Just one more thing about Rochester before I go to bed. While packing on Thursday I decided not to take my binoculars, knowing even as I did I would regret it. The birds have just settled onto their nesting territories, and we would be outdoors for part of the weekend.
When Danny and I walked out of the Rochester train station on Friday afternoon I heard a mockingbird singing somewhere nearby. Southwestern Ontario is on the northern edge of their range, the population has been shrinking, and I haven't seen one since my childhood. One used to visit Mom's garden every spring, but not for many years now. Friday I only heard a scrap of song, but it's similar to that of the grey catbird and brown thrasher, both familiar to me, so I recognized it immediately. All three birds mimic other songs and sounds, but the mockingbird is the most skilled. I walked toward the lilac bushes where I'd heard it and stood listening for a few minutes, but it never appeared or made another sound.
Today while Danny and I were waiting with Gary in the train station, the mockingbird appeared on a post across the tracks. I went to the window, then went outside. For several minutes it fluttered around near the ground looking for food. I longed for my binoculars, but the bird's white wing flashes and tail borders were obvious.
Northern mockingbirdIt was enough. It was like hearing a loved but long-forgotten melody.
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leafshimmer: wisteria from the Corn Hill district of Rochester
