A nod to finches

I’ve spent hours the last two days watching for orioles and tanagers and other exotic-looking migrators but it occurs to me tonight that my most reliable friends are the ordinary finches who hang out here year-around.

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They’ve been flying around in pairs all day today, singing excitedly. The red caps of the males seem redder than usual this spring. I believe they nest nearby and know that they visit my protected watering dish often. They do not seem to expect store-bought food, which I don’t put out, mostly because of wild horses. The finches are so crimson up top, I think they might be Cassin’s finches. I am sure they are not the rosy finches of Sandia Crest, 4,000 feet above.

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I caught a glimpse yesterday, but not a photograph, of what I think were three tanagers. A Kingbird chirped for me briefly this afternoon but proved to be camera-shy.

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There was one fellow so ruffled up with bath water that I couldn’t tell what he was, although my books say finches, too, sometimes have patches of yellow.

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So, at the end of the day, I’m not worrying about the fancy tourists and am taking my hat off to my homebody friends, the finches.

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