Hey tweets, birders know that the Julian calendar is all wrong. For one
thing, the four seasons are definitely not divided into four equal parts,
nor do they change on the solstices and equinoxes.

No, the seasons are really more like that map I've seen that illustrates how
New Yorkers think of US geography. New York is shown filling up a good half
of the map, while Seattle appears as a tiny needle, the Space Needle to be
precise.

Like that map, we could draw a similar chart of the four seasons, showing
some huge and others teeny. Take summer, for example. Summer is by far the
shortest of our seasons. Contrary to what hot dog and suntan lotion
manufacturers would have you believe, summer begins in June and ends in
June. Winter is somewhat longer. It begins in December and ends in
mid-February. Spring begins in March and tapers off in late May. I'm afraid
we don't have a name for the two-week period between the end of winter and
the beginning of spring - we might have to invent a fifth season for this
hiatus. Fall is by far our longest season. It began today and ends in
November.

How do I know? Because today, three LEAST SANDPIPERS showed up at the Fill.
I found them this morning as they were busily probing the mud of the main
pond. What a thrill it was to see these drab little creatures in their worn
plumage, knowing that they had just come down from the tundra after having
completed their parenting duties.

One of the great things about birding is that when you know a bird's natural
history, you don't just see the bird in the moment of observation. Rather,
you can visualize it surrounded by the experiences it has lived through and
that it will continue to experience.

Watching those leasts this morning, I could half-close my eyes and "see"
them up on the tundra in May, the males calling attention to themselves and
the females sizing up potential mates. I can see the nests they make in the
short vegetation. I watch their attempts to camouflage themselves from
predators as they brood the eggs. I smile at the babies hatching out with
long legs and fluff, everyone feeding happily on the trillions of mosquito
larvae that would prefer to wait for me and my blood to show up in the flesh
as it were, but they wait in vain, at least for another year.

I can also see the leasts leaving the Fill, choosing a night when the wind
blows softly from the north. I don't think it will be tonight; maybe
tomorrow night - they looked pretty happy with the smorgasbord they were
finding on the pond's edge, and I suspect that the CINNAMON TEAL sleeping
nearby made them feel safe.

I don't know where their next stopover will be, exactly - some place similar
to the Fill in Oregon perhaps, or northern California. I'm also not sure
where exactly they will end their journey. Some may stop in southern
California; others may fly all the way to South America. One or two may not
make it all the way to their wintering grounds - merlins know the leasts'
habits very well, after all, and they are always on the lookout for birds
who are too old or too sick or too unwary.

When I look at birds in this expanded way, I am not limited in space,
neither am I limited in time. I can look backwards and forwards for as long
as leasts have been leasts. I can see these birds following the retreat of
the Ice Age 12,000 years ago, every year flying a bit farther north to find
the tundra and the mosquitoes. I know in years to come they will keep
passing through the Fill in spring and fall for as long as we humans can
safeguard this sanctuary.

And we will keep the Fill safe as long as enough people can see a little
piece of history and a little scrap of beauty in three least sandpipers
heralding the arrival of fall.

Here's everything I found today at the Fill:
Great Blue Heron
Green Heron
Canada Goose
Mallard
Gadwall
Cinnamon Teal
Ring-necked Pheasant
Killdeer
Least Sandpiper
American Coot
Glaucous-winged Gull
Rock Pigeon
Belted Kingfisher
Vaux's Swift
Anna's Hummingbird
Northern Flicker
Downy Woodpecker
American crow
Barn Swallow
Cliff Swallow
Tree Swallow
Violet-Green Swallow
Black-capped Chickadee
Bewick's Wren
Marsh Wren
American Robin
European Starling
Cedar Waxwing
Common Yellowthroat
Song Sparrow
Savannah Sparrow
White-crowned Sparrow
Red-winged Blackbird
Brown-headed Cowbird
American Goldfinch
House Finch
- Connie, Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com