The Legend of Harv
Meet my favorite birdie friend
When it comes to backyard birds, robins are not my favorite. I don’t actively dislike them, but I rarely get excited when I see one in my yard. Maybe it’s because they’re so common in the Midwest that seeing one in your neighborhood is like seeing a seagull at the beach.
Also, if you’ve ever heard a robin sing its frantic morning call right outside your window at 5 a.m., you probably feel similarly unenthused — and maybe even annoyed — by these birds. I just want to know why their calls sound anxious. Never in my life have I woken up to a robin singing and felt relaxed.
I would much rather hear the resonant call of a cardinal and see a flash of red in the trees than watch robins pick worms out of the ground and scream at each other. But there is one robin I have a soft spot for. His name is Harv.
Last spring, Ryan and I both worked from home and would spend our breaks watching for birds. We saw lots of different species populate the lawn outside our apartment as they hunted for nesting spots and food to raise their babies.
Geese and ducks were a regular sight, chasing each other on rooftops and honking overhead as they flew to the nearest pond. We saw delicate goldfinches flutter through the air, scoping out their territory and even fighting each other sometimes.
And then there were the robins — always frenetic, predictable, and ever-present.
But one day, we saw a robin that looked kind of weird. It did everything a normal robin does, like look for worms in the grass and screech from the rooftops. But it had a white marking on its head that we’d never seen on a robin before.
As the bird got closer to our window, we could see that the marking stretched all the way around its head. It wore a little white crown, which was so striking against its black feathers.
We wondered how that marking formed, and if it was permanent. Maybe the robin was molting or was partially leucistic. (If you’re not familiar, leucism is like albinism but only turns part of the body white.) Regardless, it was so striking that we quickly became fond of the odd bird.
Day after day, it returned to our yard. We decided to name it Harv, and presumed it was male (though we have virtually no way to confirm that). Robins tend to look the same between sexes, though males have slightly brighter coloration in the summer.
Anyway, Harv quickly became an exciting new figure in our daily lives. Whenever we saw him in the yard, we instantly knew it was him because of his crown. Ryan and I would put down whatever we were doing and rush to watch him bumble about. Harv was way more fun to watch than the other robins even though he was doing typical robin things.
The funny thing about wild animals is that even when you feel a bond with them, they probably won’t feel one back. I know some species of birds, like crows and ravens, can learn to memorize people’s faces and will sometimes become fond of certain humans. But as far as I know, robins aren’t like that.
Any fondness we feel toward Harv will probably never be reciprocated. He’ll never know how much his presence brightens our day, nor will he realize when we’re even watching him through our binoculars.
Harv also probably won’t know how worried we get when he disappears for a long time. Last summer, we saw him pretty regularly, but then he abruptly stopped showing up after June or July. Since robins don’t really migrate, Ryan and I started to worry that Harv had died or been eaten. Such is the course of nature.
We were kinda sad for a while thinking we’d never see Harv again. Robins only live a few years, so we tried to be accepting of the fact that Harv wouldn’t be in our lives forever. Still, he’d become special to us. Harv wasn’t like the other birds, even though he was exactly like them at the same time.
About a week ago, when the temperatures started to rise and first signs of spring crept into the air, I looked out my window and saw a robin perched on the edge of our neighbor’s roof. Its broad chest proudly protruded as it chirped its frantic song. And then as it turned its head, I noticed a white marking.
I rushed to grab my binoculars and sprinted to the bedroom window, where I could get a better view. Thankfully, the bird stayed put for a few seconds while I fumbled to find it.
It was Harv! He was back after almost half a year. Six long months passed since we last saw him and presumed Harv was dead or gone for good.
I wonder where Harv disappeared to for so long. Maybe a big tree or a patch of woods where he could hide from the cold during winter. Maybe he simply got pushed out of his territory in our backyard when other, bigger birds came to look for food in the summer.
I guess we’ll never know for sure. But I’m excited that our feathered friend is back for the spring, and hopefully the summer, too.
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I love Harv.