out on the marsh

Yesterday I woke up to the sound of distant surf. A very light breeze was coming off the ocean and across the bay, saturating the air with the sound of the ocean and permeating everything with moisture. The marsh was at its mature peak with a fairly high tide rolling in amidst the deep dark green of the Spartina patens and the lighter green/yellow of the Spartina alterniflora, the two principal salt marsh grasses which survive two tidal inundations a day by exuding salt. In the soft, sweltering morning air, under a rising, already hot sun, the marsh was generating both moisture and bugs in considerable quantities. Swallows were darting everywhere feasting on the insects. There were at least three or four families of Barn Swallows weaving in and out, up, down and around, in remarkable displays of aerial skill. Among them were a few Purple Martins from the nearby colony and at least one Rough-legged Swallow -- coming from where? -- brown on top, white below with a dirty chin. A Downy Woodpecker came streaking across the marsh in a typical woodpecker bouncing flight. Unlike the martins, who can glide all the way across the marsh without a wingbeat, the woodpecker gains altitude on each furious flutter of wings and then loses it as it folds its wings, forcing a new wing flutter. This strange method of alternately folding and flapping produces a see-saw flight that is instantly recognizable as woodpecker-on-the-wing. Small flocks of Common Grackles also move across but higher in the sky, a reminder that even at the very start of summer, fall is not all that far away! A young Catbird pops out of a shrub and checks out a scene that is familiar enough to some of us but perhaps new to him or her.

At the edge of the marsh, gurgling and chucking Red-winged Blackbirds and singing Song Sparrows continue to hold sway but, except for one distant holdout, the Yellowthroats have stopped singing. Further inland, the Cardinal has resumed singing but in a very stereotyped way; I can hear the begging chips of young cardinals which are obviously flying now (which is why the male can afford to resume marking his territory after some weeks of silence). The Carolina Wren is still the loudest and most persistent of the local songbirds. A Mourning Dove is hooting away and in the background is the crisp buzz and crackle of touring Chickadees -- there are at least two family's worth in the neighborhood. Every once in a while, the great creasendo of the cicada chorus breaks in to remind us (as if we didn't already realize it) that summer is well underway.

Eric Salzman