Do you call something that really happened a story?

If it isn’t a story, what is it? You decide. But this really happened. This is the short version. That way you can’t accuse me of being boring.

This morning the camera strap, camera attached went around my neck. My arms slid though the shoulder straps of my ground blind. The shoulder strap of the tripod chair went over my right shoulder. My folded tripod fit comfortably in my left hand.

I walked a half mile across a hilly prairie up a sharp hill though sumac and stopped. It was quiet. Can quiet be delicious? This was. My eyes scanned for movement; my ears strained to hear it.

Where would I position the blind? The brushy, woody terrain surrounding me did not offer much space for my little blind. A cloudy sky diffused the light. Where to put the blind? Not in the sumac, my telephoto lens would be blocked. Not in the woods, my feet would make too much sound getting there.

With as little sound as possible my decision was to set the blind on a little oak studded hill in a small opening facing east. There was a catbird calling deeper in the woods. No photographs of catbirds are in my files. Gray feathers make a beautiful photo, especially when the owner could have flow to the oaks from Central America. Listen to a newly returned catbird. Hear it sing a collection of tropical rain forest songs and realize gray feathers create the wrong impression. The only thing plain about the catbird is gray. The catbird is the north country’s mockingbird counter-part.

So, I listened…and was very quiet in the blind. The bird sang, and sang. It never came close.  Beautiful gray catbird photos did not occur today. Yet, while listening to the catbird, my ears told me a second tropical bird was singing in the oaks.

Rose breasted grosbeaks could have flown from the same wintering area as the catbird. Rose breasted grosbeaks are tropical birds. They are double beautiful. Beautiful in coloration, males do have rose colored feathers on their breasts. The rose color is trimmed in white with black feathers on their head, wings and back. Male grosbeaks are spectacular. Double beautiful comes when they sing.

He sang.

But my time had run out. It was time to return home. Quietly as possible the blind got folded and stored in its backpack case. Then I set the tripod chair, and camera tripod on top of the blind. My plan, go to the bird…it was not hiding from me. It was living, likely calling for a mate. I changed plans…and stayed a little longer. I listened. I scanned for movement when the bird call came. One humble photo is all the evidence there is of the encounter. But this was a good morning.

They don’t speak English. I don’t speak catbird…or grosbeak. Yet on that small oak lined hill my ears thrilled to the sound of two different international travelers. They are winter residents of Central and South America, spring and summer residents here in the north country. The catbird never saw me. The grosbeak ignored me, and stayed his distance.

Two birds, just living life in the oaks on a cloudy morning filled me with joy and wonder. I can’t easily travel to the tropics to see and listen to the birds there. But there is no need…God sends them to us.