June 12, 2026

As spring segues into summer, the rush of spring migration tempers somewhat. The birds are more difficult to spot in the trees and bushes, sure, but there are also more end-of-school-year concerts and recitals and parties and festivals and parades, etc. It’s more difficult to find time to slip out and go traipsing through a meadow.

But the birds keep singing. Last night, two wood thrushes sang back and forth probably less than 100 feet apart from each other. This morning, the scarlet tanager continues its burry song high up in the trees.

The woods are as full as the air, lush and green and flowering. A woodchuck was happy for it yesterday, munching on our slightly overgrown lawn soaked with thunderstorm rain from the night before, when an old leaning box elder crashed across the ROW.