Choo. Choo. Choo. CHUP CHUP CHUP CHUP.
Choo. Choo. Choo. Choo. CHUP CHUP CHUP CHUP.
Choo. Choo. Choo. CHUP CHUP CHUP CHUP CHUP CHUP.
I lean against the doorframe, looking out into the backyard, watching the dogs snuffle the perimeter. Overhead, in the spindly pine tops, unseen birds call out, in their respective languages.
I listen for a change, instead of my usual rummaging for the half-and-half, tearing open bills, tick-tock, time is money, or so I’ve heard.
Choo. Choo. Choo. CHUP CHUP CHUP. What could that mean? This bird is a poet, diligently testing her Morse code of meter and rhythm above the modest millworkers’ houses that line the neighborhood’s steep streets.
A. A. A. B. B. B. No, no good. Better with four chups. A. A. A. B. B. B. B.
I realize I don’t speak bird. I am fluent in dog, passable now in cat, but I have no idea what this bird is saying. Is she telling us to scram, get out of her yard? Is she even a she?
Choo. Choo. Choo. CHUP CHUP CHUP CHUP CHUP CHUP CHUP: a particularly daring sequence, heavy on the Bs. Perhaps she has not noticed us. How arrogant of me, I think suddenly, to wonder if I might factor into her day at all. There have been birds in these treetops for a couple hundred years, all with little reason to pay heed to the odd two-legged creatures far below. The squirrels are the sworn enemies of the two-legged and four-legged creatures. The birds are above this sort of ongoing fuss—literally and figuratively. They have far more pressing matters with which to occupy themselves: owls, too-clean window panes, securing nests of blind babies in treetops that whip and groan in New England gusts.
Choo. Choo. Choo. CHUP. CHUP. CHUP. She won’t go less than three choos. She is steadfast. She knows that two choos do not a sturdy poem make.
I admire her diligence and her discipline. I would like to know more about her. But without seeing her, I don’t know how to find out more. Can I Google a bird call? Do others hear it as I do, as a sequence of choos and chups? Years ago, I was certain my breastpump was crooning SACAJAWEA, over and over, but others heard COPPER PENNY and IN THE MIRROR.
Choo. Choo. Choo. CHUP CHUP CHUP CHUP. She is leaning toward this version, 3 As, 4 Bs. She keeps coming back to it. I like it, too. Three long choos, four terse chups. It’s pleasing in its insistence.
One, two, three, PAY-ATTENTION-STAND-UP-STRAIGHT.
One, two, three, HUSH-AND-HEAR-ME.
One, two, three, I-SEE-YOU-YOU-CAN’T-SEE-ME.
{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
Vaux’s Swift? http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Vauxs_Swift/sounds/ac
Yes! Birds. Bird talk. They get so agitated, it seems, but I’m guessing too. I do the same thing, listen and wonder. Perhaps she was saying “that Bear is thinking of you.”
It’s interesting what happens when we really listen. We always talk about “listening skills” in reference to human relationships. The world is a different place when we listen to it.
I had read somewhere that the ending part of a bird call (the chups in this case) is actually a different bird responding to the first call. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I always found that interesting. I can totally picture the sounds you’re describing. And a fun side note, my girls and I saw a falcon on the way to school this morning. Birds are pretty cool.
See if your library has an instructional recording on bird songs to loan? There’s several good ones.
My guess is that you’ve been listening to a mockingbird. The cadence and number of repetitions is distinctive, even if the particulars of what the notes are, is not. They sing year round, and are fairly abundant across a wide range.
The audio CD I’m thinking of is ‘Birding by Ear’ by Peterson Field Guides; but I think with a name to google on, you should be able to confirm or deny my guess without the whole set:
http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Northern_Mockingbird/sounds/ac
omg. sacagawea–i carried a sacagawea dollar in my shoe for my entire pg with B. is there something to that synchronicity? i was superstitious about that coin.
Yay, you’re back!