I don’t know if this ever happens to you, but there are days when I am just not quite sure that all is right in the world. The politics in Washington weigh heavily upon my mind, and the daily updates just seem to suggest that things are headed in the wrong direction. At times like this, I turn off the radio, turn off the TV and seek solace in the natural world. I try to be present in the moment and look for any hint that things are actually okay.
Thus, it was on a beautiful morning down at my beloved Thinking Chair that I happened to look up from the notes that I was taking in time to see exactly what I had been looking for: a sign that everything was still okay. Off to my left, perched on a branch about 10 feet off the ground, was a young veery that appeared to be just as interested in me as I was in it. I moved as quickly as I dared; simultaneously desperate to get a photo and also terrified that the bird would move. It must have been the gods smiling down upon me, but the little bird just sat there watching me. The photo was everything that I could have hoped for.
The veery (Catharus fuscescens) is a migratory bird that is probably little known by the average person. A member of the Order Passerifomes, this species falls soundly into the group of birds generally referred to as “songbirds.” Further taxonomic narrowing brings us to the Family Turdidae, which contains the thrushes. Local examples of this group would include the American robin, the Eastern bluebird and the wood thrush, all of which are beautiful and graceful species that inhabit a wide range of habitats.
The veery specializes in dense forests that have damp soils. It is not at all uncommon for the birds to nest in areas where there are streams, which is exactly the sort of habitat that I have on my property. My Thinking Chair sits at the southern edge of a large, bowl-shaped wet meadow that drains via a stream channel that quickly turns into a ravine as it loses altitude.
In the springtime you could do some whitewater kayaking in this stream, but by August it is generally dry. Further into the woods, beyond the limits of my land, the stream descends at a steeper and steeper gradient and it is from that area that I can hear veeries singing their enchanting, ethereal songs. Imagine woodland nymphs playing a dozen high-pitched panpipes all at the same time and you have an approximation of the sound that a single veery can make.
In late June, I was fortunate enough to see — and photograph — an adult veery that had come up toward the meadow to patrol the stream in search of food. Then, last week, I was absolutely stunned to see the young veery in almost the same exact spot. This was that wondrous sign that indicated the normalcy and health of the natural world. A pair of veeries had successfully managed to raise a family down in the deep forest and the youngsters were starting to explore.
As is the case with most neotropical migratory birds, the veery is only in our area for a very short while. They winter in central Brazil and they travel up to North America to take advantage of all of the real estate that is made available after the snow melts. That, combined with a sudden burst of insect life, makes it worth the 4,000-mile trip.
Upon arrival, the adult males set up territories, and they sing like crazy. The females will tour their areas and select the males that they find most alluring. Then, the females will set about the task of building a nest. Located on the ground, the nest is a substantial pile of all manner of vegetation that the females can find. Sticks, grasses, moss and bark strips will form the base. The central “cup” will then be lined with softer materials that will keep eggs and chicks safe and warm.
The female will lay three to five pale blue eggs (one per day) and then start incubation when her clutch is complete. The eggs hatch in 10 to 12 days and then both the male and female will work together to feed their growing chicks.
Baby veeries are fed a diet of insects and spiders, which are high in proteins. Their demands for food will increase during their 10-day incubation period and the parents will have to work harder and harder to keep everyone fed. At some point the impatience of the chicks will drive them to leave the nest and follow their parents around as they beg for food. Then, very slowly, the chicks will learn how to find their own food. Imagine the life of a human child from birth to the mid-20s and you will understand the first three months of life for a baby veery.
Then, before it seems possible, the birds respond to an internal compulsion to migrate. The adults, who arrived in May, will be gone by the end of September. Only once in the greatest of whiles can you catch sight of a straggler in early October. Like most passerines, the veery migrates at night. The birds can climb to an altitude of 2,000 feet and cover up to 160 miles in a single push.
As dawn breaks, the birds will descend to Earth and look for something to eat. All of that activity requires a lot of energy, which is why it is so important for there to be tracts of healthy forest all the way down through North America, Central America and into northern South America. I can’t imagine how a 3-month-old bird can manage such a trip, but thank Darwin they do!
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 29 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.