I live with a condition I call “OCB”—obsessive-compulsive birder. It’s not really a disorder, more like a lifestyle choice. I haven’t crashed a car or missed an important life event because of a bird, but my vacation plans and daily routines are completely built around them. I just love the things. According to my journals here at Misryoum, I’ve been tracking sightings for 21 years. Some of my early records from 2005 are frustratingly sparse, with too many blank pages, but the monthly lists give me a decent historical perspective on migration patterns.
It’s been a colder-than-usual spring this year. After a decade of mild, global-warming-influenced winters, we suddenly had an “old-fashioned” season that lingered way too long. The smell of wet, melting snow still hangs in the air near the driveway—it’s a stark reminder of why the birds are running behind schedule. Usually, the Eastern phoebe and the tree swallow arrive like clockwork in early April. Not this time.
The phoebe is a tiny flycatcher with a lot of attitude—some might call it desperately adorable. They love humans, or at least they love our houses, usually nesting under an overhang. Years ago, one decided my front door fixture was perfect. It was a tight squeeze, so I built a little wooden shelf nearby. She moved in, and soon enough, I was watching her build a nest out of dried mud and moss from behind my coffee maker. The sound of those chicks begging for food is hard to beat, but honestly? It’s the “evil eye” those babies give you right before they fledge that really gets me.
Then came the home repairs during the early pandemic. The contractors destroyed the nest, and the poor bird just gave up. She didn’t come back last year, and I’ve missed her. It’s funny how you get attached to these tiny streaks of gray fluttering by your coffee mug every morning—or maybe it’s not so funny, just human.
Anyway, I finally spotted a phoebe on April 4. The shelf is ready. Will she find it? I hope so. The tradition has to start somewhere, right? If I can just get one to stick around, maybe the whole cycle will reset.
I’m still waiting on the tree swallows, though. The weather held them up. If you see one, let Misryoum know. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for the next warm front, though I suppose we’ll see what happens.