John Burroughs (April 3, 1837-March 29, 1921) once said, "Where the robin is at home, there at home am I." I saw that quote while reading The Bill McKibben Reader and immediately knew what he had meant.
I grew up in Michigan where the robin (Turdus migratorius) holds the honor of State Bird. Pretty lofty for thrush, albeit a large thrush. The robin has always been the emblem of spring for me. I knew that once the robins showed up, spring was here and those long winters didn't have a chance of lasting. When I was little I loved watching robins in the front yard during a light rain or after a heavier shower tugging worms up out of the ground. I would sit at the front window or sometimes under the cover of the front porch and watch them as long as they stayed. The robin is a handsome and robust bird and a wonder to watch.
The American robin is a very common bird, especially in Michigan and places like it. I lived in Michigan for thirty years and couldn't begin to tell you how many robins I have seen there (though I am sure someone could figure something like that out somehow). Yet I always noted one when I saw it, never overlooking it as one does sparrows.
I now live in Tucson, Arizona, and my robins are fewer and farther between. Sometimes I will see one in the northern parts of the state or at higher elevations "down here," but I certainly don't see them often and, since they are a seasonal visitor here in the winter months, they aren't a harbinger of spring here. But I still love robins. I don't know why, I just do. I loved the Burroughs' quote for no other reason than that and thought I would share it with whoever happens to stumble across this post.
