I gaze at a small thicket of trees and underbrush. After lugging several wheelbarrows of old grass and leaves to the compost bin, I am taking a break and resting on the garden shed steps. The June day is foggy but warm. Birds twitter and tweet.
The birdsong-filled air reminds me of a conversation at a recent ladies’ luncheon. Everyone agreed that waking to the sound of birdsong at this time of the year is a lovely thing, although we disagreed as to how early in the morning “enjoyable” meant.
Suddenly, I’m aware of the many bird songs above, and more than that, realize a lot of feathered friend dating action is going on around me. This just might be more interesting than The Bachelor. I decide to sit and watch.
A redstart flits and hops in the thicket, stopping frequently to belt out his distinct song. Obviously he’s enthusiastically searching for a lady love. I know he’s a guy because one summer, with the help of a set of binoculars on my kitchen window sill, I watched a pair of redstarts take care of their nest until their eggs changed from squawking babies to fledglings taking their first flight.
So today, I recognize the male redstart as he jumps from branch to branch, blasting out his lively call. He’s very vocal and very lively, but, unfortunately his antics don’t attract any interested lady redstarts.
The familiar chirp of a robin draws my attention to a flutter of wings further in the underbrush where a small spruce grows. Funny, I’ve never really noticed this plot of mini-woods skirting my neighbor’s and my back yard. Now I see it as a universe of its own.
The wings move toward a dark blob that turns out, on further scrutiny, to be a nest with a robin sitting on it. The moving bird stops briefly and then flies to a nearby birch, where he sits, obviously the father robin, guarding his territory. Clearly the robins’ courting days are over, but they knew a good spot for a love nest when they saw one.
No sooner have I spotted the robins than another bird begins its pitch for romance. I don’t recognize this bird which looks like a red-winged blackbird, but his sounds aren’t familiar.
This guy was having better luck than Mr. Redstart. As I watch, trying to figure out what he is, his tweets attract a bird similar in size but without the red and black markings of the singer. I figure it is an interested female, trying to decide whether or not he passes inspection.
She flits closer and closer until the male joins her on a branch, and he must look okay because they fly away together.
This place is livelier than a singles bar on a Saturday night. In fact, it could easily surpass www.match.com for action. But it’s time for me to get back to my chores. I lift myself up from the steps and as I walk away notice that the redstart is still frantically trying to drum up a mate. The two love birds of unknown origin cavort in a nearby tree. And the robins quietly tend to their nest.
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