Skies Full of Song

What is my favorite Minnesota birdsong, you ask?

I’m charmed that you’re so innocent as to think there’s a remote possibility I have a singular, favorite birdsong.

There are more answers to this question than words I dare to write. So many possibilities race through my mind. The hysterical twittering of the ruby-crowned kinglet. The laughter of the yellow-bellied sapsucker. The commands of the eastern towhee, reminding me to “Drink your tea!” And so on.

Before I can possibly attempt to name my favorite, I must ask you: What season are we talking about? The time of year has as much to do with my birdsong whims as it does for those who are singing.

Winter
As winter descends and the skies turn gray and solemn, one crimson friend returns to the forefront of everyone’s mind. The northern cardinals seem to peek at me sideways, waiting until dusk to pop by the seed feeders. Their brilliant soaring tunes, along with the cries of the American crow and the distant quarks of our common raven residents, help carry me through the winter.

After endless months of snowdrifts and howling winds, the bright, cheery songs of the American goldfinch really brighten my day, as sure as the sun may shine. When the house finches join in, I hear the amicable peaks and valleys of chatter between friends.

Black-capped chickadees deliver the most delicate, purest of notes into the crystalline blue skies, reminding me our sun is visiting a little longer each day.

Spring
The triumphant trumpeting return of the sandhill crane fills my spirit with wonder and awe.

In the late days of a warm spring, hearing the American robin belt out a few musical phrases after a rainstorm lifts my heart, sure as a fresh rainbow reaches across the sky.

Hearing the first red-winged blackbird trilling from the marsh announces to me that summer isn’t far away. Mingling with the chorus of frogs by the moon, suspended above a silhouetted tree canopy, are the quirky peent calls of the lovable American woodcock as it dawdles through the understory.

Nothing delights me more than the old-timey descending whistle of the veery, a thrush that hides discreetly among low woodland foliage. A rose-breasted grosbeak sings with a timid tenor in beautiful bell tones, matching the frequency of burgeoning flowers.

Summer
The whine of a gray catbird, skulking in the thick brush, gives me pause, asking me why I haven’t yet filled the jelly bowl. The bold whistles of a Baltimore oriole command the airspace all around.

How can I compare the gentle cooing of the mourning dove with the melancholic melody of the eastern bluebird? Which is funnier, the cranky bark of a green heron as it flies over, or the squabbles of American coots as they chase each other in the shallow wetland?

The blue jay, known best for its jeering call, often leaves me smiling with a repertoire ranging from playful musings to throaty swamp monster vocals to gleeful toot-toot! notes.

Fall
Come fall I sit upright and listen with amusement as the white-throated sparrows return on their migration, sounding like the “Whistle while you work” fellows from Snow White. Even more amusing are the laser gun pew-pew-pews delivered like rapid-fire-machinery by dark-eyed juncos.

When the red maple leaves give way to bare branch artistry, thin tseet-tseet calls play tricks on my ears. I see a yellowish-brownish warbler flit by. Then another, and another. My summer joy gives way to the seasonal frustration of fall warbler identification, a confounding experience that bonds us birders, from the newest members to seasoned experts.

Canada geese lift off from fields in majestic formation, honking their farewells on magnificent wingbeats.

Surely I have forgotten many species, their songs still drifting through my dreams. And no doubt I have accidentally omitted a feathered friend who delighted me on a dark day or inspired me after a period of mourning. But these songs greet me each season as new and as crisp as a glittery snowfall.

A single favorite? I’ll keep musing on your bold question.

In the meantime, now that your mind is tuned in to the cacophony of avian concert, I hope that you hear a few new notes everywhere, just a few steps outside. Everywhere.