Ode to the Robin

Meet the American Robin, Turdus migratorius. You are probably already familiar with it even if you’re not interested in birds. There have been times, I’ll admit, when out birding that I haven’t even lifted my binoculars to look at a robin. But when I’m leading a bird walk and a participant says “its just a robin”, I will sing its praises. “Just look at that dark orange breast, black head and white eye-ring.” Ubiquitous, maybe, the American Robin is a stunning bird.

During breeding season the male’s head becomes dark – nearly black – while his back remains a velvety brown. The white ring around his eye stands out, as do the white tips on his outer tail feathers. And, as a member of the thrush family, he has a lovely song often depicted as “cheerio cheery-me cheerio”

The American Robin was one of the few birds I encountered in every state. And each time I saw one, my admiration grew. I am, of course, familiar with them on the east coast, in our temperate landscape. But when one woke me with its song at eleven thousand feet in the Colorado Rockies, I was astounded. Other members of the thrush family inhabit specific ranges of altitude: the Wood Thrush at the lowest elevations and the Bicknell’s Thrush (in the east) or the Grey-cheeked Thrush (in the west) at the highest. But the robin lives throughout.

My amazement grew when a robin greeted me while I pitched my tent in Capitol Reef National Park. Aside from the small oasis of green that held the campground, we were surrounded by desert.

Robins plied the ground by the Great Salt Lake in search of a meal. They greeted me from rushing streams in the Wasatch Mountains of Utah and the Tetons of Wyoming. At Great Basin National Park in Nevada, I found them in aspen groves at ten thousand feet. I found them in California in the marshes surrounding the saline Mono Lake, in the depths of Kings Canyon, and in the groves of sequoia.

Here was one at my feet as I sat on the lawn at Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, cocking its head to look at me. I found them on the fog-bound Mendocino coast. As I returned east through Wyoming and Nebraska my old friend greeted me along the way.

When I reached home, the robin’s presence no longer surprised me. But I had developed a new respect for the creature, knowing it at last to be a well-adapted traveler, comfortable in many diverse ecosystems. I greeted my old friend as he hopped across my front lawn and raised my binoculars for a closer look.