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Nature
Happenings - January 2001
A
Finch At My Feeder
It is the dawn of the New Millennium,
literally. Steam from my coffee cup curls upwards and fogs the back-door
window. The morning winter sun has crested the nearby La Sal Mountains,
bathing the backyard in rich light. A new day, a new year, a new
century — a bird watcher's dream because now I can start a
new list.
Let's face it: bird watchers are obsessed
with lists. Some days the entries in my field journal are brief, but
they always include lists. Birds I've seen in my backyard. Birds on
the daily walk. Though I don't keep lists of birds I've observed on
TV shows, there are birders out there that do. Maybe that someone
is you.
But back to this morning. I wait with
anticipation; who will be the first? Will it be one of the usual winter
suspects: the aggressive house sparrows that show up like long lost
relatives during holiday dinners, the hooded juncos that try to reach
the thistle feeder by craning their necks or perhaps will it be one
of those sweet singing goldfinches?
In winter, we get a lot of finches
at our feeders. American goldfinches in casual winter garb, their
brilliant canary-yellow plumage currently at the cleaners. Lesser
goldfinches, whose Latin species name psaltria means "one who plays
the lute' but whose small stature makes it "lesser" than the American
goldfinch. Evening grosbeaks that appear some winters, but have chosen
somewhere else this list-making day. Occasionally a white-crowned
sparrow, another member of the Finch Family, makes a foray into our
yard, searching out millet seeds that the house sparrows toss like
confetti from the feeders.
Yes, the finches rule the backyard,
bickering over the feeders and hogging the prime spots. But when a
low-flying sharp-shinned or Cooper's hawk stalk the yard, the finches
push themselves away from the table, often in a big hurry. When these
raptors cruise through, the finches burst from the backyard like an
exploding water balloon.
But back to this morning. I watch with
great anticipation for today is not like yesterday. Sure it's cold
and a few gray clouds clot the canyon rims and it seems like yesterday
- except it isn't. It's the 21st Century, Buck Rodgers. And so I wait.
I drain the last of my coffee before
I see my New Year Bird. He perches on the tool shed, partially hidden
amongst last years trumpeter vines and surveys the situation. Cautious
as a mouse at a cat convention, this finch (of course) takes his time.
So do I. I savor the moment, not because this is some Accidental or
Irregular, a bird that only appears once-a-millennium, but because
he is the first. Safety concerns checked, this finch proceeds to the
feeder and scarfs down some seed -nothing like being a member of the
food chain to keep one honest.
Looking dapper in his reddish fedora,
this bird is a house finch, a common member of the feathered tribe
that haunts this neighborhood. On a diet of weed seeds and a few bugs
or fruits, the house finch is a western original, but whose accidental
arrival in the East - an illegal shipment of birds was released on
Long Island and the rest is history, as they say - has not produced
many sympathetic listeners. But today, the house finch rules as Bird
of the Millennium. And now with my New Year's resolution accomplished,
I can go and start my newest list.
by Damian Fagan
© 2001 Moab Happenings. All rights
reserved. Reproduction of information contained in this site is
expressly prohibited.
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© 2002-2024 Moab Happenings. All rights
reserved.
Reproduction of information contained in this site is
expressly prohibited.
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