The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

There is nothing better than a long walk on a sunny spring day. Just after dawn, a little frost still lingers on the grass and you are happy you bothered with the hat and gloves. All the neighbors greet you: robins and cardinals, song sparrows and downy woodpeckers. The brisk air carries a hint of warmth with the sun, but your breath still puffs little clouds.

A few desultory shots with the camera; nothing new, but you never know who might turn out to strike a stunning pose so you click click click at even the robin poking around in the grass nearby. "What a pretty white eye ring he has," you muse
before wandering off in search of the meadowlark you hear singing in the distance.

Eastern meadowlark

Brown-headed corwbird convention

You catch sight of the meadowlark in a tree east of the trail and trek off the path to circle around and get a shot with the rising sun behind you, shining off the bird's bright lemony breast as his beak gapes in song. Eventually either he or you grows bored and takes off again.

It seems like every treetop is occupied: mostly individual red-winged blackbirds singing and calling, but the top of one tree sports a half-dozen brown-headed cowbirds. They cluster near the top, taking turns calling and puffing their feathers out. They come off as a bunch of Sharks and Jets, young toughs posturing to claim a prime street corner through song and dance. One by one they fly away until a single bird is left in sole possession of the tree.

Further south, the wetlands. A few shots of the waterfowl, but the sparkle of sun on the water, though stunning in life, overwhelms the view.  You turn your head at the right moment and see a heron flying--no wait, its neck is extended straight out. It's one of the sandhill cranes!

Sandhill crane

You look around and think, it doesn't get any better than this. The sun has warmed the air enough that you unzip your coat, take the hat and gloves off. At random intervals you hear a pheasant chock chock first from one direction, then another but you can never quite track them down for a photo. Is this how a hunter feels? Is it harder to shoot a pheasant with a shotgun or a camera? You smugly conclude camera (ignoring the fact that you couldn't bear to shoot a pheasant standing immobile ten feet in front of you with a gun, so wouldn't that logically be the more difficult shot?).

The Canada geese catch sight of you and sound their alarm, and a cluster of birds take off from the water flying northwest. click click click. They are against the sun, so you can only see their silhouettes: longish necks and bills, and longish tails (for a duck). A tentative ID of double-crested cormorants--neat!

Double-crested cormorants?

The water is flowing at the Great Snail Crossing, and the snails are...crossing. Where do they go? Do they always cross west to east, with the flow of water or are they sometimes heading the opposite direction? If you look closely, you can see delicate brown striping on some of the shells, and the threadlike eye stalks. Their little rounded humps mimic the rippling water as it streams over pebbles, cracks and snails to empty into the wetlands. 

The Great Snail Crossing

Finally turning back towards home. The sun dodges behind a cloud and the hat and gloves make another appearance. Briefly, for the sun is not inclined to be shy on this spring day. Your pace picks up as you return along the same path, tired and happy and ready for the rest of the day. One last stop--click--to capture that photogenic stump that always catches you eye, and then you are ready to return to the regular world.