Serious Winter Birds - East Missoula, Montana

"In November, some birds move away and some birds stay. The air is full of good-byes and well-wishes. The birds who are leaving look very serious. No silly spring chirping now. They have long journeys and must watch where they are going. The staying birds are serious, too, for cold times lie ahead. Hard times. All berries will be treasures." - Cynthia Rylant, In November

(I couldn't resist another chunky view of these winter-brave songsters, hence the two-part mini-series.)

Of Bird And Tree Shapes - East Missoula, Montana

"Yet farther up the road, near a hole in the river where people were sometimes dipped in baptism, a cloud of martins erupted out of a maple tree nearing the peak of its color.  The sun's bottom limb was just touching the ridge and the sky was the color of hammered pewter. The martins flew from the tree as one body, still in the shape of the round maple they had filled. Then they banked into the wind, slipped sideways int he moving air on extended wings for two heartbeats, so that Ada viewed them in thin profile and saw much silver space between the individual birds.  Immediately, as if on signal, they swept into a steep climb and the fullness of their wings turned toward her and closed the bright gaps between the birds so that the flock looked like the black image of the red maple projected into the sky.  The bird shadows across the long field grass beyond the road flickered." - From Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier

Overhead Danger, Missoula, Montana

On the subject of overhead birds, this I wonder: How can three days of intermittent rain not be enough to wash the bird splotch off my driver’s side car window?
It’s a recurring terror: each time I shoulder check, there’s a heart-stopping nano-second when said splotch masquerades as a white car in my blind spot.
 
Of course, the moment of alarm passes, and I forget about this little problem - until the next driving jaunt.
If I were smart, or was in a moment of focus beyond that of a gnat, I‘d water up a paper towel right now & take care of this business.
 
But where’s the fun in that?

Evening Song, Missoula, Montana

Initially, I got all excited thinking this was a meadowlark, which is the true harbinger of spring in western Montana, and the only bird call I mimic rather well, if I do say so myself.

Living in the great Montana metropolis (woohoo!) for this past year, it’s been a while since my little eye has spied an actual meadowlark, as they prefer less cluttered habitat & keep their distance from urban chickens. It appears time has blurred my memory of their critical markings. After realizing his waistcoat was all wrong & the cheek spot was excess, I decided it would behoove me to discover who really was perched atop the lamp by the river path. Best I can find, it’s a variety of flicker. (Thanks to the Mrs. Casselman, my astonishingly patient juniour high school science teacher, I can recognize a red-winged flicker in flight, since the underside of their wings are - imagine - red.)

Please feel free to share any bird lore or adolescent science inspirations in your story bag!

Two In Bush, Missoula, Montana

“A bird in hand is better than two in a bush…” unless you are taking pictures.

One in hand would then be a nuisance, and prob’ly messy, to boot.
One of my older sisters had a pet cockatiel - soft yellow with the orange cheek spots - until it decided to fly and be free, or so we fervently hope was the outcome. He’d tamely sit on her shoulder, observing the world and occasionally accessorizing her wardrobe with a bird-sized dose of effluent. Ick, said I. To which she replied, Oh, you just brush it off, like this. Oh, said I with much wryness of tone, that makes it better.
I guess you either feel the bird love, or not.