Appalachianglow

Since I don’t live in the alps, I don’t see a true alpenglow in the mornings. I do live in the Appalachians, however, so I’m calling this view Appalachianglow, created by this morning's rising sun highlighting the top of the mountain to my west.

Here at the cabin, spring has pretty much reached its peak. The eastern-pewees have arrived, and they are usually the last of the summer residents to set up shop. Surprising to me this year, the pewees arrived before I saw the first Baltimore oriole. Usually it’s the other way around, sometimes by as much as 7-10 days. The dawn chorus is now in full voice.

In other news, the first of baby killdeer are out, and these tiny miniatures of the adult birds are already past the bumblebee size.

The local blue jays have discovered the cat food dish and have taken to eating cat food. I can’t believe it’s good for them, but they seem to love it.

Over the weekend I held an ovenbird in my hands for a few minutes. I was awakened Saturday morning by a "thud" against the window. I went outside and found the bird, stunned, underneath the window. I picked it up and held it in my palm. After a few minutes it seemed as though it would recover, but I was getting cold as I was standing outside in my pajamas and flip-flops. I put the bird in a flower pot and covered it with a washcloth, while I went inside to put something more on. When I came out, the bird had already gone.

I sometimes have trouble with birds hitting my windows, especially in the early morning and sunset hours. I keep the curtains drawn and have a hawk decal, but these don’t seem to solve the problem during those murkier hours of the day. Every few years one of the birds doesn’t make it, though most need only a few minutes rest before they are flying again.

I used to bring the birds into the house to recover, placing them into a basket with a towel over top of it, but after having a junco loose in the house, flying towards the windows with frenzied cats in pursuit, I stopped attempting that.

I am ever amazed at how such tiny birds, like the ovenbird, can make the long and arduous trip north from the tropics, and how their song can fill the woods with sound. I heard several singing this morning and hoped one of them was "my" bird.