A Bird's Eye View
200mm 1/250 sec f/5.6 ISO 200
It's February. One more solid month of winter. I know, March can be far too winter-like, but March is spring. Whether you embrace the arrival of spring from a meteorological or astronomical perspective (personally, I think meteorological is the way to go), March is the end of the line for winter. In Virginia, which can't quite decide if it wants to be a northern state or a southern state weather-wise, March usually holds an acceptable amount of springtime weather. There can be exceptions depending on the year, of course, when a tenacious snowstorm blindsides the landscape. The occasional March when the crocuses and the snowdrops and the miniature daffodils sprout their hardy little blossoms only to be struck down by a snowfall of a few inches. Not a pleasant thing, not necessary at all when to everything there is a season, and the season known as spring doesn't require any snow. Ever.
Along with the early-spring flowers getting their hopes up and braving potential weather disasters, there are the hopeful ready-to-embrace-spring birds. The cardinals and the robins, the blue jays and the blue birds, the Carolina wrens and the black-capped chickadees are more than ready to stop shivering while going about their morning meals as they peck hopefully at the frozen ground. (I did have a very nice bird feeder set up at the beginning of fall to help our feathered friends through the winter, but a raccoon decided one night to demolish it and I haven't figured out yet how to remedy this for future bird feeder usage.) These birds hang about through the winter, spending a milder day flying in and out of my yard, but often they prefer to stay cozy and dry somewhere out of the winter weather. It's tough to catch them in larger groups in the winter; I usually see them two, maybe three at a time on a chilly, cloudy day. So it was surprising when, on one gray, all-of-forty-degrees early-afternoon as February began, my two acres erupted into an impromptu bird party. Sparrows were the bulk of this raucous gathering, swooping back and forth from the abutting field to the far edge of my acreage. They were pretty enough as I peered out of my studio to see what the noise was all about. Before long a handful of robins decided to join the fun. Plump, not-particularly-shy American robins, perched on branches and stared me down. (I had grabbed my camera and inched out the studio door, and sat down on the stoop making myself as small and unobtrusive as possible. Whether creeping out a backdoor or my studio door, this was a tactic that usually worked if I was quiet enough and patient enough to sit very, very still for awhile while the birds did their thing.) My one mistake this morning was the lens on my camera. It was a 200mm as opposed to a 300mm because, obviously, I did not expect a large burst of bird exuberance on such a wintry day. Live and learn.
200mm 1/160 sec f/5.6 ISO 200
As I continued my watch, an Eastern bluebird showed up. Just one. One little, perfect bluebird landed on the tip of a sawed-off dogwood branch and watched the sparrows freaking out in unison around the plump, haughty robins. He eyed me suspiciously but stayed on his perch much longer than I expected him to. My distance must have been sufficient, and his sociability just confident enough to allow him not to feel too threatened to hang around for a few minutes.
200mm 1/250 sec f/5.6 ISO 200
The little guy might have stayed longer if it weren't for the arrival of the woodpecker. Swooping in like he owned the place, he sent the smaller birds scattering. This was not the red-bellied woodpecker that hung out on one particular tree last winter. I haven't seen him this winter at all. No, he was new, a pileated woodpecker that decided to take a few jabs at the dogwood tree. He was there for, at most, twenty seconds, and that was enough for him and my proximity. He definitely didn't like the sight of me no matter how much I tried to be still and melt into the wall of the studio. I got him, though. One blurry shot initially followed by three that were perfectly acceptable. A couple of quick, annoyed glances in my direction, and he was done. Off he went to an edge of the yard where there is a very large, fallen piece of a decaying tree trunk. Looks like a perfect woodpecker home to me.
It turned out to be an excellent surprise, even with the disappointment of not having a better lens with me. I need to be more prepared because there will be more and more mornings as winter finally ends that will be filled with cardinals and noisy wrens and blue jays and the beautiful yellow and soft brown cedar waxwings. And, if I'm lucky, another, longer appearance by the woodpecker.
