Close encounters of the avian kind
April 18. The sun warmed the Far Field, and as I walked Pennyroyal Trail, a towhee sang, a flicker called, and a ruby-crowned kinglet sang. I stopped to “pish,” hoping to entice the kinglet into view, and I did. He flew on to a tree branch, erected his ruby-crown, and sang, giving me my first look at what I had been hearing for weeks.
I went on to the woods beyond the Far Field where a brown-headed cowbird sang and a ruffed grouse crept off into the underbrush. I imagine he was the drummer I stalked back in early April. Sitting still on a moss-covered, old log, I also heard a red-bellied woodpecker, eastern towhee, and northern flicker as the dead leaves rustled in the wind.
The sun quickly disappeared, and I picked my way through the woods until I encountered two excited white-breasted nuthatches on a tree trunk. At first I thought they were courting, but then I realized that they were drinking from sap wells. They were quickly driven off by a male yellow-bellied sapsucker.
As soon as he disappeared higher in the tree, the female nuthatch returned for a few furtive sips. Still, the sapsucker quietly worked on new wells, sipped from old ones, and chased off a ruby-crowned kinglet. Occasionally the male sapsucker flicked his wings as he worked or flew over to an adjacent grapevine as if to rest. Surely there is no tasty sap in a grapevine. The irrestible sap wells are on a pignut hickory, as usual, and it is encircled up its trunk with old sap wells.
The nuthatches returned, calling softly, as they drank from the lower sap wells while the sapsucker worked high in the tree drilling new ones. At last I left the relatively peaceful scene, two species sharing one resource.
April 20. I used my turkey call as I sat in the spruce grove and called in a hen turkey. She came close to my hiding place at the edge of the grove and then retreated back to the edge of the woods along First Field Trail, clucking all the way. I’ve never called in a hen before, but according to one of our turkey hunters, that’s not unusual. Still, experts disagree on why they respond to a hen call. Is she already setting on eggs and defending her territory? Is she a scout for a male turkey or trying to keep rivals from joining “her” gobbler? Is she recruiting more hens for “her” gobbler? Is she merely curious? Are there reasons that we can’t even imagine?
Then, walking back on the Far Field Road, I scared up a gobbler. He, of course, saw me and ran, but I did get a quick look at his long beard. Was he still searching for hens? If only I had tried the hen call along the road. Oh well! It’s obvious that the turkeys are restless and have perhaps not gotten together yet due to the cold.
Above the barn on Butterfly Loop at dusk, the woodcock called, turning around to direct his call in all directions as we watched from a respectable distance.
Gray squirrels and masked shrews: social behavior
April 21. At least three young gray squirrels were born in the black walnut tree nest hole beside the driveway. Today they emerged for the first time, or at least two of the three did. I sat watching on the veranda as first one emerged and stayed out, exploring nearby branches. Then the second emerged more briefly and stayed closer to the nest hole before going back into it again. Each squirrel chewed about the hole entrance, hanging upside down before emerging. When both squirrels were out, a third one peered timidly out of the hole, but stayed inside. All their climbing about, peering in and out of the hole, even their chewing was silent. But scolding from a distant adult squirrel sent them all back into the den hole with one looking out. Three adults harvested black walnuts on the lower lawn.
The first six-spotted tiger beetle gleamed bright green on the driveway.
April 23. The gray squirrel family, even the shy one, played in, out, and around their nest hole as we watched from the veranda.
April 24. I heard a black-throated green warbler in the woods near the powerline right-of-way singing both his songs. As I stood listening and watching, a masked shrew dashed in and out of the leaf duff along an old, barkless, fallen tree. I sat quietly, watching for the shrews, and heard the first blue-gray gnatcatcher of the season. As I continued on the trail, a pair of mallards flew past on the powerline right-of-way, heading toward the First Field. Were they the same mallards Dave saw earlier in the morning? Had they gone back to Sinking Valley? Who knows? But at least I saw them.
More masked shrews chased in the woods on the other side of the powerline right-of-way. They crossed right in front of me for several minutes so I sat down on the trail and watched as they dashed back and forth across the trail, always using the same pathway at my feet. They were tiny, grayish-brown, with peculiarly-shaped snouts that identified them as masked shrews. I counted half a dozen or more chasing about. They were silent to my ears except for the rustling in the leaves. The books say that they are looking for food, but I only see this phenomenon in April and sometimes in July and I think it has to do with mate-chasing. None of the books say anything about their sex life. I suspect they have two broods a year, but I can’t prove it. Finally they stopped and I continued my walk.
The return of the wood thrush
April 27. Sitting on the veranda reading near dusk, we heard the first whip-poor-will of the season singing above the garage at dusk.
April 28. A pair of northern flickers checked out the black walnut tree squirrel den. Were they waiting until the young gray squirrels leave so they could take over the nest hole?
April 29. I stepped outside early to listen for the wood thrush, but the towhees were so loud they blocked out more distant sounds. Still, I did hear a faint portion of a wood thrush song. I stopped and gave thanks that another spring had come and with it wood thrush music–three months of heavenly singing before they once again leave us.
On Dogwood Knoll a rose-breasted grosbeak sang. And then, as I descended the knoll on a path of blooming dwarf cinquefoil, I heard the singing of a Louisiana waterthrush above the dark place. Halleleujah! We have at least one singing male. I sat on Turkey Bench to listen to his ringing tones.
Down near the bottom of the mountain I heard the “tick-tick” scolding tones of another Louisiana waterthrush. I rested on a moss-covered log beside the stream, still hearing but not seeing the waterthrush.
Bruce came down the road and a small, black, white and orange moth spun around his hat and landed briefly on it. Then it landed on my hat and Bruce photographed it. It was a grapevine epimenis, Psychomorpha epimenis — an early, day-flying moth whose caterpillar feeds on grapes. Truly a beautiful little creature.
In mid-afternoon, Steve pointed out a black vulture sailing over First Field.
April 30. At breakfast I watched a northern flicker throwing to the wind the remains of the squirrel nest in the walnut tree. Those flickers had been checking on the den every day, evidently waiting until the squirrel family dispersed.
Walking up Guesthouse Trail, I finally heard the wood thrush singing clearly. Wild black cherry and striped maple trees have leaved out and already my view into the woods has diminished.
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See also my post at the Plummer’s Hollow blog, Spring wildflowers: back on track.
Marcia Bonta 
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