Go West!
My competitive nature always gets me there.
I'm back in the habitat in which I ignored birds for two decades. Even after I received my birding calling, I was fearful of going it alone out here in the West.
But the more we talked about lists and birds we hadn't seen, the prouder I was of some of the Pacific birds even the guru himself hasn't yet seen. I decided I needed to pay more attention on my trips west so as to build my meager arsenal against his entirely overwhelming Oceania list.
My parents' California backyard bustled with fluttering specks, and I reached for my binoculars. Why did I always think there just wasn't anything to see in this rapidly citifying suburb?
A little flock of Oregon-style juncos played in the pool area, whistling to one another and never stopping for a rest. A Western Scrub-jay pecked around under the citrus trees. A Yellow-rumped Warbler chirruped (I can almost distinguish them now) from our nearby tangelo tree.
A mockingbird played in our neighbor's tree, which hangs over the fence into our yard. As I finished examining him, I saw another smallish avian form resting on a prominent twig. Was that...was it really....
...a hummingbird?
I've seen hummingbirds at flowers and feeders, but I had to take Sibley's word for it that they ever perched. And now here was one only twenty feet away, occasionally turning to test my powers of observation for the Sibley study I'd be doing later. Bright green glossy back; dark, uneven band on throat (not entirely dark like, say, the black-chinned); blackish wingtips and grayish-green speckled front; thin, straight bill.
Breathtaking.
After several minutes of this restricted oxygen, the bird moved to a more secluded branch, but I hoped it would wait for me to summon my mom to see it. Alas, she wasn't inside the door; I couldn't risk losing it by not going back. Only a couple more minutes and it disappeared into the tree.
A perched hummingbird. In my backyard. On Christmas Eve eve.
A perched Anna's Hummingbird.
May wonders never cease.
I'm back in the habitat in which I ignored birds for two decades. Even after I received my birding calling, I was fearful of going it alone out here in the West.
But the more we talked about lists and birds we hadn't seen, the prouder I was of some of the Pacific birds even the guru himself hasn't yet seen. I decided I needed to pay more attention on my trips west so as to build my meager arsenal against his entirely overwhelming Oceania list.
My parents' California backyard bustled with fluttering specks, and I reached for my binoculars. Why did I always think there just wasn't anything to see in this rapidly citifying suburb?
A little flock of Oregon-style juncos played in the pool area, whistling to one another and never stopping for a rest. A Western Scrub-jay pecked around under the citrus trees. A Yellow-rumped Warbler chirruped (I can almost distinguish them now) from our nearby tangelo tree.
A mockingbird played in our neighbor's tree, which hangs over the fence into our yard. As I finished examining him, I saw another smallish avian form resting on a prominent twig. Was that...was it really....
...a hummingbird?
I've seen hummingbirds at flowers and feeders, but I had to take Sibley's word for it that they ever perched. And now here was one only twenty feet away, occasionally turning to test my powers of observation for the Sibley study I'd be doing later. Bright green glossy back; dark, uneven band on throat (not entirely dark like, say, the black-chinned); blackish wingtips and grayish-green speckled front; thin, straight bill.
Breathtaking.
After several minutes of this restricted oxygen, the bird moved to a more secluded branch, but I hoped it would wait for me to summon my mom to see it. Alas, she wasn't inside the door; I couldn't risk losing it by not going back. Only a couple more minutes and it disappeared into the tree.
A perched hummingbird. In my backyard. On Christmas Eve eve.
A perched Anna's Hummingbird.
May wonders never cease.
1 Comments:
So the moral of the story is, pride cometh before ... revelation? Ah well, sounds like a beautiful bird.
Merry Christmas!
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