They're Here!

The Waxwings are here!

Just yesterday I was looking at our big old serviceberry tree outside our window, and noticed its berries had come in, but were still green, and I said to my husband off-handedly, “Have you heard from the Waxwings? Any emails?”

“No, nothing yet.”

We never know exactly when they are coming. Like the fun family friends or wild cousins that travel around, free as the breeze, unattached to boring desk jobs or other mainstream conformity, our cedar waxwing friends arrive every year on their own schedule. And just like the free-spirited folks we love to have drop in, they come every spring for about 2 weeks, and throw an unforgettable bacchanalic celebration in our humble serviceberry tree. It’s wonderful.

So this morning, I woke up, looked out the window, and – there they were! - as if they had they heard me asking about them. They were just as beautiful as I remembered them. (They are sort of shaped like cardinals, but are a beautiful olive-golden color. Their head crests are flattened softly back on their heads, like delicate Robin Hood caps. They wear black eye masks, and have bright red and yellow paint-dipped tail feathers.)

Their arrival and subsequent feast is much like any other annual party or family reunion: full of celebration and ritual. The berries aren’t red yet, so they hopped around on the branches, took a berry or two, and passed the ceremonial offering back and forth between them, doing a little hop and head-nod-away in between each pass. Their initial festival–opening-thank-you-folk-dance enacted, they flew on elsewhere and have not been back since. I know they are “in the neighborhood,” but now that they have checked-in, they have probably moved on to some other favorite spot, and will be back as soon as those berries turn red. And THEN, all of the neighborhood birds come over to join in, and there will be a 14-day-long party in that tree, with singing, chattering, hopping, berry passing back and forth, dancing, and general merry-making just outside our window. I can’t wait!

Post Script..... Just think, we didn’t have to do anything to get ready for our company, other than step in front of the chain saws last May, preventing our neighborhood association from chopping down that big old tree ...

Here are three of them, hanging out.

Woods Prom

We are fortunate to live near the beautiful Jenkins Arboretum in Devon, Pennsylvania, which is a preserve of native woods and indigenous wildflowers. It is fenced off on all sides to keep out the deer that, due to over-development and lack of predators, are everywhere, eating everything. So here is this little patch of woods, in its natural state, and it is lovely. At the beginning of spring we run over to check out what little green shoots are poking their way up through the leaf litter, and we check back once or twice a week to see what is budding, what is leafing out, what birds have arrived, and what is in bloom. The scene changes every week throughout the spring; a symphony that begins quietly, then builds to a crescendo of colors, shapes, and sounds at every level of the forest.

I’ve tried for the three years in a row we’ve lived here to contact friends and relatives as I see it happening. “You’ve got to get over here! It’s unbelievable! It will all be different next week! You’ll miss it!” People are so busy, with days booked weeks and months ahead. With all of the responsibilities and routines and commitments, it’s harder than ever to make the time to stop and notice what is going on right around us, on mother nature’s untamed clock.

When I lived in Los Angeles, some folks would get ready in early spring for the great California poppy blooms that would cover the Antelope Valley in a carpet of orange. Aficionados knew, you had to listen or call or read for the go-ahead from rangers or locals, and be ready in a day’s notice to jump in the car and drive out there to see all of those bright orange heads, dancing in the wind - all gone in a matter of days.

Here are some photos from our local arboretum, caught just in time at the peak of the azalea bloom. They are, appropriately for this time of year, dressed to go to the prom.

What is bursting forth in a few short days of glory where you live?