Courting Cardinals and Counting Crows

Spring has arrived in Hanover!

How do I know this?  Because the sun is turning the snow into small streams of icy cold water?  Because the thermometer at the back door reads 58F and rising?  Because I feel the dark cloud that has shadowed me for the last few weeks is lifting?  Because the air is so warm I have the back door to my office open to air out the room?

No.  While all of those things are otherwise good clues, they are not dependable indicators that Spring is here.  The one clue I put great store in is birdsong.  I awoke this morning before dawn to the sound of neighborhood crows flying northwest to meet up with the rest of the roost.  Such chattering, croaking and cawing!

While checking emails and the blogs I follow, I was serenaded by a song I think I recognize: "phreet-phreet-phreet, birdie-birdie-birdie."  A male cardinal is staking his claim to the dogwood right outside the back door.  Later, when I take my cup of coffee out to the top step, looking for a sunbeam to sit in, I find him midway up the ironwood beech by the carport.  His song has changed, is softer, the notes almost slurred, in a longer string.  Then I see the female, in her khaki-green-brown feathers, with the bitter orange top knot.  They touch beaks, lower their top-knots and move closer together.  He strokes the top of her head with his chin, she bows, placing her head near his.  Facing each other now, he regurgitates something into her beak.  Again, they rub beaks and cuddle closer.  Some other bird flies overhead (I see only its shadow) and the cardinals snap to attention, sitting back to back, feathers fluffed and top-knots lifted as high as they can make them, like red shark fins atop their tiny heads.  Bird-love at its finest.

Another sure sign winter is leaving is that the crow roost which meets morning and evening in the trees across the street from the post office is more vocal, and wide-ranging.  When I first started watching the crows in my neighborhood, there were three or four separate flocks, widely scattered across the width of town.  These few families hadn't formed roosts, per se, but would occasionally cross into another's territory, for whatever reason crows do such things.  These groups weren't cohesive enough to form a large roost, yet, but maybe that's what the fly-overs were about - checking out the competition (maybe), looking for potential mates (likely), and testing the families' reaction to determine if they might be good crows to invite to roost.  All I know is that we now have a roost in my neighborhood (roughly 10 blocks square) of between 250 and 300 birds.

They were congregated in the trees of St. Matthew's Lutheran church yard at the corner of High and West Chestnut streets (the post office is on High Street) last Friday afternoon when I went to collect the mail for the historical society.  I was thrilled to see we now have at least one roost in the downtown area that meets within a couple of blocks from my house.  They soon will break up their roost as spring becomes more entrenched.  Each family will begin spending most of their time in their own territories, nesting, mating, bringing new crows into the world.  Some of the older 'teenagers' will begin visiting the other families, seeking mates, testing their territorial defense skills, and - in general - getting into trouble with their elders.  You know, typical teenager behavior.

www.massaudubon.org flock of crows

 Robins have been spotted, but I think these are from regions to our north, the ones that fly south from Canada to winter here.  When the backyard is so full of robins (next month or so) I lose count, I'll know our native flocks have returned.

By then, though, Spring will have settled in nicely, and the robins will be playing catch-up with the early birds.  

Just realized that the birdsong brings more than Spring.  They bring Hope.  That's probably why that dark cloud is lifting, allowing the metaphorical sun to shine light into my soul.

Thanks, birds.  I needed that!