Who's singing at the park?

Lunch hour at the park. High school kids walk through on their way to the Seven-Eleven. The air is filled with song. High in a cottonwood a Black-headed Grosbeak is robinning away, invisible behind leaves now fully out. Singing lower down are warblers - Wilson’s, Yellow-rumped, Orange-crowned and, in the pond-side birch and willow, Common Yellowthroat. Cedar Waxings are out in force, sree-sreeing from tree to tree.

Sree.

At the pond, the Red-winged Blackbirds are noisier and more jittery than last week, suggesting an active nest within the Spirea. The female flew at me twice and the male took up a sentry position high above on a snag. He wasn’t particularly useful -- all show, no action.

Female red-wing, being feisty rather than cryptic.

Also at the pond, the lonely Pied-billed Grebe continues to defend his territory against imagined rivals. Cow-cow-cow-cow-cow- cowp...cowp...cowp! No rivals, no potential mate either, here in a man-made pond in the bleak heart of suburbia.

Pied-billed Grebe, caught in mid-cowp.

The grebe calls again, this time unseen within the cat-tails. A teen-aged girl stops and stares, wondering what is making this jungle call. “It’s a Pied-billed Grebe,” I said, which meant nothing. “It looks kind of like a little brown chicken.” Strange man explains strange noise, attributes it to strange bird.

“Oh. Thank you for that information,” she said.

Then the strangest of all. Four Grade 8 boys coming down the trail, belting out a screechy version of Video Killed the Radio Star (The Buggles, Age of Plastic, 1979 -- I looked it up). They had the whole song down pat. Obviously a favourite; one of them must have found it in his parents’ record collection.

Ohh -a-ohh.