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About a week ago, I had the great opportunity for a winter jaunt on a brisk January, Sunday morning. For this particular stroll, I was back at a relaxing place - the North Central Railroad (Northern Baltimore County, Maryland). Sunday mornings are a great time to go hiking or country walking, particularly on typically crowded trails near urban centers. I have found that most people will either be in church or in bed on a Sunday morning, so I’ll have the trail to myself. I don’t mind getting up early, and I’m an atheist, so I don’t feel the need to go to church. Besides, I have much more spiritually fulfilling experiences in the forests and mountains than I’ve ever experienced sitting in a church somewhere listening to some old guy yammer on about how horrible we all are for daring to attend church that morning - then he usually asks for money (what a racket!). But I digress … last Sunday, was quite a lovely morning. The air was calm, but very cold. I love this, because with each step I take, I breathe a little harder and deeper, and the crisp, cold air means I’ll feel each breath filling my lungs. Those sharp chilly breaths help me focus on the moment at hand and also make me feel very alive. I was particularly enjoying this jaunt, with my partner and son, talking about small things and quietly walking, enjoying the winter landscape, when I noticed, on a tree by the trail, a bit of blue paint. I was quietly contemplating the possible meanings of the blue paint, when, on one of the branches near the paint spot, I saw some more blue - but this bit flickered, moved, and then took off. Whoa — a floating flying blue spot. Now that’s something you don’t see everyday. Actually, it dawned on me quite quickly that I was definitely seeing a bluebird. I’ve only seen a few bluebirds in my entire life, so it’s always a bit of a special event when it happens. In fact, I hadn’t seen bluebird for over a year. The bird flew over the trail and then perched in a tree near to where we were walking, so we stopped to admire the bird. Then we noticed a few brown birds also following this blue bird. I assume, although I don’t know for sure, that these were female bluebirds. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those. A few seconds later the initial (male) bluebird took off and headed towards a nearby grassy spot, next to a river (more of a rill, actually). This wasn’t particularly remarkable, but what happened next was pretty exciting … about twenty or thirty more bluebirds started to gather on the grass with the first one - I should be clear, twenty or thirty more male bluebirds, along with many, many small brown birds. I had only ever seen one bluebird at a time, for brieft glances, up until this moment. Here, suddenly, and quite surprisingly, we were seeing a few dozen bluebirds flitting from branch to branch, down to the ground to look for food, and then back up into the trees. The quick movements, and the flashing blue color, made for a bright contrast to the subtle winter greys and browns in the forest. This was an exciting and special moment. I’m 48, and I had never seen a flock of bluebirds — I didn’t even know they travelled in flocks. I hope you see something cool like that someday soon. Here’s some more information about bluebirds from the Audubon Society: "Never are eastern bluebirds brighter than when fields and backyards east of the Rockies are draped in snow. The species’ population had been drastically reduced–mostly by starlings and house sparrows, which usurp their nesting cavities. But for the past 24 years, an effort by the North American Bluebird Society to popularize artificial nest boxes has produced spectacular results. As bluebirds surge back, more and more of them are wintering in the North, where they sustain themselves on fruit. During cold snaps the birds will roost in the boxes, sometimes in groups of a dozen or more. They eat all sorts of berries, but perhaps their favorite is cultivated winterberry holly." If you’d like to learn more about eastern bluebirds, or any other birds, you can visit the National Audubon Society at www.audubon.org. |
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Copyright 2007 Andrew J. Vervan. All rights reserved.
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