Hey tweets, Yesterday, in between the raindrops, my husband and I set out
for the Fill with one goal in mind: find 50 species. Due to our aging brain
cells, we couldn't remember what our record number of species at the Fill
was - somewhere in the low 50s, we thought. But was it 51, 55, 49 species?
Maybe it was even 60! Who could remember? We did remember that we had
experienced our best day some time in the spring. Okay, that was a
reconstructed memory. We really have no idea what day it was. So perhaps
it's more accurate to say that we *deduced* that it must have been in the
spring when the winter ducks are still around and the spring passerines and
shorebirds are moving through.

Our hopes of setting a new record were dashed when we saw that the CUH was
having its annual plant sale. Plant people were everywhere; parking was
impossible. The only thing left to do was turn those lemons into lemonade.
We parked near the former Battelle and walked down to the lake along the
east side of the greenhouses. I seldom get down there, but it is a very,
very birdy area. We saw five (!) Lincoln's sparrows, and I just know they're
going to be breeding there this year. They were chasing each other with that
single-minded look that you see only in male birds' and golfers' eyes this
time of year. I think the Steller's jays are nesting in the woods there,
too, along with ruby-crowned kinglets and numerous bushtits. We didn't see
any warblers, darn it, but I suspect they'll be using those willows and
alders extensively in another week or so. The kingfishers who moved down
there after that humongous punting barn was built in their old nesting area
were not to be seen yesterday, although we did hear them off in the
distance.

After tramping around for a long while, we headed over to the little covered
garden bench south of the CUH building. The rain was pouring down, so we
figured we'd wait it out under shelter. Both of us were so tired, we cozied
up head to toe and fell fast asleep. We didn't wake up until we heard a
little boy come splashing through the mud puddles, accompanied by his
parents, who, when they saw us sit up suddenly, told him sharply to come
right back to their sides. John and I tried to explain that we were birders.
But I think they thought we were homeless people recovering from a night of
wine and song. We held up our binoculars. But I guess the empty bottle on
the bench (it was Perrier, really it was) and our ragged appearance, baggy
eyes and all, was not too convincing. They hurried away as fast as they
could go, even though we kept insisting in very loud voices that we were
birders, b-i-r-d-e-r-s.

Well, between the weather and the people, we hit 49 species. Highlights were
eight Lincoln's sparrows altogether, a huge (200-plus) flock of violet-green
swallows just in from migration (along with a few barns and one cliff), and
a good-sized flock of cacklers (my favorite goose). We missed several birds
that we *know* are there. No shorebirds except for the resident killdeer.
Couldn't find the fox sparrow who lives near the Wedding Rock. No towhees in
view at all. No hooded mergansers.

It's always amazing to me how serendipitous birding is. I mean, yes you've
got to have some identification skills to find the birds, but there is also
a big component of luck. For example, I waited at CUH for John to come by
with the car and saw nothing but rock doves, while he on the walk to the car
saw a Cooper's hawk. Where's the justice in that? - Connie, Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com