Interpreting the sounds of my back yard
When I walk out of my house, I’m used to hearing the soundtrack of the suburbs. This time of year tends to be quieter, with most of the leaves blown to the curb and the lawn mowers silenced.
Here and there is the shuffle of neighbors walking their dogs, getting in their daily run or chatting with a toddler as they push their stroller down the sidewalk. Once school lets out, neighbor kids take to their trampolines or swing sets and review the day with their siblings or friends.
Underneath this hum of humanity are the cheepcheeps and tweets of birds, something I’ve listened to my whole life yet rarely paid much attention to. Instead, I’ve spent more time learning to identify birds by sight. Of course, I knew the sounds that the usual suspects make, such as blue jays, cardinals and sparrows. But recently, I became intrigued by the loud call of a bird that sounded like it was saying “cheeseburger, cheeseburger.”
Thanks to the Merlin Bird ID app, I found out that it was the Carolina wren, a small bird that I rarely see but often hear. This led me to sit outside with the app open and record the sounds of my back yard when I heard a lot of activity. As Merlin “hears” a bird, it shows the most likely match.
Over time, I’ve memorized some of the varied languages spoken from the trees, shrubs and fences of my yard. Northern cardinals have a clipped call but a beautiful drawn-out song. Red-bellied woodpeckers give a squeaky chirp-chirp, often from the Norway maple in the corner of our back yard. The sounds are all different, and I’ve had some surprises.
For instance, I thought I knew the chatter of a sparrow, one of the most common birds in my yard. But wait: there’s not just one type of sparrow. Here in NJ, we get song sparrows, white-throated sparrows and house sparrows. I still can’t tell them apart visually, but I can identify the song sparrow’s most lovely voice and the melancholy whistle of the white-throated sparrow.
Now I’ve taken another step in my birding activity after my daughter, Madeline, encouraged me to join Cornell Lab’s Project FeederWatch. It’s a citizen science program to help scientists understand long-term trends and changes in bird distribution and abundance. As participants, we simply count the bird species in our back yard two consecutive days a week from November through April and enter them in the app.
Joining this project set us on a path to expand our offerings beyond the sunflower seeds we routinely provided to attract the more vibrant birds of the air. I filled some neglected feeders with nuts, regular bird seed and suet cakes. We also filled a ceramic tire swing that’s suspended from a small oak and added water to an old bird bath, especially critical during this drought. On the days that we fill the feeders, our back yard is a frenzy of bird gorging activity. I was beginning to wonder whether we needed an air traffic control tower. I may pare back the number of feeders or consider a second job to pay for the volume of seed and nuts the birds consume.
Certainly, they don’t rely on me for survival. But it is fun to record their comings and goings while contributing to some good research. I also can continue to refine my listening skills. My bird language repertoire is still fairly narrow, but knowing a handful of their sounds has added a beautiful dimension to my forays outside. I’m hearing new conversations, even if I can’t see who’s doing the talking. Come spring, I will wait for the day when I can close my eyes and hear the tender high-pitched tune of a goldf inch and know they’ve arrived for their summer vacation. Then I’ll set out my Nyjer seed feeder so I can see their brilliant form and be satisfied to know a little bit more about my corner of the world.
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