Whitethroat, Charlies

Two days ago, when I was leading groups of local sixth graders on nature walks, we were blessed by a wonderfully familiar bird song. Back in class, I'd counseled the students on the fine art of observation and how it was as important to listen as see. A snatch of an avian tune, often transliterated as "Old Sam Peabody... Peabody... Peabody," coming sweetly and loud from somewhere in the underbrush, brought home that lesson and really perked up all of those ears. I whistled to the singer, which I identified as a White-throated Sparrow, a recently returned migrant who'd be with us throughout the winter, and the bird promptly whistled back. We sang several duets, to the delight of the kids, and then I taught them the song, which, as a rag-tag chorus, we all sang. In the Disney version of this class, we would have been answered by a heavenly choir of White-throats, all singing praise to Sam Peabody, but the response was thinner. Just that same lone bird, answering our call. The White-throat never emerged from hiding—this is a bird I photographed near the millpond on today's trek— but that was fine with the students, and I think it did wonders for my natural history cred. Now, if only I could have called in an owl for them.