Trying out an owlish stare.
They were just weeks from leaving the nest for the last time, still learning to fly, but the trio of fledgling Eastern Screech Owls seemed ready to conquer the woods. Every night at dusk, they’d materialize around our campsite in the hills of Virginia and put on a show.
They swooped from tree to tree and practiced hunting for insects on the ground. One of them even walked across the road. Every once in a while they’d land on the same branch for a dose of sibling togetherness. They swiveled their heads as only owls can do, and let out sweet little calls that were nothing like the eventual screeches that give them their name.
Three young owls perching together.
Though still unsteady at times, these fledglings were growing up fast. Matt Larson, a researcher with the Owl Research Institute in Charlo, Montana, told us these owls should be leaving their parents behind within two weeks. So it was pure luck that we got to experience them as a family.
A fledgling (left) with one of the parents.
We heard about the owls on our first afternoon at Sherando Lake, in a remote corner of the mid-Atlantic southwest of Charlottesville. A neighboring camper saw us returning from a birding walk draped in binoculars and cameras.
“Have you seen the baby owls?’’ she asked.
“Baby owls!?’’ we said in unison, probably a little too loud.
The American Goldfinch is a symbol of summer. Impossibly yellow in May, June and July, they stand out like flashes of sunlight flitting across meadows, farmlands and treetops.
A few summers ago, on a birding trip through the South, we stopped to camp near Tupelo, Mississippi, next to a drained lake that had been overtaken by grasslands.
Two Cedar Waxwings materialized above the wildlife park in Northern Virginia and pirouetted into an aerial ballet. They rose and fell, circled high above the lake, then swooped down close to the ground. They pulled all this off in precise formation like two tiny jets on military maneuvers.
They are full of energy, captivating and fascinating, says Robert Rice, a veteran scientist with the Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center, who wrote the center’s summary on Cedar Waxwings.
This could be the start of a great joke, but it’s just too infuriating. So many times it sounds like you’ve hit the birding jackpot only to be fooled by one wily, nondescript, gray-and-white bird.
Florida is home to a sub-species of Sandhill Crane that never migrates.
With shimmering purple and turquoise feathers, a distinctive red-and-yellow beak, a white patch on its face and bright yellow legs, this “Purple Gal” knows how to entertain a crowd. She struts slowly through the wetlands, giving you plenty of time to stand and admire.
We didn’t get a glimpse of that Purple Gallinule, but when we left Washington last month for a birding trip to Florida, the Gallinule was high on the list of species we hoped to track down. We got lucky, and so we decided to make it our Flying Lessons Bird of the Week.
We’ve found Purple Gallinules several times between South and Central Florida, glimmering like Disney princesses when the sun hits their feathers. This is one colorful female whose feathers are exactly as fancy as those of its male counterpart.
Of the 55 species in North America, the Yellow-rumped is probably the most abundant Warbler. It shows up all over the country at some point during the year and winters much farther north than most other Warblers do.
It’s easy to see the male’s deep red coloring on the cover of a Valentine’s Day card. But this goes further than feathers. Like true love, the 
I spent the rest of the afternoon looking for this seductive bird, which by then I figured out was a tanager. Shortly before the sun went down, he returned: As red as a ripe tomato, offering his striking profile for just long enough to catch a few photos. Not far away was the female tanager, identical in form but dressed all in yellow.
