Friday, February 28, 2014

Buzz Kill


Some Nature Notes; an Ode to the Arrival of Spring

Around here, winter has overstayed its welcome.

Oh, sure, a few signs of inevitable spring are already present. Sunlight lasts until well past 5:30. I spotted some tender, tiny daffodil shoots sprouting in the garden when the snow melted during our brief respite from the polar vortex last Saturday. I have to say, none of this is too convincing.

I used to depend on Robins to herald the season. In days gone by, you could be sure that when you first heard a Robin’s sweet melodic notes, you could shake off your winter blues and rejoice in the promise of warmth and sunlight and blossoms.

At least that was true in Winnipeg when I was young. But here in southern Ohio, the Robins have been sticking around all winter. I’m sure they must be regretting it. I worry about them out there in the frigid temps and blowing snow, although they seem to be okay and there is probably enough for them to eat with all the leftovers on the summer fruit trees. A Robin visits our crabapple tree daily.

I had lunch this week with a friend who is quite the birder. I am a bird enthusiast, but she is a true binocular-carrying, expedition-going, life-listing bird watcher. Just in making conversation, I asked if she had been on any birding excursions lately. “No,” she replied, but she told me about being out on a country drive recently when she spotted some birds that she said were a definite sign of spring. Turkey Buzzards.

“No way!” I said, “Turkey Buzzards? A sign of spring?” “OH, yes!” she chirped, “The Turkey Buzzards are coming back! Spring can’t be far behind!”  I shuddered.  

Now, if you have ever seen a Turkey Buzzard, you know that is an unusually unattractive member of the vulture clan. These sinister flesh-eaters do not inspire thoughts of hoppy, fuzzy bunnies and soft Easter-y pastel colors. They conjure dark thoughts of zombies and flattened-by-a-car bunnies. Where our darling American Robin gives you a cheeky chirp and pops a juicy worm out of your garden, the Turkey Buzzard hisses death threats as it rips into road kill. While our perky Robin flashes his cheery red-breast and cocks its dark shiny head with a cheery gesture, the Turkey Buzzard hunches boney shoulders around a fleshy blood-shot head that looks like the Phantom of the Opera without his mask on. While our sprightly Robin sings that sweet lyrical tune that makes you think of your childhood splashing in rain puddles with your yellow rubber duckie boots on, the Turkey Buzzard grunts a death rattle that says, “You finished with that chicken bone, lady?”

Turkey Buzzards protect themselves if threatened (and who would?) by throwing up – which apparently has so vile an odor that it would gag a maggot. They keep their heavily-feathered legs cool by doing something so gross that I won’t share, lest it give you nightmares. They are raptors, but no way are they even remotely as elegant as our neighborhood predator, the Cooper’s Hawk which systematically picks off dull-witted Mourning Doves like they are bowling pins. No, the Turkey Buzzard is the garbage collector of the bird world. It doesn’t even hunt. It lives off carrion. Well, I guess somebody has to do it. But we don't want to watch.

The Turkey Buzzard is the Tony Soprano of birds, minus the deep introspection. Turkey Buzzards are to American Robins what “Porky’s II” is to “Pride and Prejudice.”

So, with all due respect to my birding friend and to Mother Nature, I’d just as soon get the image of a Turkey Buzzard as harbinger of spring out of my mind, thank you very much. I prefer something more poetic and cheerful to signal April showers and May flowers. The Robins around here better get their act together. Fly south, you guys, and get back here PDQ to chortle spring’s arrival properly.

Who would you pick as your springtime representative?


 

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