hauntingly beautiful

Did you see that? Something moved beneath the shrubs. Probably nothing. A squirrel, maybe. A leaf blowing across the ground. One of those little movements you notice out of the corner of your eye and immediately forget. Except this time, there was evidence.

On September 29, Paul Stahlschmidt spotted a White-throated Sparrow at the Boone Greenway Athletic Fields. One bird. That’s all it takes. They’re baaaack.

For those who speak birder, the code is WHTS: White-throated Sparrow. And once WHTS starts showing up, you know what’s coming. The first of our winter sparrows has arrived, and soon many more will be scratching through the leaves, lurking beneath the feeders, and quietly taking over backyards.

You may not notice them at first. That’s part of what makes their arrival so well-timed to the spooky season. They arrive quietly, keep close to the ground, and disappear into the brush. Then, sooner or later, you hear one.

The White-throated Sparrow’s song is a series of clear, haunting whistles that birders commonly render as Oh-sweet-Canada. There are other interpretations, of course. Poor-Sam-Peabody is another popular version. Whatever words you hear, the sound itself is unmistakable, especially when it comes from somewhere you can’t see.

You’re walking through the woods when a whistle comes from the trees. You stop. Silence. Another whistle. You look toward the shrubbery. Nothing. You take a few steps and there it is again, somewhere beyond the leaves. The bird is there. You just haven’t found it yet.

And WHTS isn’t the only one coming. Dark-eyed Juncos will soon be appearing, too—the little slate-gray birds that seem to materialize beneath feeders once the weather turns cold. One moment the ground is empty. The next, three juncos are hopping through the leaves. Something startles them and suddenly there’s a burst of wings. Gone. The backyard is quiet again.

This is the strange little magic of migration. We tend to imagine it as some grand spectacle—flocks filling the sky, thousands of birds moving overhead. But sometimes migration looks like one sparrow in a patch of weeds. One bird. One date. One eBird record. The landscape changes, the days shorten, the leaves fall, and the winter birds arrive.

So keep an eye on the ground beneath your feeders, and listen when you’re walking through the woods. If something moves beneath the shrubs, take another look. It might be a squirrel. Or it might be WHTS.

Bonus bird: the Ruby-crowned Kinglet (RCKI). Two RCKIs were also recorded at the Boone Greenway Athletic Fields on September 29. These tiny travelers breed far to our north and are now beginning their southward journey, with many spending the winter with us in North Carolina. They are restless little things, flicking their wings as they work through shrubs and trees, calling “che-dit” from the thicket as they keep tabs on each other.