An Iowa Garden

Gradually in the fall, in the warm, lazy days, migrating birds start showing up in our woods, lolling around, eating berries and seeds, drinking from the pond, and in general acting like they are in no hurry to go anywhere. Then there comes a day like today: yesterday it was almost 90 degrees in the morning, with a cobalt blue sky, without a cloud to be seen, but it was deceiving as only midwest weather can be. A huge high pressure area of frigid air had built up over the tundra of northern Manitoba, and, combined with a low over the Dakotas, sent cold air rushing down the pressure gradient, over Lake Winnepeg and into the upper midwest, dropping the temperature by almost 50 degrees in twelve hours. Today grey clouds are scudding low across the sky, with a cold wind, and the promise of frost by tomorrow. Now the migrating birds are coming through in flocks, and much more serious and urgent in their flight from the approaching cold ... no more lollygagging in the warm sun; they eat voraciously, drink deeply, and are gone in a day or two. As I looked out the kitchen window this morning, the black locust tree seemed to be alive with movement. Perhaps fifty yellow warblers were swarming its branches, looking for insects. Soon, other warblers, finches, and vireos will pass through the woods, then, as the days become greyer, and colder, large flocks of cedar waxwings come in, like pillaging, wind-blown hordes, and in a few days, strip the dogwoods almost bare, and move on inexorably, leaving the woods quiet except for the cheeping of the resident chickadees. Almost unnoticed, the kinglets and white throated sparrows then filter through, birds from the deep northern forests, so not calling any attention to themselves, and suddenly it's all over, like a dream, until the first call of spring.