a seredipitous mockingbird

My field season has officially begun with the start of spring migration banding. I confess, spring banding is not my favorite. It’s extremely weather-dependent (and weather is not a good thing to be beholden to in Michigan), and runs to either stultifyingly boring or hysterically busy. To avoid vandalism of my equipment, my study plot, which is great in fall, is less-than-optimal in spring, meaning that more often than not I’m just busy enough that I can’t get anything else done, but not so busy as to be stimulated and inspired.

When people learn that I spend great chunks of my time banding birds full time, they think that I have all kinds of great fun. Well, the job is worthwhile and interesting, and I’m certainly glad that I do this for a living rather than, say, [fill in the blank]. But after thousands of birds and greeting far more sunrises than I ever thought I’d see, it’s not really fun very often. There is one element that does sustain a nice little prickle of anticipation each time I head out to my nets – you just never know what might be out there. Yesterday it was a species I’ve never banded in my 14 years at this site, a Northern Mockingbird. If there was ever a "fun" bird, the lively mockingbird must be it.

Mockingbirds are not common in Michigan, but one has been reliable on the other side of campus since 2001. This silent bird, which we take to be a female, has taken up residence in our unglamorous brush dump. It’s never been seen near my study plot, and sure enough, the bird I banded today was not our resident bird. Our resident bird (oddly, it hasn’t acquired a nickname) has the pale yellow eyes of an adult bird. The bird I banded had dusky grayish-green eyes, usually indicative of a younger bird, although some mockingbirds retain dark irises. Nor was this bird the extremely enthusiastic male singing across town in front of one of the local UAW offices. That bird, living in an area of heavy industry, is the darkest, sootiest mockingbird any of us has ever seen. So for a few minutes anyway, our corner of the world was graced by no less than three mockingbirds, one of which was the only bird I caught over 3.5 hours of dull net tending, proving once again that "it only takes one good bird" to turn a day around, and remind me that serendipity might just be right around the corner.