I live with a condition that I have named “OCB,” and I self-identify as an obsessive-compulsive birder. This is not a disorder as much as it is simply a lifestyle. I’ve never gotten into a car accident because I was distracted by a bird, I’ve never missed a major appointment because I was distracted by a bird, and I have never had important events in my life negatively impacted by birds. However, I make most of my vacation plans around the likelihood that I will be able to find and photograph birds, and my regular, daily routine is definitely dominated by them. What can I say? I love birds.
Regular readers of my column will understand that OCB drives me to take copious notes on bird sightings and my daily journals have kept a record of my increasing interest in this. In 2005, when I moved into the only home that I have ever owned, I kept a daily journal, but my system wasn’t particularly well established. This journal contains a huge number of distressingly blank pages, and I find this quite disappointing.
Fortunately, I also kept monthly bird lists, which do allow me some historical perspective. I can look back over 21 years of data and try to establish “regular” arrival times for the migratory birds that arrive each spring. Later journals contain more weather data, which adds a little more information to the migratory story and, when told carefully, the story is an interesting one.
I’m sure that you noticed that we had an “old-fashioned” winter this year. Global warming seemed to produce a series of rather mild winters for the past 10 years, but this year it seems to have remained colder longer. Just last week I found myself saddened by the prospect of driving to work in yet another snowstorm and this sort of weather has definitely had an impact on the birding calendar. During the warmer years, two species of birds (the Eastern phoebe and the tree swallow) routinely arrived on the same exact day at the beginning of April. This year has been quite different.
The Eastern phoebe (Sayornis phoebe) is a small flycatcher that is bright, alert and brimming with attitude; so much so that it can only be described as being desperately adorable. There are many other birds that might be described as such, but the Eastern phoebe is also wonderfully willing to live out its life in extremely close proximity to humans. Their preferred nesting location is a dry area beneath an overhang of some sort. Prior to the arrival of Europeans in North America, this sort of nesting spot might have been found in an area with rock ledges, or perhaps an old tree with just the right sort of branches. Today, however, it is buildings like houses and barns that fit the bill.
At my own house, I have a sheltered entrance where the roof forms a 90-degree angle near my front door. There is a light fixture that illuminates the deck and the driveway right outside the door and this was deemed a perfect nesting site for a female phoebe. The only problem was that it didn’t offer a lot of room. My response to this observation was to build a special platform that was tucked even further undercover and the phoebe responded by shifting her nesting spot.
One day, the bare wooden platform had a small clump of moss on it. Then, day by day the nest grew as the female phoebe delivered additional material by the beakful. The nest eventually revealed its final design, which was a base composed of dried mud with a cup of soft green moss. The phoebe took advantage of the quiet days when I was at work to do most of the nest construction. On weekends, however, I could look though a narrow window that is positioned behind my coffee maker and observe little streaks of gray coming and going from the nest.
It was always a surprise to discover that the female had laid eggs and this was followed by the pure ecstasy of listening to the phoebe chicks begging for food whenever a parent made a delivery. But nothing — absolutely nothing — compares to the pure joy of receiving the evil eye from a nestful of baby phoebes who were just about ready to fledge.
The parents eventually accept that a human nearby isn’t a threat, but the babies are another story. They are loaded with suspicion and deliver the most delightful glares.
Even better was the fact that the female phoebe would always use the same nest for a second clutch of eggs. This is quite uncommon among songbirds, but the phoebe nest is so elaborate in its construction, and the correct conditions for nesting are so rare, that the female will opt to freshen up an established nest rather than attempt to build a new one.
During the first months of the COVID-19 pandemic I had the siding on my house replaced and this sadly resulted in the workmen destroying the mother phoebe’s nest. There was a brief attempt to try it again, but one calamity after another seemed to discourage the female so thoroughly that she didn’t even make an appearance last year. This was a very sad development and I still miss the phoebes terribly.
So, it was with tremendous joy that I recorded the first phoebe of the year on Sunday, April 4. The nesting shelf is ready and I desperately hope that a new female will decide to take up residence. All that I can do is rely on the intense curiosity of phoebes and hope that the nesting shelf will be discovered. Once I can lure in a female for one successful year, then the tradition of nesting by my front door will begin anew. The phoebes arrived right on schedule this year, so I have hope. On the other hand, the tree swallows have been delayed by the weather, so please send me an email whenever you see one. I am hopeful that they will arrive with the next wave of warm weather.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 28 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit www.speakingofnature.com, Speaking of Nature on Facebook, or the Speaking of Nature Podcast.