Iain MacLeod

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Eastern phoebe Photograph by David McNicholas

Woodcock Photograph by Larry Master

As the winter chill relinquishes its grip on New Hampshire, I can’t wait for that first tangible proof that the season has turned and some old friends are winging their way back to visit. These old friends are an eclectic bunch. Some I’ve known for just a couple years, but others are decade-old acquaintances. It’s a little bit of a one-sided friendship; most of them don’t know me from Adam, but that’s okay, I prefer it that way.

One of the first to renew the acquaintance is the American woodcock. Sometimes he has to put up with lingering snow when he arrives. His rasping territorial calls and whistling-wing display flights proclaim that despite appearances, winter is on its way out. Chances are, the woodcock that sets up his territory in my backyard is the same one that was here last spring, and the spring before that. Birds tend to be very faithful to their chosen breeding territory; a trait that’s known in the biological world as site fidelity.

The woodcock’s territorial display takes place at dusk (and periodically throughout the night hours). As he climbs in sweeping circles his wings create a rhythmic twittering whistle. I love to catch his evening flights and watch him pass in front of the first stars of the twilight sky. When he reaches a certain altitude he stalls briefly and then folds his wings and dives earthward in an extended spiral. His wing music changes to what sounds to me like someone spinning the dial on an old Zenith radio. It’s funny how the sound of a bird can conjure up a vivid childhood memory of the gigantic piece of furniture that filled the corner of the living room in our old house. I can even smell it as its 16-tubes warm up.

The sound of the woodcock always makes me smile; it’s familiar, comforting. For me, the return of birds each year is a relief; a reassurance that this year will not be the dreaded silent spring of Rachel Carson’s nightmare. They made it back, despite all the obstacles and perils we put in their way; they returned and I for one feel better for it! 

Another early bird is the eastern phoebe. This drab little flycatcher is always back in my yard in the last couple days of March. His “feebio” song will be a constant chorus until he heads south in October. I sometimes wonder what the phoebe did before there were sheds and porches to nest on. Have you even found a phoebe nest on anything but human-made structures? Without our buildings to nest on, they would have to resort back to cliffs, stream banks and upturned tree roots. I know they sometimes choose an inconvenient spot, but isn’t it cool that they seek us out and share our homes?

The eastern bluebird isn’t far behind in the early bird stakes. Its clear fluting song on those first warm days in April is like a herald. A quick scan reveals him high atop a still-leafless maple tree at the edge of the meadow. His proclamations are clear for all to hear. “Here I am. If you are male, stay away. This is my patch.” Chances are this bluebird is staking a claim to a nest box that I put up on the fence post around the meadow. Over the last four decades I have built hundreds of nesting boxes and I still get a huge thrill when a bird chooses one of my boxes, and an even greater one when they return again and again. I built my first bird nest box when I was about seven years old. I placed it in an apple tree in my small inner-city backyard in Aberdeen (Scotland). I was thrilled beyond delight when a pair of blue tits (related to our chickadees) nested. I remember spending an entire day writing down every minute detail of their comings and goings in my notebook. I was convinced that this was every bit as important to natural science as anything that David Attenborough or Jacque Cousteau were up to.

To watch a pair of bluebirds going through the motions of house hunting is always fun. The male leads the way, song-flighting from box to box. As he lands on each he flicks his azure wings excitedly, peers in the hole and then struts on top of the box. Then it’s the female’s turn and the male moves on to the next box as she thoroughly inspects the first. This ritual goes on for several days before some preference leads her to choose a box and begin nest building.

Banding studies have shown that birds such as bluebirds might return to the same nesting site for a decade or more, so thinking of them as old acquaintances is not far fetched. You can be sure that this spring, as I do every spring, when I hear my first bluebird or phoebe or woodcock—I won’t be able to help myself—I will say out loud; just as I would greet any old friend… “Hey, you made it… welcome back… have a great year.”

Listen up at www.accentmagazine.com to hear an audio podcast of this article narrated by Iain MacLeod (complete with the sounds of the American woodcock, the eastern bluebird, and the eastern phoebe). This and other nature podcasts by Iain MacLeod can also be heard at www.nhnature.org.