If you keep writing about your vacation long enough, will it feel like it’s still going on?
It’s a theory worth testing.
Most people probably mark their vacations by weather and trips, but the birds are the yardstick by which we tend to remember the long, lovely summer stays at the cottage.
As in – remember the year that the American Redstarts nested in the caragana hedge?
We watched in amazement, and so did our then-young children, as Mr. and Mrs. Redstart shopped for real estate just inches away from our screened porch. The mister had picked out several prospective nesting spots in the hedge and gave his spouse the full tour. She would wiggle her rear into the triangle formed by the branches and, after trying out several spots, finally chose a site where he went to work on full construction.
Early that summer each of our many meals on the porch began with a scolding from the birds, until they finally figured out that we were the Windows Restaurant to their SkyDome centre stage.
The little village in the Kawarthas where our cottage is located is marked at its entrance by two giant white pines, one of which has a messy penthouse unit which is occupied every year by osprey. This year, the male decided to make a tree near the dock his main staging area for fish strikes. We were lucky enough to see him catch a big fish right off our dock.
Great Blue Herons are another fixture on the lake. One early morning, an adult was poised on the end of a dock at a weird angle, as if he was about to take off in slow motion as I approached. But instead of taking off he leapt from the dock and came up with a wriggling green fish. He flew over to a nearby sandbar and devoured it, then walked into the water to wash himself off by whipping his beak back and forth under water. The heron equivalent of a bowl of water with a slice of lemon.
Every year there are birds that seem much more numerous than normal. This year the Redstarts seemed to be nesting every 100 yards or so and there were copious quantities of Gray Catbirds and song sparrows. But there were fewer Orioles, Flickers and warblers. Aside from the redstarts, the only other warblers spotted were a black and white and something unidentifiable to my inexpert eyes that went into that huge and frustrating category called “confusing fall warblers.” Except it’s not fall yet.
The woods were once filled with warblers, especially the Myrtle Yellow-Rumped. Did not see a single one on this trip and only saw a single one in the spring migration.
More numerous than ever were the Pileated Woodpeckers, such as the young fellow shown here whom I snapped along the lakefront road. There have been summers when one or two actual Pileated sightings were celebrated. This time, they were as numerous as the goldfinches and Blue Jays. It was actually hard to go for a stroll without spotting one.
On my way back from Bobcaygeon Saturday, the osprey family who occupy the low-rent district on top of a telephone pole beside the golf course, were having a family meeting on the edge of the nest. The parents were clearly cajoling junior into taking his new wheels ... or wings, for a test flight.
Could not resist pulling over to the side of the road to watch the young raptor take what was likely his first flight, judging by the big, precarious dip he took toward the ground before he got his feathers coordinated. He made one big turn and then headed back to the nest in a run that couldn’t have lasted more than 20 seconds.
But what a thrilling 20 seconds of uncertainty it was.
Can’t help but envy the young fellow. His life’s work will be fishing in paradise and vacation will never end.