Watching Birds

Even in a busy weekend teaching skiing to five-year-olds at Buttermilk, springtime for birds was much in evidence. This sunny morning in the west end of Aspen the songs of house finches filled the quiet neighborhood. On the mountain, a hairy woodpecker called from the spruce trees below the chairlift. As we neared the top of the Tiehack lift, my friend Suzanne looked down to the slope dusted with an inch of new snow, and said, "Look, the wing marks of a bird," and there below us was the beautiful, symmetrical mark of a raptor's wings brushed into the snow like an elegant Chinese painting. What is the name for that, that mark in the snow of the wings of an owl or a hawk, made when it swoops down and grabs its prey? Many days on the sundeck atop Ajax mountain or at the picnic tables at Gwen's High Alpine at Snowmass or at any mountain restaurant, the camp robbers or gray jays patrol the lunch area, scavenging for stray french fries and grilled cheese crusts. I like them for their handsome plumage, their robust size, and because they seem to like us just fine. I didn't see them today; are they busy nesting? The magpie I saw with a long twig in its beak, flying across the highway as I drove down valley, certainly had nesting on its mind. It takes a lot of twigs to make a magpie nest. A redtail flew overhead as I got into my car at the Tiehack lot to head home; and another redtail flew over the yard, at home in Paonia, a few hours later. Perhaps it was trolling for prairie dogs in the nearby field. There is a pair of redtails that patrols our neighborhood here at home, roosting on this tree, that telephone pole. I wonder if they are siblings; they have very similar markings, including identical dark heads. It is satisfying to recognize individual birds. Meanwhile the Say's Phoebes keep singing, singing, as they flit and fly around our barn. We look forward to their nest and their success. Then, the red-winged blackbirds. Many dozens of then along Minnesota Creek are singing lustily, proclaiming it is spring! spring! and there's a world of work to do. Jane McGarry, Paonia