We Heard a Big Bird

My brother-in-law, Terry, and I drove up to see how my cabin was holding up as the last of the melting snow overfills the creek in the nearby meadow.  While standing alongside the cabin and enjoying a swath of sunlight amid the tree-shadows, a somewhat sharp, repetitive sound reached us from somewhere up-creek.

“That’s a new one,” I remarked.  “That’s a big bird.”

The call stopped, picked up again, stopped, picked up.

“That’s a big bird looking for a mate,” Terry said with authority.

“I think you’re right,” I responded.  “But what is it?  What does a great blue heron sound like?  Maybe that’s what it is.”

Neither Terry nor I are birders.  I cannot identify birds by their calls.  I don’t know a twee-chur-twee-twee from a sputter-sputter-chick-chick.

As we listened, our big bird called one last time and then suddenly thumped into a new form of sound.

Oh, jeez.

Not a bird.  Instead, the sound we heard was a backhoe upstream cranking a few times before starting.  We had noticed on the machine on drive in.

“Did we both just do that?” Terry asked me.  “Did we both think that was a bird?”

“Yup.  We are a couple morons.”

“But we don’t need to tell anybody about it.”

“Nope.  No need for that.”

The Final Snowbank Alongside the Cabin (Near the Big Bird)

—Mitchell Hegman