The Joys of Second Spring Arrivals

Another season has come and gone. A month ago I announced the arrival of "first Spring" on February 15, when the song of the red-winged blackbird was heard. Now "second Spring" has begun, with March 26 marking the day of the first phoebe song.

The first phoebe was not in my yard, as it sometimes is, but among the cottages on the shores of south Congamond Pond. The simple two-note call was repeated over and over. Like all the flycatchers, the song is hoarse and explosive, sounding as if the bird has a sore throat. The phoebe sings from a perch on a branch, a gray backed bird with excellent erect posture and a dull white belly.

The phoebe ought to be named the "house flycatcher," since it has taken to building its nest on any ledge it can find with an overhang above. Try to resist the impulse to remove the nest, for the phoebe is a pleasant companion in any yard. It will also eat many flies and spiders that might otherwise sneak through your walls and into the house. Such a hardy and hard working bird deserves a warm welcome, since it announces the first day of second Spring.

Returning at about the same time as the phoebes are the first hardy tree swallows. In California the swallows supposedly return to the mission buildings at San Juan Capistrano on March 17. Visitors always see them arrive there as the day warms, but only because they have spent the cold morning looking for scarce insects on the surface of nearby ponds and pools. The species at Capistrano is the cliff swallow, and, like the tree swallow, the first brave scouts come north very early. In California this means well before St. Patrick's Day.

How pleasant to step out of the house on a crisp morning and hear a robin sing. Flocks of robins are starting to cover the pastures and cutover hay fields. They look like tiny statues, erect and alert for the first sign of worm around them. A large field can be filled with several hundred robins, all stopping and starting like so many wooden soldiers on parade. Most will push on farther north, but a few residents are joining the morning chorus.

Already in full song are all the red-winged blackbirds, song sparrows, and bluebirds, birds of first Spring. A pair of bluebirds has already claimed the nesting box I rushed to erect in the field behind my house. If you have a box, set it up on a post or pole in the open, away from trees and bushes. Bluebirds begin early and native competing species that arrive later will not deter them if the bluebird has a head start. Then you might hear again the lovely alto warble of the Bluebird. No song is so sweet, yet gentle and low.

Perhaps we should have proper names for these seasons. I call the last six weeks "Duck season," because most of the new birds are members of this family. The ducks do not wait long before they depart from their winter quarters on the coastal ponds and marshes in Connecticut, Long Island and New Jersey. As soon as it warms enough, they appear in our area on the opened Connecticut River, or in pools flooded by rains near the river.

Most common of these ducks are the wood duck, green-winged teal, ring-necked duck, and hooded merganser. Of these only the wood duck is a resident here, the others migrating eventually to places farther north. A friend of mine who lives in a crowded suburb reported that a pair of wood ducks was perched on the roof of a neighbor's house. Occasionally you can find them in a large tree, but on a rooftop is very unusual.

Our two wintering "paddlers," the mallard and black duck, have moved away from the big river and can be found coupled off in almost any small pool of water. They certainly earn the name, which is applied to those ducks who do not dive for their food. Instead they tip up their rear ends and reach straight down with their bills to nibble on the delicate new weeds that are growing again on the bottom of shallow ponds.

With so many signs of spring, how can the human heart not grow again and sing?