One of the great joys of life is getting well when you’ve been sick. Robin and I have both had this awful cold that’s been going around — I missed parts of a couple of days of work, and last weekend we both just stayed in the house the whole time. I finally went to the doctor and got some antibiotics for the secondary infection and some predisone to clear up my sinus inflammation. Along with some good cough medicine, it started to do the trick. Still, I was happy on Friday the 13th that the university closed due to freezing rain, giving me a four-day weekend.
There wasn’t much ice in Cape Girardeau, but Pocahontas is enough farther north to make a difference. We had about a 1/4 inch on the trees, though the roads were warm enough that I don’t think it accumulated. Robin and I never left the house Friday, but I had to go out and refill the feeders, because it must get pretty tough to find food when it’s under a sheet of ice.
By Saturday I was feeling much better, and I started wondering if I could get anywhere to do some birding. I thought about Perry County Lake, which is close to the highway, and thus perhaps accessible; but when I went out to run an errand mid-morning I found that the roads were pretty clear. So, if I had my choice, I wanted to see Apple Creek for the first time in the new year.
When I got to the parking area near the boat ramp, it was raining lightly. I was warm enough in my coveralls and fedora, and I’m trying out a new shoulder bag for the camera that keeps it dry. So, rain or no I started walking the path westward. The fields nearby were thronged with sparrows; lots of white-throated, and it appeared to me that there were others mixed in, but they were shy, and staying too far away to be sure. Goldfinches mixed in as well.
When I stepped into the woods, the noise was almost deafening. At 36 degrees, with some new rain, the ice on the trees was melting and falling all around — it sounded like a downpour, and I could hardly hear anything else. But one thing I could see was a Brown Creeper who flew down to a large tree trunk and worked his way up in front of me. I’m always pleased to see a creeper — they’re so inconspicuous that I always feel like I’m in on a secret.
Walking on down the track, I crested a hill and had a view of the woods all glazed with ice.
By the time I got to the wetlands, the rain had stopped, and whenever I was out from under the trees I was staying pretty dry. A Hairy Woodpecker squeaked loudly at me from a snag, and when I lifted the binoculars to look at it, an immature bald eagle flew by behind. There were no waterfowl on the wetland – perhaps because there were a couple of loose dogs circling the far pool making a lot of noise.
My rule of thumb, which I think I first heard from Dennis Wheeler, is that you can’t go home until you’ve seen 30 species. By that standard, I barely made it, but with a single Yellow-Rumped Warbler, a few Eastern Bluebirds, and some Field Sparrows that popped up on the way out, I did finally hit it.
On Sunday, I was so well that I was able to sing in Unitarian fellowship. I took down the Christmas tree just in time to keep from overlapping MLK day, and brought in the traditional Yellow Submarine decoration.
Sunday afternoon I drove across the river and counted birds at Sexton Creek and Cape Bend, adding records for the third week in January to both of them. My year count is at 50.