Migration makes strange bedfellows

Hi everyone,

It’s that time of year when migrating birds sometimes pause around Goose Lake on their way to winter quarters. Yesterday a band of robins stopped in our back yard for a while to drink from small pools of water accumulated from a recent shower. Some took a quick bath while they had a chance. One, I was sorry to see, broke its neck flying into one of our windows and died on the patio.

Mixed in with the robins were other kinds of birds. I don’t know if they were traveling together all the way but it looked that way. I saw three blue jays and three other species that I couldn’t identify for sure. I needed Sneed Collard to tell me what they were. One might have been a cedar waxwing and another, maybe, was a brown-headed cowbird. There was another kind of jay-looking bird that had a tufted crown but was light tan colored. I think another could have been a lark bunting.

Whatever these strangers were, I’ve never seen them in our yard before so I assume they we passing through with the robins. Some robins migrate as much as one thousand miles to reach climes where they can switch from their usual summer diet of worms to a winter fare of fruit. Maybe their travel mates read the same brochures. Too bad that one of the group got no father than Goose Lake.

6 comments on “Migration makes strange bedfellows

  1. Watching the birds on a chilly autumn day, watching ’em fly so high & away..I’m reminded of something I read yrs ago about folks medieval so admiring the birds [suggesting their markings in their heraldic hoo hah] because they could up & go anywhere they wanted, a capacity worth the coveting if you & yours were ever bound to the land. Imagine being so free, but, alas, unaware until too LATE what a pain in the neck a window can be.

    • Well good morning, dear and talented friend! Thank you for opining about these modern day feathered dinosaurs. I’m happy that their sizes are growing smaller these days rather than returning to the old ways.

  2. Poor little bird that hit the window,
    Won’t get to travel on with friends.
    Buddies must leave to beat the weather,
    Nature’s migration will never end.

    • The migration never ends, that’s for sure, Su. So many perish along the way. The survivors, after a few months, start back home, and before long the cycle begins again. Amazing. And thanks for the poem! Hugs

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