Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, January 9, 1995 TAG: 9501120042
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-7 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
This year, so far, no sign of them.
Which is probably just as well. They about ate me out of house and home.
Peterson's "Guide to Eastern Birds" calls evening grosbeaks ``gregarious.'' My Audubon pocket guide goes even further: ``The Evening Grosbeak is highly gregarious,'' it states (my italics).
I would say, in place of ``gregarious,'' ``raucous.''
``Scrappy,'' ``noisy,'' boisterous,'' ``greedy,'' ``obstreperous,'' ``rowdy,'' ``roughneck'' or ``ruffian'' would also do. But ``gregarious'' hardly seems to me strong enough.
In fact, if evening grosbeaks weren't so beautiful, they'd hardly be worth putting up with at all.
They are fine, plump birds, with the kind of hefty stuffed-looking breasts you used to see on Victorian ladies and gentlemen. They strut about with something of the same privileged assurance, too.
Their colors are brilliant: a dazzling, solid yellow, contrasted with startling white and black wings. They have fat yellow bills, as well, that add to their prosperous, sumptuous appearance.
If birds had social status, evening grosbeaks would be the FFV's or the Fat Cats of the Establishment.
I prefer the tufted titmouse, myself: a real plain Jane, until you look closely enough to see that band of delicate, flushed coral along its sides.
Titmice have bright, wide-opened eyes, and alert (but neither pretentious nor perky) crests. They suggest the very bright girls you've known all your life, who sit in the back of the class making excellent grades, without ever saying a word; until one day, suddenly, one of them speaks and you think, ``She could explain the universe!''
As, perhaps, she could.
Titmice are with me year-round. So are the brash chickadees, various shy sparrows, the vain bluejays and cardinals, and the meek, jittery juncoes. Of course, they like my fellowship best when I'm putting out birdseed for them.
Consequently, we cycle in and out of each other's company through the year. They go their own ways in spring and summer, keeping in touch by calling to me from the trees; and then in the fall, and throughout the winter, they dip down next to my window. They peck on the glass when I'm late with breakfast. And usually, by late winter or early spring, some of the chickadees have grown so fond of my presence that they wait for me in the multiflora rose by their feeder, squawking, ``Where have you been?''
It's a comforting, familiar round of relationship. Always the same.
Last winter, the grosbeaks were a surprise. This year - where are they?
The flashes of brilliance that cut through our lives are not so regular. They're dependable, but somewhat sparse. After you've lived a few years, you know that if you've ever had one bright day you'll have another. But the bright days surprise; they come when you least expect them.
Often, however, they come just when you need them most.
Last winter, the grosbeaks flashed and laughed through the ice storms. Predictions this winter are milder. So perhaps the titmice and juncoes are all that I need, just now.
Monty Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.
by CNB