Vermont鈥檚 weather has always been unpredictable, but as climate change brings new and even more uncertain conditions, I鈥檝e taken to tracking weather patterns by the appearance or absence of dooryard birds. Of course, I could always turn on the weather channel, but I鈥檓 rather partial to a piece of wisdom from Bob Dylan, who wrote that 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.鈥� So my current practice, which is simple enough, is to watch my feeders.
Juncos are nattily feathered gray and white sparrows that forage through leaf litter in quest of seeds and insects. In past years, they鈥檇 move through my yard between mid-October and late-November, and leave again for parts further south at the first significant snowfall. Then in early April, they鈥檇 return from their wintering grounds and reassemble beneath my bird feeders. A few would nest along my driveway; but most would move along to higher ground - or farther north to Maine, Quebec, Labrador, and beyond, to the lip of the Arctic.
But this year鈥檚 been different. A bumper crop of wild food and a lack of early snow kept migrating juncos in northern New England all winter. After each significant snowfall, they鈥檇 reappear in the cherry tree, on the driveway, along the stone wall, under the feeder in my yard, or wherever I鈥檇 scattered sunflower seeds.
In December, as snow accumulated and the temperature dropped like an anchor, the juncos stayed closer than ever to my front yard; most snow-covered mornings, in the company of a tree sparrow or two, a dozen or more would comb the ground for spilt seeds. When everything melted they vanished into the woods 鈥� until the day when a half-inch of freezing rain and crusted snow limited their access to food.
Then at least one hundred chaotic juncos - in the company of fourteen other species - suddenly descended into my yard, where they remained until the ground unlocked several days later. I can still hear a few trilling in the woods, but I haven鈥檛 seen one under the feeders in weeks.
Birds respond to weather and concentrations of food. And when the game changes, life can be an ill-timed, more unpredictable adventure for many. Some may still prosper. But others... not so much.
