Last Sunday started as just another morning at the kitchen window.

During the school year, I am a prisoner of “teacher time,” meaning I wake up at 4:30 every morning, whether I want to or not. Weekends, holidays, you name it, I’m up. So, rather than fighting the inevitable I put on a pot of fresh coffee, gather my wits (which doesn’t take too long since I have so few) and prepare myself for a morning of birding.

This is basically my regimen of self-care. I need something to do that keeps my mind occupied with pleasantly unimportant things, yet is entertaining, engaging and even educational. I may see the same 18-20 species of birds every day — undoubtedly the same individuals in many cases — but I learn a little more about their habits — who arrives first, who arrives later and dominates the feeding station, who arrives in the afternoon and who is the last diner to leave at sunset — with every encounter. These are all very interesting to me.

The added benefit of becoming so familiar with the “regulars” is that I’m able to pick up on someone new very quickly. Sometimes, a behavior hints at a change in the little community on my deck. Sometimes, a slight difference in physical appearance suggests another look might be in order. But then there are those times when the difference is so great that it shouts at you. “Hey, look at me!”

MORNING SILHOUETTES

Such was the case last Sunday morning when my observations began before sunrise. This is the time of sparrows. All there was to look at was silhouettes. The important thing to remember is that silhouettes can differ enough to offer identifications. Chunky with a crest equals northern cardinal. Chunky without a crest equals a white-throated sparrow. Plump and rather small equals dark-eyed junco. Diminutive and slender equals American tree sparrow. With enough practice, anyone can do it.

The jewel missing from my photo collection continues to be a rusty blackbird. I saw one not long ago, but I didn’t have my camera and I didn’t get a picture. Ever since that dark day, I have spent a little extra time watching the birds hoping to catch the bird on a return visit. So far, no luck, but the extra time has paid other dividends. Certain species have been detected when they might otherwise have slipped under my radar without notice. Such was the case on this particular Sunday morning.

SURPRISE VISITOR

I had already logged 2 hours at the kitchen window and decided to take a break. My beautiful wife, Susan, had arisen from her slumber and announced that it was now okay for me to officially start my day. So, utilizing the translation chip that I call the “Susan 2000,” I understood that it was time to make some breakfast for my sweetheart. At about 9:10 a.m. (I’m estimating here) I walked past the window and came to an abrupt halt. There, on the railing outside, was a northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos). I stood there saying, “Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move” and slowly reached for my camera. This time the bird listened and I got the shot I needed. The entire event lasted for 90 seconds and then the bird was gone, not to be seen again (so far).

INVISIBLE LINE

The mockingbird is a familiar species to many people and it is certainly a bird that I can see regularly in the region around my home, but it is not at all common in my particular neighborhood. I suspect that this is the result of altitude. I live up on a hill. Because of this certain common species just don’t find their way up to my yard. If I drive 2 miles down the road (and down the hill) then I see them, but up here, I don’t. This is true with snow as well. There is a certain point on my road at which rain will change to snow, wet roads will change to icy roads, and clear air will become saturated with fog. Apparently, birds are sensitive to this invisible line as well.

So, the appearance of a mockingbird at my feeding station is a big deal; one of those “X-factor” events that can help to set new birding records. I went back through the last 10 years of my birding lists and I only found five other instances in which a mockingbird was seen or heard. Three of these instances were in April (2019, 2022, and 2024), which is reasonable because it is the time of migration. In 2018, I detected a mockingbird in October (again, migration) and way back in 2014 I heard one in June. Five isolated observations on single days over 10 years gives you an idea of how unusual this bird is in my yard. Now, for the first time, I have a sighting in December. That is interesting.

RANGE EXPANSION?

We’ve all heard about climate change and on many occasions I have written about the concept of “species range expansion.” Are two sightings of a mockingbird in the same year a sign that something is afoot? It is equally interesting that this happened in the same year that Carolina wrens (Thryothorus ludovicianus) suddenly became semi-regular personalities in my yard. Are both of these species finding higher altitudes a little more acceptable these days? There is no way for me to tell, but this is certainly something worth watching — and reporting to Cornell University via eBird!

Try to get outside between blizzards and downpours and listen to different birds. If that doesn’t work out, then try to sit by a window and enjoy the quiet while scrutinizing all of the little visitors that might come to your feeders. The “regulars” are no less fascinating just because they are with you every day and the X-factor species are no more interesting just because they are rare. All of the birds have something to teach us and all we have to do is let them. Until next week, stay warm, stay dry and stay safe.