"A birdsong can even, for a moment, make the whole world into a sky within us, because we feel that the bird does not distinguish between its heart and the world's."
— Rainer Maria Rilke
The weekend's 32,000-step adventure continued at Pheasant Branch Prairie, where I sought out this spring's Pasqueflowers—the very first place I ever spotted them. The prairie remnant on the west slope offers the highest density of these flowers and is also home to a small population of Field Sparrows.
Their song rises softly from the prairie like a dropped pebble picking up speed—an accelerating series of clear, sweet whistles that tumble into a delicate trill. It's a gentle, almost wistful sound, often described as a "bouncing ball" of notes. I'm pretty sure there were at least three duetting males singing along the slope. Heard throughout the day, their diminutive songs evoke the openness of dry grasslands and old fields, where these understated sparrows prefer to nest.
Field Sparrows are indeed charming little birds. Given their nest site fidelity, it's fascinating to think about how many generations have come and gone on the Pheasant Branch over the years. It makes you wonder how many of the grandparents of today's sparrows I've watched here over the past 30 years—almost like a quiet, ongoing family reunion in the grasslands.
As of this visit, the prairie hadn't been burned — a curiosity, but it did make finding the somewhat concealed Pasqueflowers a little more challenging to find.
By late afternoon, temperatures climbed into the mid to upper 50s—just warm enough for tiger beetles to start emerging at Spring Green Preserve. With Oblique-lined already on the list, I was hoping to turn up a Festive. The breeze was steady, so I headed for the sandy trail that slips into the woods behind the bluff, hoping the trees would shelter it from the wind. If the sand had warmed just enough, the beetles might be tempted out.
And they were! But only two individuals — a single Oblique-lined, and a single Festive. Though I didn't look super close, there were a variety of other flying insects patrolling the sand, as well as very tiny grasshopper nymphs mere millimeters in length. Hopefully the beetles were able to secure a meal.
There's nothing quite like the thrill of tiger beetle season returning—sun on sand, a flash of metallic color, and that quick, skittering dash. It's good to have them back!
Whoa ...
While photographing tiger beetles, I was caught off guard by an impressive Wolf Spider. It held perfectly still for a few minutes, then suddenly bolted in my direction—possibly trying to take cover beneath my prone body. That wasn't going to happen. I sprang to my feet, and the spider veered off the trail and vanished into the grass.
All images © 2025 Mike McDowell