It’s an early spring day, mid April, tax time is what most people think of. Me, I think of the waves of birds heading my way right now from points south of here. “Neo-Tropical Migrants” the scientists call them. Birds who spend their winters in Central and South America and do their breeding here in North America. One of my favorites of this group and also, usually, one of the earliest to arrive is the Gray Catbird. Now for those of you unfamiliar with Catbirds, they are not brightly plumed that grants birds like Orioles and Tanagers such affection. They are not even terribly original songsters, being a member of the Mimic Thrush family, relegated to repeating sounds they hear over and over again, with nary an original note. No, Catbirds hold a special place in my heart for a very special reason.
Many years ago, when I first opened the Wild Bird Center, I knew that inevitably, one warm day, when I had the door open, a bird was going to fly in. Now being in a shopping center, where the standard avian population is 99.9% Pigeon and House Sparrow, this is who I was expecting. It goes without saying that I was wrong. And, yes, the first bird through the door was a Catbird. He dutifully made the rounds landing on most every horizontal perch, bounced off the occasional wall and even left a berry stained brand on one wall to mark his visit. Then quick as he came, he was gone. No help from me, just headed straight back to the open door and was gone. Since that day, Catbirds have kind of been my Guardian Angels in the day to day life of my birding. On birdwalks during the spring the first bird sighted as we get out of the cars is a Catbird. He seems to follow us as we traverse the trails in search of other birds. Teasing with his flash of feathers and then disappearing into the brush, as we gather around the spot hoping to find some Warbler or Vireo. After his sense of humor is satisfied, he would pop up and all but stick his tongue out at us. The Catbirds have become such regulars, he even has a name. “Ralph, the Obligatory Birdwalk Catbird” or just plain Ralph. He has become the parrot on the shoulder of this binocular toting birding pirate. The Dr. Watson to my Sherlock Holmes. He fits with me like a good pair of hiking boots. Ralph is a part of my birding history.
And that’s why today I have thought of him. It’s mid April. It’s spring. The Goldfinch are turning bright yellow. The Robins are chasing each other around like a dog chasing his tail. Yellow-rumped warblers are turning up and the Carolina Wrens have built nests in most every nook and cranny you can imagine. Yes, it’s spring. But, no Ralph. One or two reports on the local bird sighting reports, but, not omnipresent as I have come to expect. I have had Catbirds raise their families in my yard, eat every bit of grape jelly I put out in hopes of coaxing an Oriole to come visit. Yet, so far this spring that call that I have grown so fond of has yet to grace my ears. I find myself listening harder, looking more intently, scrutinizing every shape and sound in hopes of finding Ralph. The days that have gone by eerily remind of Rachel Carson’s “Silent Spring”, so quiet have the migrants, the real migrants, been so far this year. The good news is the House Wrens are back, bad news is the Chickadees didn’t get a brood in before these housing-hogging creatures arrived. The Flickers are in fine voice, their repetitious call of mating echoes through the woods around my house. Yet, still no Ralph. Still no Catbirds. Their arrival in my yard is late, so say my notes from last year. Pushing 10 days late now. I’m worried. For no matter how many singing Yellow Throated Warblers I see, regardless of the number of nestlings I wind up either replacing in their nests or rushing to the local rehabilitator, it’s not spring without the Catbirds in my yard. Although, a very handsome Chipping Sparrow has just landed inches from my feet, I take him as a herald…letting me know that migration is moving, and that Ralph’s arrival in my yard this spring is only days away. I know this in my mind, I am a student of the avian world. But without Catbirds, spring is still in the offing.
Postscript: The Catbirds have arrived, their raucous calling and incessant mewing have served to let me know, unequivocally that they have here. Grape jelly is being consumed in alarming quantities and oranges are being hollowed out consistently. And, in my eyes, spring has finally sprung, and things are the way they ought to be. Welcome, Ralph, it’s good to see you again.
