Mystery Bird

Mystery Bird’s Home

Mystery, She Writes

This is a true story about a bird.

I am fortunate to live in a place where I hear many birds. If you listen, you can hear everything from Pine Siskins and Chestnut-Backed Chickadees to Barred Owls and Bald Eagles. Bird symphonies or bird cacophonies, depending on the perspective. I find the songs lovely. My mystery bird stands out from the crowd of twitters and squeaks. Every evening MB starts calling with a distinct “chi-chi-chi-chi-cheee!” and continues all night (and I mean all night). MB doesn’t let up!

I haven’t seen this bird, but MB seems to be hanging out in the trees near the wetlands by my house.

Now, here is the strange part of the story: In my quest to identify MB, I’ve used the Merlin App, listened to numerous bird calls online, asked my neighbors, contacted bird enthusiasts in the community, and no one can provide an answer.

Now it’s your turn, dear reader.

Please listen to the recordings below, and let me know what you think.

I apologize for the poor recording, but you can hear the mystery bird at the seven-second mark. You can also hear a Common Nighthawk in this recording, which, to the best of my knowledge, is not the mystery bird.

Here’s a longer recording. Again, you will hear other identifiable birds as well.

Any ideas?

Thank you for listening!

July 24, 2024: UPDATE!
Like my favorite literary detectives, I decided I needed to talk to as many experts as possible. Yesterday, while returning from the store, I saw a visiting bird enthusiast near the Frank Richardson Wildfowl Preserve. She was helpful and curious about the mystery. She shared a recording with a friend who does nocturnal bird walks for Audubon, and the conclusion is that it is a distinct warning call made by the Common Nighthawks, which is different from their standard calls. They use it when there is a predator nearby (like owls), and since I’ve seen quite a few owls in the area, this makes sense.

Poor birds . . . I hope their nests are okay.

Mystery solved!

Forest and Sun

I am here, I am in this forest,

where luminance lingers long nearby,

I fall asleep under the cedar tree 

Lengthy languorous slumber 

The tree branches

caught cracking cuts

into my peace like slices,

into my mind like vices:

Waiting, waiting for the sun 

to reach me. 

Finding

Beware of digging into things you should not. It never turns out well; the revelation will be painful, though predictable, and scar the guts deeply.

Answer: find the path forward—boldly, with full feathers and song.

August Sunrise

Shifting

This is the time of year I love most (even if my allergies disagree).

A bald eagle in a tree near the North Valley Overlook on Turtleback Mountain

The birdsong and frog song, the succession of blooming plants, the longer days, and the shifts between sunshine and rain.

I’m finishing up a project that I’ll be sad to leave. I love the characters, the setting, the story. I’m sure I’ll be doing future revisions and edits, shifting and changing, but for now, I’m going to move onto the next big thing.

These moments of shifting can feel good. “Hey, I finished a book!”

Yet, I can also feel unsure.

The possibility awaits: wonderful and scary; exciting and daunting; a dash forward and a long pause. All those contrasts hit me, freeze me.

I’m back to the act of creating again. The pen to the notebook–

shifting.

Beautiful Winter

I’m not a big fan of winter. It isn’t a season where a lot of transition happens. Everything sleeps, and I am drowsy, despondent, stagnant.

This winter started out mellow. It wasn’t too cold, so I did my best to find beautiful things, especially as the year turned with a promise of early spring on the horizon.

January

Unfortunately, my nemesis–the winds from the Fraser Valley in Canada– hit the island in February. This cold system collided with storms. The mellow winter turned . . .

February

On Tuesday this week, I trudged outside. No one was out driving, so the normal quiet was even more silent.

Found the wonder of winter. The hush of snow. The transformed landscape . . .

Racoon (?) Prints on a Log

Outside, the slow thaw drips and slushes. The forecast doesn’t exactly call for spring again, but there are signs.

I stand near the wetlands

Just behind me

A red-winged blackbird clings to some dead plant

Calling over and over and over again

Not caring anything about winter.

Island, Sea, and Sky

I’ve been doing some hiking lately. This is something I like to do this time of year, especially when I find the lesser known trails at odd times of the day.

From the top of Mount Constitution between two storm systems.

A field of ferns.

 

Looking down at Crow Valley from Turtleback Mountain.