Story and Sketch by Susan Vasquez
The bushtits come nearly every morning now, announcing their presence by movement. Over the last several months, I have come to rely on these little-seen acrobats as they welcome the morning to my patio. Without these preludes to sunrise, I hardly know how to begin the day. It’s not that I see them, or always hear them. It’s the movement through the trees, the quiet press of leaf against branch, then twig, that calls my attention.
The passing parade of bushtits begins in the line of crape myrtles along the fence, then proceeds branch by twig through bush and vine to the Pistache tree. That’s where they pause, then continue to the cherry plum tree as the march continues through the neighborhood.
I marvel that I have yet to see an individual bushtit. In my mind, they appear as a unity of creatures, polliwogs of the sky, a movement of togetherness. I see photos online or in the guidebooks and have to be satisfied with what others have recorded. So far, I haven’t seen one single bird.
I hear them on occasion, says Merlin, the bird identification app. Mixed with other avian voices, theirs is a vocal rattle sounding farther away than their presence. Their voice is shy. But their march through the yard is unmistakable.
This morning, I see their entrance before I hear their call. I should pause, look in the guidebooks, learn what they eat and why they come here. But I am captivated by these sailors of the tree canopy, always dipping away from my view on a wave of natural protection. I don’t really see them, but can’t look away. Whatever brings them into my space this morning, I am grateful they have come. Bushtits. I feel I have gotten to know them and am amazed at their resourcefulness.
Above the fence line, they continue, in air and on branches. Closer and closer they march, moving branches and leaves. I hear them now.
There are ten avian voices this morning on Merlin’s list. It’s a festival of calls, many of which I can identify. As a bird calls out, its name is listed #1 on the Merlin App. I keep looking at the screen, knowing bushtits will be next. Here they come. Any time now. I recognize this birdsong. I wait. Their name must be next.
But Merlin disagrees. Ruby-crowned kinglet flashes on the screen, top of the list. A chorus of sound continues above me. Ruby-crowned kinglet says Merlin.
How could I have gotten this so wrong? I feel I knew the bushtits. I have seen their name before on Merlin. Certainly, their movement is unmistakable. Some songbirds are flock companions, blending their groups. I wonder if this is true of Ruby-crowned kinglets and bushtits. I could see Bushtit movement and hear Kinglet song.
I look again to Merlin, still flashing the name of a bird I hadn’t expected, giving me evidence of how wrong I have been. Bushtits, quiet this morning, are nowhere on the list. I am simply and undeniably mistaken. Finally, I open the guidebook to actually read the information on bushtits. I learn there is a difference between a call and a song. I begin to fill the large gaps in my knowledge.
The app continues to flash a name that calls me out for thinking I know more than I do. I congratulate the bushtits for finding yet another clever way to disguise themselves, hidden from me in my own backyard. I accept being wrong. Birds, once again, put me in the humble place where humans belong.
Visit Susan Vasquez and her stories at https://susanvasquez.com
