By: Bill Doolittle
Photos by: Charlie Westerman & Shutterstock
The big robin – I call him Rob – was knocking off for the day. It had rained overnight, but the sun came up with an April blue sky and Rob and his robin pals had been at it all day long, pulling up grubs and worms from the grassy lawn. Just one after another. With the sun finally going down, Rob got a little hop start and flew up to a tree limb, and a comfortable perch. He leaned a wing over a small branch and smoothed out the feathers on his big orange breast. Miller Time. “You know,” said Rob. “I don’t think I could eat another worm.”
Welcome to springtime in Kentucky, when all the animals and birds and fish – people, too –are shedding winter wraps and soaking in the cool rainy nights and warm sunshiny days. And just like their flora cousins bursting out in color, the fauna are busy with spring, too – in city backyards and over the fields and forests of the Bluegrass State.
It’s funny about the robins. It seems like years ago robins used to head south for the winter, and then return in spring with the other harbingers. But nowadays, the way the winters are so warm, I don’t think they leave at all. And they’re so adaptive. Zoologists say robins are common from sea level to 11,000 feet, and in every state. Probably America’s most successful bird. And busier than ever in the spring.
Same with sparrows. Very busy. You see them out in the yard with the robins, kind of zipping down in alternating squads to grab the worms. A bunch flies up at the same time, taking spots all around the house and yard, rain gutters, light pole, forsythia bush – keeping a lookout, I guess, and communicating with some encrypted sparrow text thread. “All clear!” And down they come from all points. Flash mob!
Then back up.
The blue jays aren’t so many, but they operate the same way, if more cautiously. Looking it all over, heads jerking up-down-leftright… then risking a raid.
Also showing up is a squad of lowlife starlings, who come from down the street. The starlings feed in a horizontal flank. Like those watering machines you see rolling on wheels across midwestern fields. Pulling worms up like a machine. Pretty ugly, with shiny black and purple feathers, and next to no tail. But the good birds don’t say anything. Even the snooty blue jays. Peaceful coexistence, I guess.
A nut! Just where I left it
It’s all very interesting at the water pans I set out on a table in the backyard. Like Central Perk in Friends. The sparrows stop in for a sip. They like to hop around the rims of the bowls, elbowing each other along, making a game out of it. But the robins jump straight into the pans. Constantly splashing and flap-slapping the water… and pooping in it. Yeah, that’s a problem. Robins don’t practice sanitation. Have to change the water all the time. But I don’t mind.
When the water is fresh, the jays and cardinals, and an occasional mockingbird – they’re the ones with the best songs and shake the longest tail feathers – stop by to enjoy the clean water. The Cardinals are more prominent in winter, posing for Christmas cards by the holly trees. Used to see them a lot in March and April, but the coaching – Oh, wait, that’s another story.
The squirrels also like the water pans and love getting up on the table. The birds don’t seem to mind. It’s fun seeing the whole gang up there.
Speaking of squirrels, they’re fat again this spring. It was a good fall for acorns, and maybe walnuts. The squirrels don’t have any trouble finding nuts they buried over the winter. I mean, they have no idea where they planted them. No idea. But they come down off the fence and go dig anyplace, and … Hey, here’s a nut!
There are predators, of course. Got some big tan and gray hawks who like to operate from the high wires on the electric poles. Especially around noon, picking out lunch. And a brown cat that operates back in my garage. I think it’s a female, don’t ask me why. I call her Cat. She works at night. Comes over from across the street, and straight up my driveway to the garage. I tried to run her off, but it didn’t take. Finally, I just gave Cat a pass when I noticed I didn’t have any mice in the garage anymore. (Also, regrettably, no chipmunks. Sorry, Chip).
Fortunately, Cat doesn’t bother the rabbits, or I would have to take steps. But the rabbits are fine. They work at night mostly, too. There’s this one I call Rab, who is a female, I think. She hops up close and stands sideways to stare at me. You know how they do. Rabbits have these big round eyes on the sides of their faces. So when Rab is looking straight at me, I only see one eye. Does that for a minute, then hustles along. Lives under a rose bush.
Of course, there are a million dog stories in the Naked City. But we’ll get to them another time.
Three steps from the bottom of the hill to the top
Springtime in the country comes a couple weeks later than in the city, but is every bit as glorious. Especially thoroughbred horses stretching their long legs over bluegrass pastures.
Elliott Walden, of Win-Star Farm, near Lexington, vividly remembers seeing Justify – who would grow up to win the Kentucky Derby – running with his fellow one-year-olds. Yearlings.
“I remember there was a day in March when we were standing out watching and he came up the hill – we have an uphill training gallop – and he just looked awesome,” recalls Walden. “The power, the stride. His whole demeanor. The horse next to him looked like he was running a hundred miles an hour and Justify looked like he took three steps from the bottom of the hill to the top.”
Call me Mr. Peeps
One creature you hear a lot from in the spring is tree frogs, singing the old mating song. You know how someone will say, ‘You never hear a peep out of them.’ Well, tree frogs, you do hear a peep. That’s what they do. Some people call them spring peepers.
Jaymi Heimbuch, a nature writer out of Caltech, San Luis Obispo, explains the tiny frog’s song:
“The call of a male is a single high note repeated in rapid succession,” says Heimbuch. “One frog sounds similar to the peep of a chick — hence the name spring peeper — but when they sing in chorus, they sound like sleigh bells.”
My friend Jim, who lives out in the country with his wife Janine, says that’s a pretty good description.
“Tree frogs, little brown and green things, are the first harbingers of spring,” says Jim.
“They begin in late February into March, squeaking or peeping trying to hook up with a (prospective female) of their own species,” he explains. “They’ll peep most of the night, and you can hear them a little in the morning and at dusk. But they stop in the daytime so they don’t get eaten by herons, or whatever.”
“At our house we open the windows to listen to them as they serenade us to sleep. If it rains a lot they will use the little suction cups on their toes and stick to windows – attracted to bugs that come to the light.”
That’s an idyllic picture, though there are occasional developments.
“We had this one peeper that was on a window and Reggie, a big, five-foot black snake, came on the deck and snatched it! I thought Janine was going to have a fit. I had to go catch Reggie and take him back over to the barn where he was supposed to be working on rodent control.”