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Meet the Neighbors

by

Holly Kays

As the days get warmer and longer, I find myself thinking about childhood and the periscope I once campaigned so diligently for my father to build me. You know, one of those polelike things that lets you look into the bottom and somehow see whatever’s outside the peephole reaching far above your head. 

And why, exactly, did a 10-year-old have such dire need of a periscope? 

Well, to see inside bird’s nests, of course. 

Summer was a time of intense, exciting activity in my world, a season packed with blooming flowers, crawling caterpillars, and nesting songbirds—all of whom had to be identified, their activities recorded. Though I never did get that periscope, if anyone wants to know how the robin nests were doing in south-central Washington County, Maryland, in 1998, I’ve got exclusive access to some rare, painstakingly penciled records. 

But when you throw a decade or two of space and a series of moves zigzagging the country between my days as an amateur ornithologist and now, you wind up with some knowledge drain. When summer in the Smokies came around, I was pretty excited to land a chance to tag along on an excursion with the Franklin Bird Club, an active group of bird lovers here in the North Carolina mountains. 

The word “excursion” might lead you to picture a group armed with days’ worth of provisions, safari gear, and a vast expanse of uncharted wilderness before them. But you don’t necessarily have to probe the depths of the unknown to find cool birds. The location of this particular foray was a neighborhood, actually, though you might not figure that out immediately if you weren’t told. With lot sizes of up to 40 acres, homes were spread out, set back far from the road, and interspersed with the leafy cover of a healthy high-elevation forest. 

The avian neighborhood, however, was rather obviously present.  

At least, it was obvious to Jim and Ellen Shelton, a couple inhabiting one of the human homes in the area. They and their binoculars made the rounds on this road often, and they were quite familiar with the landscape of avian residents. They knew where the ovenbirds and peewees were likely to hang out, or where to shush the group and urge patience as they waited for the brown creeper that had been frequenting the area to show its face. Up on the ridge, where the forest ended and a field of young Christmas trees began, they weren’t too surprised to hear the call of a raven. 

There were some visitors to be welcomed, too—such as the veery who approached the group to show off his ruddy feathers, or other “houseguests” like the red-eyed vireo and indigo bunting. All three are migrants that travel up from Central and South America for the summer breeding season.

Of course, I couldn’t put a name to all or even very many of these feathery faces. The avian demographics in these mountains are quite different from those in the Maryland valley where I grew up—and even of the ones that are the same, putting name, appearance, and call together is not an easy task. 

When Jim or Ellen or any of the other birders clutching binoculars and field guides along the road pointed out a new find, rattling off everything about the bird from its name to its diet to its relative abundance in this corner of the world, I couldn’t help but be impressed. 

Another thing I couldn’t help was thinking back to my days of pining for a periscope. I may be all grown up now, but there’s still a part of me that wants nothing more than to spend hours or even days poking around the forest, getting a bit better acquainted with its winged inhabitants. 

After all, it’s only polite to get to know your neighbors. 

About the author: Waynesville reporter Holly Kays is a forester’s daughter who is happy to live in the land of many trees.

BYO Binoculars

Birders in the Smokies region have plenty of opportunities to get connected with its winged residents and those who make a hobby out of watching them. Check out this sampling of bird-oriented organizations in the region.

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