On Newspapers and Waterthrushes

I was happy to yield Monday’s newspaper column space to Carol’s delightful piece in The Nighthawk. Here’s this week’s writing for The Altavista Journal, Caswell Messenger, and–fingers crossed, The Smith Mountain Eagle. There’s a new paper in the mix now!

By the way: Late Night Radio snagged 2nd place at this year’s Virginia Press Association awards for non-daily columns. The topic? Lessons from my senior buddies, of course. Of course.

Thank you guys. You rock.

Late Night Radio–With Josh Urban

A Visitor

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! “Darlin', remember when.” The radio crackled with her heartbreak, then an ad. I woke up. The spring air wafted in through the open window, fresh, like new leaves and wisteria. Why does it smell so good? Good heavens, had I wound up on the set of a TV commercial for laundry soap or heart medication? Seemed like it. I squinted an eye around. Nope. Whew.

The weather rolled in overnight. It kept building, but hadn't broken yet. I went outside, into the new sounds. They're starting–have you heard them yet? (The traveling birds, that is.) The spring migration is underway.

Long before the rise of the Celebrity Influencer, a family of birds called wood warblers invented glamour. Shimmering in golds and reds and blues and greens, they summer in the tangled forests of the north: New England, Canada, and even Appalachian mountaintops. When the cold sets in, they jet-set down to the tropics to sip margaritas. (Well, probably caterpillars, but if I were a Louisiana water-thrush or something, and flew 3,000 miles, I'd like a drink. Maybe they'd even name it after me. Louisiana water-thrush. Sounds like it would pack a punch, and maybe have a worm in it.)

For a few weeks in April and May, they grace us with their presence as they drift north. It's hard to see the little birds who spend much of their day high in the treetops or lurking in the dense underbrush–but they're easy to hear. Many have a “buzzy” sound. Others, like the water-thrush, have a sweet, mysterious song.

Listen for foreign accents among the bird choir. They're probably northbound warblers. Not up on your bird sounds? Now's a good season to start keeping an ear out. Like anything else in life, a little attention starts to uncover a marvelous tapestry.

Standing by the creek this morning, I heard a field sparrow with his lazy ping-pong ball dropping sound. Chriiiirp chiirp chirp chirpchirp. The wren called nosily with a raucous joy, a bird version of Kramer from Seinfeld. Whoa, Jerry! From the pine tree overlooking his field, a chipping sparrow defended his territory with a musical machine gun rattle. And the Visitor sang along the creek with a strange, beautiful song, northbound. By jiminy, I think he's a Louisiana water-thrush. Somebody get me a drink. But hold the worm. And make the whole thing coffee.

Catch you on the flip side,

Josh

Send postcards and bird calls to P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or on X @RealJoshUrban

Thanks, Grok.