Showing posts with label Bill Thompson III. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bill Thompson III. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

In the Circle

Winged Sumac in fall color

There’s an annual event in the world of birding called the Big Sit, and it’s full of great birders.
The Big Sit involves anyone--individuals or groups from around the world, each creating a 17-foot diameter circle on a specified date and tallying the number of bird species seen or heard from within their circle for a 24-hour period.

The summer hills of southeastern Ohio


foggy morning
photo courtesy Bill Thompson

They begin under the cover of darkness to listen for nocturnal migrants at midnight—little utterances left against a black sky above and a rising moon, while every good sense reminds them they should catch a few hours’ sleep—tomorrow’s a long day of birding.

Then, having stolen a nap, and racing the sun up the stairs to the tower, they wait in the early hours of the morning.
The eastern sky hints of dawn.
Silhouettes stand in shadow.
Funny hats top bulky jackets--the air is still and cold.
A fine mist swirls around their light and covers every object with heavy dew.
From the next ridge, where nothing more than ragged treetops emerges from a great gray lake of cloud, an owl calls, and calls again. My favorites, Barred owls--and sounds I know well.
In the distance, from behind the western wall of fog, a faint twittering is heard. And then silence--as all wait again, hands cupping ears forward, sifting small sounds from the heavy night air. A little “peep” passes in the dark-- and I learn it is the flight call of a Swainson’s Thrush.
Again, the twittering. Coming closer.
I hold my breath, face into the sound, and overhead, the little invisible bird I wait to hear each spring passes through the darkness toward the dawn.
My first Woodcock welcomes morning to Indigo Hill.


Autumn fields aflame with sumac and goldenrod

winged sumac, Rhus capollinum

worn and tired Great Spangled Fritillary female



To bird with great birders is a gift.
Their lives spent listening, observing, learning add depth far greater than can be captured on the page of a field guide.
There are birders who sketch birds,
birders who write about birds,
birders who follow birds around the world or gather information to advance our knowledge of them, who, perhaps, become the greatest birders as they take others into the circle with them.

Jim McCormac, Julie Zickefoose, your blogger, my DH, Anton
photo courtesy Bill Thompson




list of birds


Julie Zickefoose
and Chet Baker

the color of summer

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