Hosting a Great Backyard Bird Count event at Bartholomew Park — solo, but still meaningful A first-for-the-yard Red-naped Sapsucker (and a sprint for the camera) A small group of Sandhill Cranes flying over the neighborhood — a first from the house
Jan/Feb were a blur — not because nothing happened, but because life was full. Unlike last year, I wasn’t out questing every week with a hyper-focus on a FeatherQuest species. I was writing Discovery and pushing the website forward, and dedicated birding time had to take a back seat.
But even when I couldn’t show up for the birds, they still managed to show up for me — in the backyard, at Bartholomew Park, and in a few pockets of winter light. One afternoon four Sandhill Cranes flew over the house, their honking echoing through the neighborhood — a first from our yard, and one of those moments that stops you mid-step.
On New Year’s Day we slipped in a quick winter hike up Maple Canyon. It wasn’t a destination birding trip — more of a reset — but it still delivered a few small moments that made the cold worth it.
This winter, the birding wasn’t about driving far — it was about noticing. A few moments presented themselves right at home, and I took the invitation.
I was outside filling up the feeders when I heard a sharp, rhythmic tapping — not the casual pecking of a sparrow, but the deliberate drumming of a woodpecker claiming territory. I stepped onto the porch to confirm it, and there it was — a Red-naped Sapsucker working its way up the pine. It was a quick sprint back inside for the camera before it moved on.
It ended up being a first-for-the-yard record, the kind of moment that makes you grateful you were paying attention. A reminder that even during a busy day, something wild can show up right outside the window.
A few weeks ago I made a last-minute call: I registered and hosted an official FeatherQuest event at Bartholomew Park as part of Cornell’s Great Backyard Bird Count. I posted it, showed up, and… no one came.
Honestly, it was fine. It gave me space to enjoy the moment. I wandered the shoreline, found a quiet spot along Hobble Creek, and ended up having one of those unexpected human connections that only happens when you’re outside long enough.
A gentleman arrived, surprised to see me. Recently divorced and grieving, he came to that spot because it held memories from a better season of life. I listened for a bit, shared what I was doing there, and then left him to reflect. Just another reminder that birding is never only about birds.
One day my wife texted me from the park around lunchtime. She and a couple of friends were staring at what they were sure was a Golden Eagle. The photo she sent was blurry enough that I couldn’t tell for sure, so I drove over to see it myself. When I arrived and got a clear look — and a few better photos — the heavy bill and mottled plumage made it obvious: juvenile Bald Eagle. I may have corrected the label, but it didn’t change the excitement. It was still a huge bird, still an unforgettable sight.
A few other winter moments found their way into the mix — quick sightings and quick photos, the kind that keep the season from feeling gray.
One Saturday after pulling in from our daughter’s birthday party, I heard a familiar high-pitched whistle. Our tree was full of Cedar Waxwings — maybe 20 of them. I started shooting from below, then realized I could get a much better angle from the kids’ bathroom window.
There haven’t been big trips yet. Life is busy, and that’s okay. This winter reminded me that even in a packed season, a few minutes of stillness can turn into something memorable.
Spring is coming, the library field trip to the Provo River Delta is on the calendar, and we’ve also booked a desert adventure to Havasupai. Later this year an Alaskan cruise is on the horizon. It’s just a matter of time — and I’m not in a rush.