Sleeping in my own bed on a Saturday night should not be out of the ordinary. However spending my first weekend in Phoenix since May was a momentous change from my summer routine of weekly escapes to cooler temperatures in Prescott. Nonetheless, even with the heat still breaking records, I was ready to decamp from the pine forests and to re-acclimate to desert urban living for the next several months.
But habituating myself to nights with closed windows, ceiling fans whirring and air conditioning blowing might have contributed to an initial bout of insomnia last week. Tossing and turning, I could still hear the deep hoots of a great-horned owl emanating from somewhere in my backyard. They reminded me of the chirps of the crickets and the yips of the coyotes that I would be hearing if I were similarly sleepless back in Prescott.
The following morning was cool enough to turn off the air conditioner and open the windows for a couple of hours. Outside I was impressed by a chorus of birdsongs ringing out. A slow toot---toot---toot clearly identified an Abert's towhee while a quick whit-whit-whit let me know a curve-billed thrasher was in the area.
From a distance, I could make out the smacks of a mockingbird's calls. And the current resident male Anna's hummingbird broadcast staticky clicks to warn any interlopers to stay out of his territory. Meanwhile several Gambel's quails ambled atop my east wall repeating refrains of soft wut-wut-wa's.
I was quite impressed that all these native birds managed to survive the hottest and driest summer on record. Maybe the neighborhood's sprinklers and the residents' gardens provided enough precious water and green habitat to give these birds a fighting chance. I'm certainly convinced the hummingbirds relied on the sugar water feeder I replenish on a weekly basis.
Most surprising to hear was the metallic tint---tint---tint of northern cardinals. These birds only started visiting my yard on a regular basis last winter, gracing me with a pair of colorful subjects to photograph and feed sunflower seeds to. At the start of the pandemic and the lockdown they made my small backyard feel a lot less isolated. Six months later and with COVID still raging, they and their avian cousins are maybe relaying another message: hang on, you'll make it too.
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| Abert's towhee in my Phoenix backyard this week. |
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| Female northern cardinal in my Phoenix backyard this week. |
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