There was a time, not so long ago, when my entire knowledge of birds could fit in two categories: Robins… and Not Robins. That was it. End of story. A bird on my deck? Not a Robin. A bird on my car? Definitely not a Robin. If pressed, I might’ve stretched and called it a “flying kind.”
Back then, birds were just background props in my life. Now? Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I’m the guy sprinting through the house yelling, “Honey, hurry! A Rose-breasted Grosbeak!” as if I’ve just spotted Bigfoot ordering a latte.
And what birds they are! Male Rose-breasted Grosbeaks show up looking like punctuation marks—bold black, white, and a splash of rose-red. The females? Subtle streaked brown with a face pattern that basically screams, “Yes, I am fabulous too, thank you.”
But it’s not just about their looks. Oh no. Their songs! Imagine a Robin that’s had a few voice lessons—or possibly a few too many cocktails. That’s the Grosbeak. Naturalists wax poetic about their “entrancing beauty,” while modern birders just say things like: “Sounds like a Robin who’s unusually happy… and possibly in a hurry.”
Now I’m the proud landlord of a backyard bird buffet—complete with grape jelly and oranges. I put it out for the Orioles, but the Grosbeaks crash the party, too. Apparently, word travels fast in the bird world when there’s free food.
The best part? Every day feels like a new episode of “Birds Behaving Oddly.” I went from rolling my eyes at bird poop to rolling out the red carpet for feathered divas. And honestly? I’ve never had more fun.
I’d love to share my posts with you. If you subscribe, they’ll come straight to your inbox—most days, like a little note from me to you. It means a lot to know you’re reading along.
Click on the link to view and purchase this image in my online gallery at ImagesByGACioe.shop
Leave a Reply