Some red-winged blackbirds, passing through on their spring migration, stopped for the evening in our neighborhood. They’ve roosted for the night in the top of an old sycamore along the creek; you can clearly hear them for blocks because the sycamore towers above all the houses and most of the other trees. I went for a walk after dinner and it took me a little bit to pinpoint their location, even though they are quite noisy: from that height, the sound bounces off houses in most unexpected ways. I knew they were red-wings because of the males’ distinctive call, described by most references as conk-a-ree or oak-a-lee. I’ve always thought of them as saying, “Look at me!” After all, they make those calls while flashing their brilliant red epaulets, seeking to attract females to their territory and defend that territory from other males. It’s a cheerful little song of three notes, cocky and ever-so-slightly desperate, and it never fails to make me smile.
Tag Archives: spring
Of crocuses and groundhogs
Frigid temperatures and the manipulated forecasts of manhandled rodents notwithstanding, spring has sprung in Zone 5 Appalachia. Early crocuses are blooming, and the local groundhogs are grazing on roadsides in the warmth of the midday sun. Even the vegetative carnage of a February ice storm won’t cause the sap to recede to the root zone or the blood to thicken and slow. The ground itself seems to breathe, rising and lowering with the fluctuating temperatures. A few parting shots from Mother Hel can’t change that.
The Daily Compost 