A Treasure of Gold
“Goldfinches Galore” might be a bit of an overstatement. Even so, there are a number of these fine little birds still at our feeder this autumn. I have never seen them in our garden so late. In 2020, I last noted them on September 20; in 2019, my last notation of “goldfinches on sunflowers” occurred on September 18; and in 2018, the day was September 19 (these are by no means definitive dates for their last days spent in the Pacific Northwest, but rather just when I was around home and noticed them). According to one friend, American goldfinches can appear off and on through the winter here, though it’s more usual that they’re gone by November. Is their delay migrating south due to our thus far unusually dry and warm fall? (Now, November 19, it has turned very cold but is still dry.) Is it due to our new offerings of habanero sunflower chips, recommended to dissuade squirrels and rats but very appealing to birds who do not have capsaicin receptors and so are not bothered by the spiciness? Is it a combination of these factors? Or something else entirely?
Whatever the reason, I only know it’s been delightful to see the goldfinches each day. Their colors have faded to the winter hues: a pale brown yellow overall, with blackish wings broken up by two buffy wing-bars. The males have doffed their formal bright yellow suit and black cap in favor of the casual and practical, at a time of year when it might be best to not stand out too much. Goldfinches are smaller than the sparrows that also reside here and about the same size as the chickadees. They seem to hold their own well with our regular fall-winter visitors, including the rather numerous European house sparrows. I won’t know when the goldfinches decide to leave until they’re gone, so each day I am appreciating this opportunity to spend more time with them.
Also, this time of year in the forests around our home, when the many sounds of the human world have lessened, the soft chips of golden-crowned kinglets can more easily be heard. This spunky, plump little bird is one of my favorites. Golden-crowned kinglets are year-round residents on the Olympic Peninsula, while their cousin, the ruby-crowned kinglet, is only here in the winter. Normally fairly high in the canopy, the kinglets, I have observed, will also spend time foraging on the ground in the winter months. Many times I have seen this, on a path or on an asphalt road. A common circumstance seems to be new branches, leaves, and needles that have fallen from trees due to wind or snow. Flocks of kinglets will be hopping all about in this forest debris, finding morsels while carefully keeping track of each other with their gentle vocalizations. This conversation isn’t just idle chatter. When darkness falls and temperatures drop, the kinglets must be able to find each other quickly in order to gather close for the night and keep warm. Last December, I met a group on a street in our neighborhood and one kinglet approached to within a few inches of me.
Finally, the golden-crowned sparrows have returned! Gone for the summer months, they are usually back beginning in late September or October. Joining the white-crowned sparrow, another member of the genus Zonotrichia, golden-crowned sparrows hop and scuff about under the quince, barberry, viburnum, and serviceberry bushes that we’ve planted. They are still very handsome, even with a slightly faded crown. In The Birder’s Handbook, the authors write that golden-crowned sparrows “show site attachment to wintering territory.” I like the thought that perhaps generations of golden-crowned sparrows have been returning to our garden, that they consider this area theirs, as they should. And I feel grateful to live in community with these beings, around our home and in the greater forested landscape nearby.
As the light diminishes and the winter’s darkness arrives, our goldfinch friends may decide to pack up and leave. Or they may stay. Either way, we are richer for their companionship now, in this present moment.