The sun deep into Pisces, bringing with it one of the most significant events of the year, the beginning of the robin chorus. More robins usual seem to have spent the winter in the north this past year, perhaps as a result of climate changes
Robins often begin to cluster in small flocks at the end of January. If the past is prologue along the 40th Parallel, they will begin their mating chants and whinnies and peeps within a few weeks before equinox, joining the doves and cardinals, song sparrows, chickadees, red-winged blackbirds and titmice to create the sound field of early spring.
I have noted the opening of their chorus as early as February 20 in 2018 and as late as March 17 in 2003, but never have they missed a year since I have been keeping track in the late 1970s. They commence their rituals after the arrival of red-winged blackbirds in the swamps, and about the time Canadian geese break into pairs from their winter gatherings, and about the time that wild turkeys gather in the woods and grackles and starlings, often in great numbers, come choose their nesting sites in woodlots and villages.
I have taken notes on when, more or less, they begin their early morning mating about an hour before sunrise, maybe an hour and a half before first light. They continue that timing throughout the spring, usually ceasing their breeding calls by the first week of July, after which their song changes to one of persistent peeping as they guide their fledglings through the dangers of adolesenscence.
Whenever you come upon their annual activities before sunrise, stay with them a while; listen to the variations in their cadence; watch their chases across streets and lawns and their reckless coupling.
This is Bill Felker with Poor Will’s Almanack. I’ll be back again next week with more notes on nature and the seasons. In the meantime, set your alarm for an hour or so before sunrise. Go see the robins.
