Winter Wren

 It starts with noticing

Watching and listening to birds deepens our connection with nature

(published 11-4-26)

My current favorite birding cap is a navy corduroy job with the words, “Easily Distracted by Birds.” It’s a popular phrase on t-shirts and bumper stickers, too.

It’s an even more popular affliction. The birdwatching hobby is growing, with about 96 million Americans engaged with birds on some level, based on a 2022 federal survey.

More people than ever are noticing birds, perhaps seeking a closer connection with nature, a proven mental health booster. Birds offer a highly accessible gateway.

Noticing is the key word here, reflected in my personal reading list and in bookstores nationwide. Big-time authors are urging us to exercise our curiosity gene and pay more attention to our surroundings. To be keener observers.

In October, I finished the new Richard Louv book, “Noticing: Intimate Encounters with the Natural World,” followed by Amy Tan’s “The Backyard Bird Chronicles,” released in 2024. Earlier this year, I read “Turning to Birds: The Power and Beauty of Noticing,” by the actor Lili Taylor.

Noticing comes easy for birders. We’re always looking around, even when we shouldn’t be. I sometimes get scolded for it. But usually it’s okay, like last month on the practice putting green at Village Links in Glen Ellyn.

There I was, puttering around, waiting for my tee time, when an adult Bald Eagle performed a low flyover. I noticed it right away. I’m a birder. But the other guys around me did not. They were looking down, the usual posture when putting. I couldn’t help myself, calling out the bird so the others might have a look, too. They didn’t mind. One even thanked me for the pre-round birdie.

Being distracted by birds is part of golf for me. It doesn’t help my game, but it enhances my time on the course.

The putting green eagle preceded two other notable sightings in my own yard, also in October. Neither required the kind of “deep noticing” that Richard Louv advocates but I’ll accept credit for at least being alert.

Eastern Screech Owl by Mike Carroll

The first encounter began with the thump of bird hitting glass, a horrible sound. I looked outside our sliding glass doors (which do have anti-collision stickers) to see a tiny Winter Wren grounded on the bluestone patio, stunned from the impact.

I picked up the bird, intending to tuck it under a shrub so it might quietly recover. But almost upon touch it perked up, eyes changing from half-closed to fully open. It even hopped up my arm, a sensation I could barely feel from a bird the size and weight of a ping-pong ball. Moments later the wren flew off, resuming its southerly migration.

To say the bird made my day would be an understatement, though I regret the way we were introduced. Winter Wren is a rare visitor to our yard.

I’ve had even fewer home encounters with Eastern Screech-Owl, even though it’s a common species. In fact, until last month, I’d heard but never seen one on property.

It takes a little luck to see an owl, and I’d have missed this one if not for my new habit of bringing in our bird feeders at night. The task usually requires a flashlight—to see where I’m going and to avoid kicking a skunk. On October 22, my beam landed on an owl, perched on the ground about 20 feet from the feeding station. It was hunting, waiting for a juicy rodent to come searching for fallen seeds.

I knew instantly it was a screech-owl, the gray version (some are reddish). The owl flew up to a low tree branch, allowing an even better view, plus a lousy phone photo. My heart was beating a tick faster when I came back inside. Did I really just see that?

Until last month, I hadn’t detected a screech-owl in the yard since 2007. I know this from my trusty spiral notebook filled with yard data. It’s the closest I come to nature journaling, which Louv calls “the perfect tool for noticing.”

New books bear a common message: start taking
a closer look at the natural world.

Amy Tan demonstrates the practice beautifully. She is a brilliant writer, obviously, but it’s her sketches and margin notes that bring the "Bird Chronicles" to life. You can feel her joy, fascination, and boundless curiosity on the pages.

My humble notebook is mostly filled with lists and dates—certainly not a work of art. But the jottings are useful for tracking bird seasonality. Recording backyard visitors and overhead flyers throughout the year requires noticing, and over time you recognize patterns.

I note when the first junco arrives in the fall, and when the last hummingbirds and Chimney Swifts depart. I count warblers in the spring, and when conditions are right, conduct personal Big Days.

Naturally, I’m always on alert for a first-time yard species. What bird will be next? What will be the next surprise? I think about it way too much.

It’s one of my favorite things about birding, the anticipation. Something special can occur at any moment—in the field or at home. The trick is not to miss it.

Copyright 2026 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.