One by one the migrants arrived, as they have for ages, guided by stars, electro-magnetism and plenty of mystery.

Spring arrived with the tilt of the earth, and the days grew longer. What began as a whisper became louder with each rising sun until it reached a powerful voice. The dawn was rich with the chorus of birds, and I thought it might last forever.

Now the mornings are nearly silent and the summer has matured. It is time to look back. This year presented a breeding season like no other on my land. Titmice began disbanding in late winter while the ice melted off the roof, and the sound of running water told of warmer days ahead. Within a few weeks, robins appeared, their presence observed before their song was heard. Eventually, the late sunsets set them off, and they caroled into the ever-lasting dusk.

Within a few more weeks I began to notice one male robin singing from the high branch of a mighty oak at the edge of my yard. I knew this indicated a nest and soon noticed a female flying across the yard with mud in her beak. After that, it was as basic as following her flights to and from the yard. Each time her beak was packed with material and her breast brown with fresh mud. I need not have even noticed her nervous chirping when I approached to know the white spruce she kept flying to was the nest site.

Robins arrive and nest early, which is why they most often choose evergreens to build their first nest in. This female chose an evergreen near my garden. None of the deciduous trees had any leaves at that time. It appears the pair was successful because I could hear the demanding cries of their young begging to be fed not many days ago.

In late April my yard filled with orioles and hummingbirds, and a rare sapsucker was seen venturing north. My first rose-breasted grosbeak of the season was spotted on May 5, and immediately there were more. I soon heard their robin-like songs filtering down lazily from the high canopy. They devoured black oil sunflower seeds and grape jelly from the fly-through feeder.

When they stopped visiting the feeder I knew it was time to look for the nest, but it was difficult to find because the male wasn’t singing as frequently. I figured they might reveal their exact location by repeated flights like the female robin did, but it was by chance that I noticed the flashy black and white wings of the male departing the nest days later. Male grosbeaks sit on the nest for part of the day.

It was also by chance that I discovered a blue jay nest hidden along the branch of a small white oak above the driveway. Unlike the grosbeak and robin, the jays were silent. Now, their fledglings are with them at the feeder. They will remain together for some time — blue jays are over-protective parents.

I believe there are cat birds and humming birds nesting here, too. Perhaps, I will find these nests on some cold winter day when the woods are void of leaves and life. For now, I will enjoy the abundance of summer and the noisy fledglings visiting the feeder.

Robert Tougias is a birding author who lives in Colchester. He is available for presentations and will answer questions at rtougias@snet.net.