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light was seeping into the world, I got up before sunrise. I went outside and listened. Flint Hill rang with robin song. I counted at least seven birds announcing the new day, each song a bit different from the others.
Now I think I know why the robin in the side yard is constantly telling me to chew, chew, chew. His message is to all the other robins in Flint Hill. He is announcing his claim to all earthworms on this property. Another male venturing in to snatch up an earthworm will be instantly attacked.
There is another reason for the frequency of the robin's song. Recent studies have shown that birds are not as monogamous as we have thought — or wished. Mates are not always faithful to each other. My persistent singer is concerned that another male robin may fly into the yard and mate with his female, thus passing on the intruder’s genes.
Still the robin sings and sings. I have at times said, "Robin! Hush!"
Then I am reminded of a Robert Frost poem: “A Minor Bird.”
I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;
Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as I could bear no more.
The fault must partly have been in me
The bird was not to blame for his key.
And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.
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