Each winter, there are a dozen bird species that are reliably encountered on our Littleton, Colorado, farm. In order of decreasing abundance, they are Canada geese, dark-eyed juncos, house finches, black-billed magpies, black-capped chickadees, northern flickers, American robins, spotted towhees, blue jays, red-breasted nuthatches, white-breasted nuthatches and our lone Townsend's solitaire.
Of course, there are other species that regularly visit the farm. These include American crows, common ravens, American and lesser goldfinches, cedar waxwings, downy and hairy woodpeckers, mourning and Eurasian collared doves, pine siskins, bushtits and a variety of raptors.
But, when I go outdoors to survey the farm, I am not looking for these reliable residents and regular visitors. While I notice and appreciate their company, I am seeking strangers in their midst, uncommon or, hopefully, rare visitors; these may have come down from the nearby mountains, escaped frigid conditions in Canada or merely wandered away from their usual range. With all due respect to the regulars, vital participants in our mini-ecosystem, potential strangers draw me into the cold and snow.
