The sunshine was a welcome treat after a week of much-needed rain. Determined to ignore the cooler temperatures and blustery winds, we went out to do some serious birding.

The early migrants made their presence known to us immediately. The one that really stood out, though, was the aptly named ruby-crowned kinglet.

Although this is one of North America’s smallest birds – smaller even than some hummingbirds – it is impossible not to notice. What it lacks in size it more than makes up for in attitude, energy and voice.

We heard this tiny bird’s song before we were able to find it among the conifer branches. Loud and long, it far outmatched the size of its maker; we marveled at how such a small bird could produce such a big sound.

We managed to catch sight of the sprite as it flitted through the trees; it was never still for more than a few seconds. Even when perched, it constantly flicked its wings. It would interrupt its foraging to engage in bouts of song and territorial posturing, for there were a number of these imperialistic dynamos in the same small area. It was then that we saw its glowing red crest, which is normally invisible; the bird erects it during song or as an aggressive display toward other males. This tiny flash of color was brilliant even from a distance.

The ruby-crowned kinglet is part of a family that includes six species, two of which are found in North America. It shares its range in the United States and Canada with its relative, the golden-crowned kinglet. One of the ways it differs from the golden-crowned is that it cannot tolerate cold temperatures as well.

It is an olive-gray bird with two white wing bars and a white eye-ring. Its beak is small and thin, perfect for gleaning tiny insects from tree branches or plucking the fruit from wax myrtle, poison ivy, or red cedar. It prefers a boreal spruce-fir habitat for breeding.

Males and females are alike, except the female lacks the red crest and sings a shorter version of the male’s song.

The female produces an incredibly large number of eggs in relation to her size; the record for one individual was 12 eggs in a single clutch. The average is usually eight eggs per clutch, laid in a deep, cup-like nest suspended from small twigs. These energetic little birds were present wherever we went this weekend, heralding the advent of a new season.

Chris Corio’s column on birds is published each Saturday. Corio, a volunteer at Fields Pond Nature Center in Holden, can be reached at fieldspond@juno.com