Hard to beat the Ringlets, the Satyrs, Bobolinks, the incredible orange Fritillary, the giant Jack-in-the-pulpit, the amazingly large oaks, birches, and ash trees, the solitude of waving grass meadows, and unmeasurable views, at Charlotte Park and Wildlife Refuge in Charlotte, Vermont. However, my experience with this Towhee might have topped the list.

Maeve and I heard the towhee but did not observe it until Maeve moved on along the trail. I stayed and worked a few different viewpoints to find it, to no avail. Just as I was ready to leave the Towhee appeared in a cedar tree about 40 feet away.

The bird quickly overcame any shyness, stepping out into full unobstructed view. She (I assume a female) continued to call (another towhee nearby was also 'calling' as well). She preened, looked about, preened, looked about. She seemed at ease with me in full view and she in full view. She ducked her head into her breast as if playing peek-a-boo.

Then she moved behind just a tiny bit of cover and bent her head around the branch as if to see if I was still there.

Next, she turned her tail to me and moved to another tree closer to me, again turning her head seemingly looking down at me. Then moved to another tree a bit closer, and finally another tree even closer to me. Each time she seemed to be tilting or turning her head (like my family's dog used to do when I was speaking to her) as if she was curious about me.

Finally, she gave one last call, then flew over me, across the trail, onto the ground.

I don't know about her; however, I felt and feel like I made a new friend. Perhaps the longing for interaction (interaction suppressed by Covid) with others, even other species, is experienced by birds as well as humans.

My motto is a bird in hand deserves a stick around and visit with the bird as long as it so desires. This thirteen-minute visit with a Towhee seemed like an eternity - an eternity of bliss.