and runners. It can also be very good for finding birds if you get there early, before it gets too crowded, but late enough for the sun to hit the tree tops and attract birds looking for food.

(Margo D. Beller)

Once in a while, you find a surprise. One area of Patriots Path I like to hike is along the Whippany River, which will eventually flow into Speedwell Lake. I have found many birds along this path including warblers in season, different types of ducks, great blue herons and Canada geese. But there have been oddities too, including over 20 turkey vultures roosting in a tree (with several black vultures below them on the ground) waiting for the sun to warm them. This time, in late October, my husband and I were walking along here when something noisily took off from a branch high above us. As it flew off I could see it was a mature bald eagle. But then it flew to a tree on the other side of the recycling center across the river. It stayed long enough for both of us to take some pictures. This picture is edited.

(Margo D. Beller)

Finally, here's a long view of the tow path along the Delaware & Raritan Canal, a state park. Canals were how you shipped goods, at least before the railroads came along and made canals obsolete. The two main New Jersey canals were the D&R, much of which remains as a linear park, and the Morris Canal, much of which was filled in for residential and commercial "development" throughout its route. (One of the exceptions is the Morris Canal Park in Jersey City, where the canal emptied into the Hudson River. I frequently visited this park when I worked in the area and, yes, found lots of interesting birds.)

D&R Canal Park, Kingston, NJ, November 2023
(Margo D. Beller)

Watching and Waiting

Thanks to technology, it is possible to put the smallest of cameras into a nest box to record what is going on inside. Do a search of "nest box cameras" and you'll find all the latest models. Do another search of "watching nest webcams" and you'll find links to cameras put into or near nests by Audubon, the American Eagle Foundation and others. Thanks to webcams you can see into the nests of barn owls, bluebirds and American kestrels. It's an easy way to learn about birds and get engrossed in their life cycles. It's as easy as watching TV.

One of this year's wrens, on the branch
below the box. (Margo D. Beller)

I, however, don't have such a camera. To know what is going on in the house wren nest I have hanging I must depend on my many years of watching and being very, very patient.

After I relearned my lesson about intruding it took several days before the house wren pair resumed their activity in and around the nest box I had put up in the dogwood tree. It was very silent in the yard. Just when I'd think the wrens were gone the male would sing, briefly. This happened for several days. Then, on the fourth day, the house wren male started singing early and often, and I saw the female going into the box and not coming out again for long periods of time.

There must be eggs, I thought then. Now, I think there must be young.

According to the experts at Cornell, egg incubation takes nine to 16 days. Once the eggs hatch, the nesting period is another two weeks or so. Today when the female came back to the tree she had an insect in her bill. So there are young, I thought, likely three or four (house wrens can lay up to 10 eggs per clutch, but not in this little box). Right now the chicks must be very small because I hear no calling when either parent is in the vicinity of the nest. That will change when the young get bigger, noisily clamoring to be fed.

There have been other signs of life in the yard.

Blooming viburnum, already fading.
(Margo D. Beller)

Every so often I have to remind myself to go outside and look at the flowering plants before it is too late. Often, it is too late. The showy red peony flowers are already spent, as are those of the azaleas and the rhododendron. I've already deadheaded the columbine and the iris but the daisies, coneflower, goldenrod and sedums are growing quickly. The Stargazer lilies have opened. The coral bells continue to bloom. The viburnum is covered with white flowers that are already starting to fade. 

There are flowers on the privet bushes that will become little black berries, and the wild cherry tree is covered with green fruit that will ripen for the robins that will soon acrobatically pick them off. There are small wild strawberries all over the yard and a couple of wild raspberry bushes that sprang up in areas where they are not in the way, so I have left them. What I don't pick the birds will get.

The pear tree, way too tall, has fruit growing on branches resting on the roof, perfect for a hungry squirrel ambitious enough to climb up.

One of this year's catbirds. (Margo D. Beller)

And there will be apples, plenty of apples. I'll soon be busy collecting them before the squirrels (and the deer) can do much damage. Those apples are the reason I moved the wren box from this tree.

Yes, it would be easier to see what goes on inside the nest box. I could sit at my computer and watch, like some sort of Peeping Tom. There would be no wondering, no reason to even go outside.

No, thank you.

Incidental (Bird) Music

The quieter you become, the more you can hear.
               --Ram Dass

In an average day, we are bombarded with a lot of noise, even in this time of coronavirus. As I work from home this summer I have a fan on and the windows closed, not just to keep the hot and humid air out and move the drier, slightly cooler air around, but to keep out the annoying noise from lawn service mowers, edgers and blowers; the roar of airplanes; the screams of children. I will likely have the radio on, too, hoping the classical music will counteract whatever stress remote work is inducing. Downstairs, MH will have the television on, scanning the news channels.

Sitting on my mother-in-law's deck, I could hear a common loon
calling from some distance away. Note the great blue heron
towards the center of this picture. (Margo D. Beller)

Unfortunately, this noise blocking also keeps out something I wouldn't mind hearing more of, the birdsong.

This is why I go out early in the morning to my porch where, despite needing a fan when it is particularly humid, I can hear birds as they go about their business. But the dawn chorus, when I can rouse myself to go out to hear it, is not as frenetic as before because the birds have long ago chosen their territories, built their nests and raised their young. If I'm lucky, I'll hear the chatter of young birds chasing after their parents and begging for food, or see a hummingbird come to the feeder for the energy she'll need to hunt insects and bring them back to her feed her young.

I call this incidental birding.

We traveled recently, to get away from the headlines and visit family in New England. Along the way I was amazed how many birds I heard from the car when we were driving the back roads. This should not have surprised me. Many years before, on a busy main street in Chicago, I heard something, crossed the street and found a goldfinch atop the traffic light. How had I heard this? Simple - I had trained myself to listen and listen hard because more times than not I have to use my ears rather than my eyes when I am out in the field once the trees leaf out.

This was one of the easier paths we followed, to a
marsh. We heard lots of birds along it. (Margo D. Beller)

So on our New Hampshire trip, with really working that hard at it, I heard many of the warblers that had passed through my neighborhood months before on their way to their breeding areas here: black and white, prairie, Blackburnian, to name a few. In a way this is more interesting birding than going out with the intent of finding birds because of the element of surprise. "What was that?" I think as I hear a snippet of bird call. "Was that what I thought it was?" One such snippet rattled around in my brain until I realized I'd heard a common loon. I'd like to think I am correct in my guessing because I have been listening - really listening - to birds for a long time.

Too often we are caught up in our own little worlds, especially now when, if the heat and humidity and hurricanes don't keep you inside, the fear of being infected with a virus does. Even before we'd ever heard of COVID-19 people have created their own soundscape by blaring their car radios or traveling with earbuds. blocking the outside world. After decades of putting up with cell phone conversations and the screeching of commuter trains and subways, it is a blessing for me to hear as little as possible for as long as I can.

When I sit on my porch - before the lawn services and the office Zoom meetings - and hear something - a robin, say, or downy woodpecker - I consider myself lucky. I sit with my coffee and enjoy the silence of the early morning, punctuated with the occasional chipping sparrow, flicker or catbird. I don't need "mindfulness" or other types of meditation, I just listen to what is or isn't going on around me. A hummingbird is a revelation. A catbird is a prayer. A cardinal is the world telling me it hasn't all gone to hell.

In short, it's my way of coping.

The Early Birder

When it is hot and steamy, as it has been in my part of New Jersey this week, it is imperative to get out in the cooler early morning if you want to do anything, in my case look for birds.

Baltimore oriole, Old Mine Road, 2020 (RE Berg-Andersson)

It was easier for me to do that in early May when the migrants were passing through, providing me with hope of finding birds I hadn't seen for a while or at all. At that point there were cold mornings and the leaves hadn't come out completely, making it easier for me to see anything moving in the trees.

Now, however, we are in June. The birds are sitting on eggs or raising families and keeping quiet. The leaves are out fully and to find birds I have to listen hard. It is more humid and the bugs are hungry.

There are more people birding now, according to the New York Times, which has published a number of articles recently by some experts telling city people now stuck at home because of the coronavirus about the birds they've been hearing and seeing. I have mixed feelings about all those potential new birders out in the field. On one hand, more noisy people in my way. On the other, maybe they'll keep their dogs leashed in natural areas and their children quiet and respectful. 

That was my hope at 10 a.m. on June 1 when a tired MH and I started our drive down Old Mine Road from its northern end in Sussex County, NJ, our first big road trip since the pandemic began. (It takes an hour to get there from our house and two hours for MH to get himself fully awake and ready to roll.)

Old Mine Road is an Important Birding Area because a large number of different types of birds come into this northern, elevated corner of the state to breed. Some of them are birds that are hard to find, including the threatened cerulean warbler, a sky blue and white bird with a buzzy call. A lot of birds call their territorial songs along this old mining road where there are abandoned structures (perfect nesting sites for wrens and phoebes), remnants of old villages and some private homes not part of the surrounding federal Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area. The road was once much longer but now one end is at Route 206 in Sussex County, just before a toll bridge into Pennsylvania. The southern part of the road, in Warren County, goes through Worthington State Forest and ends near the last exit on Interstate 80 in New Jersey.

We come here once a year, the earlier the better to hear the bird chorus. We could not come here in mid-May because when the governor allowed state parks to reopen the crowds of housebound people yearning to get out were intense. So we waited until June 1, when I had taken some time off, the weather was relatively cool and dry and, I hoped, there'd be fewer people out on a weekday.

Redtail hawk over Old Mine Road, 2020
(RE Berg-Andersson)

It is frustrating, thrilling and ultimately tiring for me to be driving this road slowly and listening hard. Many of the birds are loud and easy to hear and identify - American redstart, ovenbird, red-eyed vireo. Some require me to stop and get out of the car to listen - the yellow-throated vireo or the scarlet tanager or the weesy-weesy call of the black and white warbler. We heard hooded warbler and Baltimore oriole, indigo bunting and Carolina wren. Many of the birds I find at home were also here, near the cleared land of former settlements - robins, catbirds, house wrens, chipping and song sparrows. I was amazed we ultimately heard or saw 50 types of birds.

But it could've been more, and that is frustrating. Some areas we were not going to hike into. Some birds are too quiet to hear from a moving car. Some stretches of the road had cars doing the 35 mph speed limit (or higher) while I was doing 20, forcing me to speed up to find a place where I could safely pull over. As time went on the birds went quiet as the car traffic increased. I never did hear a cerulean (although according to various bird reports from that day there could've been as many as five along the road).

This year's house wren, as close as I could get with my phone, 2020 (Margo D. Beller)

We spent five hours on the road. Once we got into the state park section the road condition deteriorated and going the mandatory 15 mph was not hard to do, unless you wanted to break an axle (which many drivers apparently wanted to do). This part of the road is where more birders tend to be, walking the road or in cars pulled off to the side. I was surprised to find the southernmost parking lot, where we'd planned to switch positions for the drive home, was jammed with cars. (It was even worse at the nearby visitor center lot at the Delaware Water Gap.) I was glad we had started from the other end but, as usual, I wished we could've started far earlier in the morning. The early birder gets the birds.

Now that it's hotter, I go out early but generally I am staying closer to home. It took longer than usual for a house wren pair to set up housekeeping in my nest box but one has finally come and the male is singing steadily in the apple tree, which is already filled with developing fruit.