Hey tweets, I just got back from a quick trip to SW Washington, dodging
raindrops and numerous hailstorms, more than I ever saw in my life. At
Ocean Shores, all the birds were hunkered down, which I should have
been, too. A sudden squall came up while I was at the STP that nearly
turned my car over. The neat thing about birding in these conditions is
that when the weather does clear, even briefly, the birds come out. At
Ocean City State Park, a block of pristinely plumaged PURPLE FINCHES
foraged mere inches from my head, while on the ground, a collection of
FOX SPARROWS, SONG SPARROWS, GOLDEN-CROWNED SPARROWS, and SPOTTED
TOWHEES were so busy feeding that they almost let me touch them.

Meanwhile, over at Woodland Bottoms, 3 GREAT EGRETS stood like
fenceposts, hunched against the unrelenting wind. No bird hunches
better than an egret, don't you think? I found myself drawing my neck
down into my shoulders, too - somehow it made the wind easier to
endure.

The highlight of my trip was Ridgefield on Wednesday. The sun came out,
the wind died down, and birds were exuberantly taking advantage of the
perfect weather. My favorites were the scores of TREE SWALLOWS hunting
for bugs over the ponds closest to the entrance of the dike road. I
parked there, turned off my motor, rolled down my windows and just
drank it all in. My intellectual centers know that the swallows will
come back, almost as surely as the days will grow long and winter will
retreat back to its arctic den. But in the darkest days of December, I
often find doubt creeping in. Will this year be different? Will spring
never come? Spring to me is more than warm temperatures and weeds
popping up in my yard. Spring is the return of the songbirds. When you
think about how far they must come, and how small they are, how
threatened by habitat loss, how much more vulnerable to catastrophic
events, well, you can sink into thinking the worst.

The ancients worried about this sort of thing, too, although their
concerns seem to have been more celestial. I don't fret about whether
the sun will come up tomorrow - my weary carcass knows all too well
that the clock-alarm buzzer is going to sound off just out of reach of
my hand, where I put it the night before so that I would have to leap
to my feet. Such a good idea at 9 p.m., such a dimwitted one at 5 a.m.
But although science has shown us that the turning of the spheres does
not depend on human intervention, we all know that the return of the
swallows does, at least insofar as we can must preserve their habitat
all along their migration routes, in their nesting regions, and in
their overwintering grounds.

So it is with soaring joy that I watch the swallows come back to
Washington. Most were very busy catching food. Now and then, two would
get into an argument over exactly who was going to grab a particular
bug in the sky. Some were staking out choice trees in the woods around
the bend. They all looked so healthy, with feathers reflecting the
sunshine so iridescently I was almost blinded by blueness. If birds can
feel joy, then these were glad to be back.

In that same grove of trees, by the way, were WHITE-BREASTED
NUTCHATCHES foraging from branch to branch. This is a great spot to see
this species in western Washington. - Connie, Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com