I’ve known some lovely and memorable Phoebes, but never loved one…until recently. As a novice birder, I have known about the Eastern Phoebe - that it calls its own name, that it bobs its tail, that it nests in the eaves of your house or barn, but I had never seen one…until recently. Then this sweet, delicate fly catcher turned up in its creamy yellow fall plumage to drink and bathe in our koi pond, bob its tail, and call its own name. It is one of those “small things that land softly” and “stun the breath.” What’s not to love about that!

Phoebe means bright or radiant and in myth was the name of a titan associated with the moon. Phoebe was Holden Caulfield’s precocious younger sister in Catcher in the Rye and for Shakespeare in As You Like It, a rustic forest dweller. In the sky, she is one of Saturn’s 62 moons. (TIL: Counting moonlets, Saturn has at least 150 moons, but only 53 have names!) Back on Earth, the tiny Eastern Phoebe hardly resembles a titan and derives its name from its distinctive song. After the catbird, the Phoebe’s song might be the next easiest to recognize.

Phoebes are members of one of the largest families of songbirds known as tyrant flycatchers with over 400 species in the Americas. Why tyrant? I’m not sure, but maybe because one of the charter members of this family is the Eastern Kingbird or perhaps because even the tiniest members will aggressively defend their nests so often built in close proximity to humans.

My little Phoebe may already be gone to warmer climes in the southern United States or Central America, but it will be one of the earliest to return next spring. Maybe then it will build a nest in the eaves of our house or shed and be with us all summer to provide “a little sign the tide might turn.”

There was a man who filmed
a wild bird perched lightly
on his knee, an eastern phoebe,
and how I wish it had been me
to receive a little sign
the tide might turn, shift.
Think my rod, my staff, the craft
of conjuring a little belief,
a field of grass, a clear horizon line.
Goodness is not the key,
but comfort and small things
that land softly, stun the breath,
let you have a thrill just long enough
where the knee quivers,
and a bird shifts accordingly.

Bird on Knee by Tara Bray