Or, How to Keep a Rare Bird Coming Back for Seconds
I don’t usually do this.
I don’t like posting back-to-back stories about the same bird.
I worry you’ll eventually say,
“Enough already, George. We get it. It’s yellow.”
But…
It seems I have discovered the Evening Grosbeak’s kryptonite.
Safflower seeds.
A few days ago, my encounter with this magnificent oddball consisted of pure chaos.
I saw yellow.
I panicked.
I sprinted for the camera.
I fired away before my heart rate exceeded the camera’s shutter speed.
The photographs turned out well enough, especially considering the photographer had temporarily forgotten how breathing works.
But this morning…
I was ready.
Waiting.
Lurking.
Apparently, Finchenstein had decided my backyard deserved a second review.
Frankly, I couldn’t blame him.
Five-star accommodations.
Fresh water delivered daily.
A bubbling granite birdbath.
Unlimited safflower seeds.
And neighbors representing several dozen bird species.
It’s basically the Marriott for migratory birds.
Only without the room service.
To my surprise, he skipped his usual ground patrol and flew directly to the feeder.
Now we’re talking.
What bird photographers affectionately call “deck documentation.”
No crawling through poison ivy.
No lying face-down in the mud.
No pretending you’re part of the landscape while mosquitoes file a class-action lawsuit against your exposed skin.
Just me.
A tripod.
A ridiculously long lens.
And a bird that had apparently signed the modeling contract.
This time I could slow down and really study him.
The first thing you notice isn’t the brilliant yellow.
It’s that beak.
It looks almost oversized, as though it had been carved from polished jade with just a touch of ivory. Thick, triangular, and impossibly powerful, it resembles a precision woodworking tool more than the delicate bill of a songbird. It isn’t built for nibbling.
It’s built for demolition.
Above it sits a broad band of golden yellow stretching across the forehead like a racing stripe, separating the massive bill from a satin-black crown. Rich chocolate feathers wrap around the face and throat like a velvet hood, making those glossy black eyes appear both intelligent and slightly judgmental.
The rest of him?
Sunshine.
Not the soft lemon-yellow of an American Goldfinch.
This is the color of fresh butter melting on hot toast.
The kind of yellow that demands your attention.
His shoulders are draped with crisp white patches set against jet-black wings, creating a contrast so dramatic it almost doesn’t look real. It’s as though nature challenged herself to use only four colors and accidentally created one of North America’s most beautiful birds.
Then there’s his physique.
Calling an Evening Grosbeak a finch feels a little unfair to the other finches.
He’s built like somebody crossed a Goldfinch with an NFL fullback.
Broad chest.
Thick shoulders.
Almost no neck.
A compact powerhouse balanced on tiny pink feet that somehow support all that attitude.
And attitude he has.
While chickadees flutter nervously and House Finches politely wait their turn, the Evening Grosbeak simply arrives.
No announcement.
No apology.
No hesitation.
He surveys the feeder the way a restaurant critic surveys a five-star buffet.
“Acceptable.”
He samples the safflower seeds.
“Excellent choice.”
Then he strolls over to the birdbath.
Not to drink.
To inspect.
Leaning over the granite rocks, he seemed to evaluate the bubbling fountain with all the seriousness of a health inspector.
“Water quality… excellent.”
“Temperature… acceptable.”
“Management… surprisingly competent.”
Satisfied, he took a long drink.
Mission accomplished.
A few moments later, he launched into the air, flashing brilliant white wing patches against jet-black feathers before disappearing over the trees.
Gone.
Just like that.
Nature has a funny way of rewarding patience.
Sometimes you hike miles through forests and wetlands hoping to photograph one extraordinary bird.
Other times…
One decides your backyard has excellent customer service.
I’m not saying I’ve trained an Evening Grosbeak.
But if he comes back tomorrow…
I’m considering adding valet parking.
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.
Browse my complete art portfolio and shop for prints at imagesbygacioe.shop
Leave a Reply