I had forgotten to mention that part of what made my gardening foray so pleasant last Saturday was who was keeping me company: a starling sitting on the roof of the house, singing and cheering me on. Given the repertoire my little friend had, I originally thought that he was a nightingale with a headcold (I have before misidentified bald eagles as old ospreys gone gray) - guess I've not had enough experience in associating the birds with the songs that belong to them.
Saturday afternoon, making our way south to Ginny's, we stopped off in Old Lyme, the birthplace and home of the American Impressionist Movement (a nifty story of serendipity, as these things often are). At the Florence Griswold museum, I found a charming little book that, in spite of its not being particularly pertinent to the museum, had to come home with me. It's not meant to be a substitution for that Sibley Guide I really would like to pick up (or heck, even a Petersen Guide). I am, however, enjoying looking up my birds and seeing what musical themes the author associates with their songs.
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