Eastern phoebe

Every April, not long after the initial amphibian rush to the vernal pools and the subsequent frog concert, I start listening for another singer, this one avian. In 2013, I spotted the first Eastern Phoebe on the first of that month—April Fool's Day—but the feisty, small bird was not in the mood to sing... well, sing is probably something of a misnomer, since what the bird utters is its name, repeated over and over, in dry, raspy tones. But it's typically our first songbird to migrate home, so however unmusical its offering, the call is a heart-warmer. Phoebes "sing" far longer around here than most of the more accomplished songsters and are often still at it in August and September, well after the warblers and the thrushes have gone silent. In October, however, they're more seen than heard, and by the middle of the month, they're usually gone. This afternoon, a warm one, felt more like late summer than a warning shot from the cold season, and it brought out a surprise phoebe, perhaps the last of the year. Godspeed, little bird. See you next spring.