In my nature diary, I keep track of natural events and the dates that they occur. Similar to birds that build nests exactly like their ancestors, it feels instinctive: while I was growing up my mother recorded all significant events within the grid of her kitchen wall calendars.
At each year's end, rather than store the entire calendar of notations, Mom would neatly transfer all data about the arrivals and departures of birds (and other notable events) into a 25-cent NIFTY Stenographers notebook. It’s now one of my greatest treasures.
“Marge's Yearly Diary” began in 1968. That year she saw a King Bird on May 18th, May 20th a Crested Flycatcher caught her interest. On August 7th my parents bought a Tilt-back chair from Emery Bird Thayer.
On February 17th 1976, the first Robin arrived. Mom saw the last Pine Siskins and the first Orioles on May 3rd, heard the first wren on May 17th. Dad had a cruise control put on the car on August 6th.
During 1984, Mom’s last Spring, the Robins arrived on February 24th. She saw the first Grosbeak on May 2nd, and there were still a few Pine Siskins on May 18th. After that last entry in Mom's handwriting, my dad took over the recording duties for a couple of years. His notations, however, centered around visits with relatives, Doctor appointments and dates that he performed routine home maintenance. Nothing about birds.
I had already begun obsessively recording natural events when I moved to Parkville - before I came into possession of Mom’s NIFTY steno diary, long before I learned that people who study the rhythms and cycles of nature are called Phenologists. And now, forty years after Mom began her diary, I often compare her notes against mine to see if our mutual note-taking reveals a pattern. For instance, like Mom, I’ve recorded the Orioles' arrival during the first week of May. It’s wonderful to anticipate them - and greet them with juicy oranges in our feeders.
Here’s a fun recurring event that emerged over years of diary-keeping: On May 5th 1994, Kirk and I experienced what we called “The Night of the Screaming Monkeys,” with much cat-like screaming, laughing, barking, cackling and “Who-cooks-for-you-ing” out in our forest. The performers were pairs of Barred Owls, calling and chasing each other from one large oak to another. Three years later on May 5th 1997, we were sitting with friends on the back deck and yes, you guessed it, “The Night of the Screaming Monkeys” commenced on cue to provide the entertainment.
Will our Barred Owls once again treat us to “The Night of the Screaming Monkeys” during the next few weeks? We'll be sitting on our deck - awaiting the Barreds' Overture!
