“Mounting toward the upland again, I pause reverently as the hush and stillness of twilight come upon the woods. It is the sweetest, ripest hour of the day. And as the hermit’s evening hymn goes up from the deep solitude below me, I experience that serene exaltation of sentiment of which music, literature, and religion are but the faint types and symbols.” — John Burroughs, Wake Robin, 1871

Hermit Thrushes are returning to our area. A few stay the winter here, but this past winter the fruit crop was poor and snow cover substantial, and we found none on our surveys. Now on my morning walks, I am privileged to start my day being serenaded by these spring arrivals. Many people have written words of praise for the song of the Hermit Thrush, but it is appropriate that I begin with the familiar quote by John Burroughs, who, as a friend of Henry Ford, walked the same woods in which I hear these birds today.

Native Americans have a well-known legend on how the Hermit Thrush acquired his beautiful song. Once, birds did not sing, and the Creator instructed that the bird who flew the highest would be rewarded with the most excellent song. The Hermit Thrush knew he was no match for the eagle, and stole a ride hidden in the eagle’s feathers. After the eagle had climbed as far into the sky as possible, the Hermit Thrush took off, and reached the spirit world, thus obtaining his superb melody. However, returning to earth he felt guilty, realizing he had cheated, and retreated into the deep woods to live his hermit’s life, singing his incredible song.

This is one of my favorite birds. Most ecologists appreciate a species that they have gathered extensive interesting data on, and that’s why I like Hermit Thrushes as a study subject. But it always helps when your subjects are engaging on their own merits, and have a trait, like an amazing song, that “steals upon the sense of an appreciative listener like the quiet beauty of a sunset”* and is able to stir your heart.

You can read about Hermit Thrushes here, and although one really has to be out in the field to truly appreciate it, you can listen to the song of the Hermit Thrush.

*M. Chamberlain (1882), in The Birds of North America by A. C. Bent.

For the Friday cat blog, I ‘ve dug out a funny Cat/English dictionary I received which was circulating on the Internet.  It’s been around a long time, but it still cracks me up. Kudos to the perceptive human that translated these sounds, to which I’ve added my own carefully researched interpretations:

Cat Phrase —– Meaning
miaow  —– Feed me.
meeow —– Pet me.
mrooww —– I love you.
miioo-oo-oo —– I am in love and must meet my betrothed outside beneath the hedge. Don’t wait up.
mrrrow-mawww —– Please, the time is come to tidy the cat box.
mrrrow-miawww —– I have remedied the cat box untidiness by shoveling the contents as far out of the box as was practical.
miaowmioaw —– Have you noticed the shortage of available cat toys in this room?
mioawmioaw —– Since I can find nothing better to play with, I shall see what happens when I sharpen my claws on this handy piece of furniture.
roww-maww-roww —– I am so glad to see that you have returned home with both arms full of groceries. I will now rub myself against your legs and attempt to trip you as you walk towards the kitchen.
mmeww —– I believe I have heard a burglar. If you would like to go and beat him senseless, I shall be happy to keep your spot in the bed warm.
mmaoiww —– I will be happy to dutifully sleep between your legs, so that your blankets remain anchored in place.
mreeww —– I see you have purchased a new brand of cat litter. While I evaluate it, I will not dirty it.  I’ll poop right here, next to the box.
mmew-mmmewww! —– You have stopped snoring!  I will periodically check to see if you are still alive by standing on your chest and placing my nose close enough to your face to detect breathing.
mrrrr-eoww —– Perhaps you will continue to groom me if I appear close to poking my eye out by rubbing against the sharpest parts of the brush.

Just in time for Friday, I discovered that it is customary and expected that all great bloggers with cats blog about their cats on Fridays, a tradition that was even covered by the New York Times. And here I was all ready with a pic and an update.

Kady was not normal when we returned from Texas, as I had hoped and expected. She was still afraid to come downstairs, and would sit at the top and whine.  If I (risking hernia) picked her up and brought her down, she was okay, but kept hustling back up there, after hissing at Sophie.  Suddenly today she saunters down, has a snack, checks out the magic catnip  rug, and goes through her strange ritual of scratching at the table and waving a paw in their air before she takes a drink from her glass on the table.  If true to form, she will now act as if nothing ever happened. So, a 9-day episode. Much shorter than the 3-month, post-vet ordeal, but the same type of ending.  When she finally snapped out of that one, we nearly fell over when she first came sashaying down the stairs and across the room. It’s good to have her back.

So, we had a day and a half to putz around, having gotten our target birds. We decided to hit the sights at San Antonio – an urban park and the River Walk. At the park, we ran into people we knew from Ohio. We heard a few more Golden-cheeked Warblers, and had a couple of insects which we were able to photograph. The River Walk was underwhelming, as was the Alamo, but we can say we did it. I needed a cup of coffee, and a Starbucks was unignorably convenient. I’ve tried Starbucks in cities all over the country and have decided it’s not a fluke, their coffee sucks. Bob – what is the attraction? I guess their heavily adulterated, bastardized, doctored-up coffee drinks might be good, but their regular coffee is bitter even with a quarter-cup of half-and-half in it. I’m boycotting as of now (unless, I’m desperate and my man The Kingfisher must have a Java Chip Frappacino).

With the weather warming up, we headed back to Kerr WMA (85 miles) to visit my new favorite bird, the Black-capped Vireo. We encountered our Ohio acquaintances again, who had not found any vireos. Five minutes later (after the OH couple headed down the road), we relocated what was probably the same bird and had more great looks. Love it. What a cutie.

Our gift shopping jones was satisfied in the visitor center of the LBJ National Historic Site, where The Kingfisher got some fudge shaped like a cow pattie for his mom, and we bought a couple of really tacky sheriff badges ("We don’t need no stinkin’ badges") with LBJ’s face on them for friends. We were disappointed not to find an ugly LBJ shot glass for a loved one who collects diminutive alcohol tumblers. We were tempted to buy two compellingly titled books: "Cedar Whacker" and "The German Seed on Texas Soil". The attraction was not so much the subject matter, as their interesting juxtaposition next to each other on the shelf, leading us to wonder about the relationship between whacking and seeded soil, and Teutonic self-pleasuring in early Texas history.