I can’t remember when I saw my first indigo bunting. I’m pretty sure it was before I left DC. Fact is, I hardly ever see them.
If I’m hiking up at Merck Forest at the right time, there’s this field they frequent. Sometimes they are flitting atop some high weeds. More than once I’ve found a male at the top of a very tall pine tree in that field, singing his heart out. I hear this song so infrequently that I’m not sure I’ve ever immediately known it for what it was, but I’ve known enough to think Maybe it’s an indigo bunting and to run toward the sound to find out.
A couple of times, they have stopped at my feeder. This shocks me. First, they’ve left the (OK, very nearby) fields to snoop around town (OK, cluster o’houses). Second, ohmigod an indigo bunting! The color is not to be believed. Third, these birds don’t do feeders. At least not around here. At least not on any kind of regular basis.
I can’t tell you much about what indigo buntings like, other than open fields, high spots from which to sing, and other indigo buntings. This Indigo Bunting likes birding, cross-country skiing, contradancing, skating (ice and roller), snowshoeing, hiking, most restaurants in Portland (Maine), martinis, fine wine, great beer, standup comedy, NYC, quirky TV shows, jazz, books, being read to, Winnie-the-Pooh (Milne only please), canoeing, fly fishing, frogs, toads, red efts, snakes, messing around in boats, elliptical cross-trainers, other people’s pets, all sorts o’ music, hot tubs, exposed brick, the swimming hole, happy hour after the swimming hole, and standing in my driveway looking at the Milky Way. Oh, and blogging. And…