Growing up with a bunch of older brothers, I know something about being a tattletale. I suppose my brothers could not resist locking me in closets, swindling my allowance, trying to light my troll’s hair on fire, commandeering my creepy crawler set, boiling my marbles, charging me exorbitant rates to pat their rabbit and giving me a pink belly when I would not shut up. Fortunately for me, I perfected my tattling ways early on and could usually find my mom or a babysitter who would listen to my plight. Decades later when I found myself teaching first grade and was on the other end of tattling, a colleague gave me an idea to start a tattle box in the classroom. Her theory was that this would give the kids an outlet to get minor grievances off their chests. So, the students filled out little slips of paper with their inventive spelling and pushed them through the slot in the box. It caught on like wildfire, and then every Friday I would bring the tattle box home and read each strip of paper to my own mostly grown children. It kept me on the pulse of the classroom dynamics while lifting the family’s spirits as we ate another round of burned Chef-Boy R Dee.
Often preferring dense cover, this brown thrasher made an appearance on an exposed perch. You are likely to spot this bird in pesticide free areas as this bird eats beetles, along with grubs, wireworms, army worms, cutworms, tent caterpillars, gypsy-moth caterpillars, leafhoppers, cicadas, grasshoppers, crickets, wasps and bees to name a few.
And the reason I launched into all this on tattling is that there is a bird we see from time to time which I have nicknamed the tattletale. His real name is the brown thrasher, and he is a medium bird who lives in thickets and small shrubs. He has intense yellow eyes, a brown streaked belly, and, like the mockingbird and the catbird, he is a pro at mimicking other bird calls. He does this, and his repertoire reminds me of a day spent tattling, thus the nickname. These secretive birds with their down curved bills and staring eyes like to spend time in the leaf litter under shrubs. A firm believer in equal rights, the male and female build the nest together and share the responsibility of incubating the eggs and looking after the chicks. And the chicks are on the fast track and can be fully fledged and independent only nine days after hatching out of their egg. When we encounter the thrasher family in the field, the thrasher parents seem to be perpetually on orange alert following my every movement with those eyes and often launch into a lengthy bird narrative on my actions. Thrashers have been spotted at Hilltop and the Wildlife Management Area near Congamond lake. And there is much to love about them, especially their big personalities and the fact that they like to eat gypsy moth caterpillars. So, a little tattling seems pretty minor.
And, like the thrasher, I must admit I have never really outgrown tattling. It is especially pronounced when I am backseat driving and reporting to each driver, I see who is texting or shaving and acting suspicious behind the wheel and insisting the driver stay clear of them on the highway. I feel compelled to report any car that forgets to turn its headlights on or is dragging a muffler or any truck that has a bunch of mattresses in the bed which might take flight at any moment. So old habits are hard to change and they cycle in and out. In these dog days of summer, I look for the thrasher and wonder if he has anything new to tattle about.