As I thought about writing this column, I decided to veer away from the format I’ve been using lately and try something different. So, in keeping with the holiday spirit, here are several vignettes of bird encounters I’ve had over the years.

Enjoy!

A strange muttering issued from within the spruce/fir forest I was passing. I had just moved up to Maine and, having already had a confrontational encounter with raccoons at a campground, was quick to assume that the masked marauder was the owner of the unnerving voice. At times it sounded like a very old and grouchy man muttering to himself; then the tenor would change and assume a simian quality. Wanting to confirm the vocalist, I crept quietly toward the creature, which continued to mutter, moan, and chatter.

Finally, it seemed as if I was right by the source of the sound, yet still I could not locate its maker. Was there a wounded animal hiding close-by? Now my heart was pounding – this was eerie, and I questioned my decision to investigate more closely.

As I turned to retrace my steps, a sudden, loud, WHOOSH made me jump. Looking up, I saw two large, black birds taking flight. They were ravens, and they were the ones that had been muttering. This was to be the first of many vocal demonstrations I was to witness from these fascinating, intelligent, and hardy birds.

I awoke one morning to hear a great row going on outside. It seemed as if every bird in the neighborhood was in the yard, doing its best to create as much disturbance as possible. First there were the querulous voices of numerous chickadees; then the tiny, toy trumpet-like calls of the red-breasted nuthatches. Blue jays and crows added their voices to the din.

I knew there had to be an unusual predator in the vicinity, and pictured a red-tailed hawk or other large raptor as the cause of alarm.

What I found, instead, was a tiny saw-whet owl. Hardly bigger than a blue-jay, it perched within the spindly branches of a sickly cedar tree, looking grouchy and annoyed at all the attention it was getting. The other birds retreated as I approached the owl’s tree, and it blinked at me as I stood staring at it in wonder.

I did not know how it came to be in such an exposed place during daylight; these little owls like to remain concealed at this time, for they could easily become prey for larger owls, hawks, or falcons.

As I approached a stand of young coniferous trees, I heard the soft “tsee, tsee” of golden-crowned kinglets. The small, plump birds were foraging along the snowy branches and trunks of the trees, searching for dormant insects.

I stood quietly and was rewarded with some exceptionally closeup views of the birds. Soon I realized that a flock of chickadees was also moving through, for these birds often forage together. One by one, the chickadees began flitting across the trail to the trees on the other side. They were quite close to me, flying about two feet away from my face. What a treat, I thought, but I was yet to be surprised.

As the last chickadee reached the opposite side, it suddenly reversed its course, and flew to within inches of my left ear. I could hear the “thripp-thripp-thripp” of its wings beating as it stationed itself there in the air.

Then it alighted on my shoulder.

I stood absolutely still and stopped breathing. The curious little black-cap sat for a few seconds as I watched from the corner of my eye. It soon rejoined its fellows, and as I continued along the trail I treasured this little winter gem.

Happy Holidays!