I am sure this applies only to me and not to
anyone reading this...said with a grin. So often
in pursuing the unusual, the uncommon or the new
bird for the day, year, life, place etc. I find
that it is too easy to ignore the everyday, the
tried and true and the wonder that should still
attach to those more common experiences. I have
expressed this sentiment to other birders and have
thought about but not sent it along to
Tweeterville. Doing so this morning is prompted
by having just enjoyed a visit to my feeder by the
"nearly resident" pair of Flickers coupled with
noting a female Dark Eyed Junco foraging on the
ground below the nearby shrubbery. A Junco is a
beautiful bird, taken for granted and rarely noted
as an exceptional sighting, but the posts about
the disappearance of same from many backyards this
week, sensitized me to looking for another and
then also to appreciating it when it was seen. I
did not have a "Junco Clock" in my head, but now
after reading the posts of others and seeing my
possibly late Junco, I will forever after always
do so.

The Northern Flicker is another matter altogether,
but my reaction to seeing it again this morning
may arise from the same part of my brain that
noted the presence of the Junco "differently"
today. Unless the habitat is specifically
"otherwise", without question I see far more
Flickers than any other woodpecker and such has
been the case for many years. They are large
enough, active enough, loud enough, common enough,
bold enough and occupy enough different habitats
to be on most of my trip lists. Accordingly I
generally note their presence rather than actually
observe them. "Tick" a Flicker and then I often
wish that another of its woodpecker kin would fly
by and be "special". Looking at the pair of
Flickers this morning, I reflected on how such an
instinctive dismissal is such a disservice to this
truly beautiful bird. Looking closely its
splendor is revealed in color, form, contrast,
boldness and subtlety all at once. Whiskers,
bibs, spots, points, barring, wash, white rump,
striking call, powerful drumming, this bird has so
much to offer, yet usually I process it as simply
"Flicker, check" and then look for something
"really great". How much I miss when I do so.

And then there is the most archetypical bird or
all: the red, red Robin, that comes a bob, bob,
bobbing along. Sometimes they seem to be in every
branch on every tree and in each tuft of grass
below them as well. Certainly (to me) not nearly
as comely as its close cousin the Varied Thrush
and its "noise" compares poorly to that cousin's
haunting notes but far, far more easy to see and
as such again is dismissed as "just a Robin" with
a disdainful wish that something more exciting
would pop out of the next tree. A closer
examination of course, reveals quite the handsome
bird with plenty of color and fieldmarks to
satisfy most. We may be dulled by their
commonplace presence in our lives, but what would
a birder outside the normal range of this
migrating turdus think of it upon first "rare"
sighting?

The dismal weather has kept me inside and away
from the field the last few days and I will use
that as my excuse for waxing somewhat poetic here,
but I think it would do us all some good to
reflect on what we seek in our birding lives. Of
course there is the exhilaration of a true rarity
(the Ross's Gull at Palmer Lake after a long drive
certainly comes to mind) or the pure spectacle of
2,000 Snow Geese rising in blinding unison or the
brilliance of the hummingbird's throat when the
sun catches it "just right", but I remind myself
also to be thankful for the commonplace and to
really experience it rather than dismiss it as
unspecial. Birding to me more than anything else
is a "passkey" that gives me entry to wonderful
places with wonderful people and allows me, even
forces me, to slow down and experience the natural
beauty of our world - backyard, shoreline, forest
or field. Just as I remind myself that the other
outdoor activity that I love most is called
"fishing" and not "catching" and it is in the
pursuit and attentive participation that there is
the most value, so too with birding. They are ALL
amazing and beautiful creatures, each with many of
its own stories to tell to skillful and attentive
listeners. I recommit today to listen more
closely to the commonplace as well as the
unusual. Note the coming and going of Juncoes and
the markings of the Flickers and even to "stop and
smell the Robins" merrily mixing metaphors as I do so.

And hopefully this rain will stop and I can
exchange binoculars for this computer...