Southampton - I had a cataract operation on my right eye and went down to the water one morning to try out my newly corrected vision. Lo and behold, in spite of the blinding sunlight, I was able to spot a Spotted Sandpiper as well as a Least Sandpiper on the muddy edges of the pond. The appearance of Spotted Sandpiper around the third week of July is just about on schedule. This bird, in juvenile plumage (no spots on the spotted Spotted), was the first that I've seen this season and, thanks to the skill of Dr. Sheren at Peconic Bay, it was very well seen indeed. Although this species is an uncommon local breeder, the birds that turn up on our pond at this time of the year are most likely early migrants. Another summer sign of fall.

Barn Swallow.

A notable feature of recent days has been the presence of finches. House Finches, which have been in short supply (due largely, I believe, to a crippling eye disease), seem to be making a comeback; at any rate, they have become regulars at the edge of the woods and I have been hearing both their songs and calls. Also, a male Goldfinch has been circling the marsh on what I would have to call a Call Flight and not a Song Flight; as he flies round and round, he calls Per-chick-a-ree, Per-chick-a-ree over and over. The breeding biology of these birds is quite mysterious. They don't seem to be very territorial and they pair up and breed much later than other birds. Their extensive singing in the late winter and spring - often in choral form - does not seem directly related to mating activity. Some of the male's songs early in the year are among the longest and most elaborate songs that we hear but their meaning and purpose is obscure. Goldfinches are said to nest later than other species because they time their nesting to coincide with the appearance of thistle seeds (but in our case, they are feeding on Graundsel which has thistle-like seeds). If they are indeed just entering family life right now, perhaps the male's circular summer Per-chick-a-ree flight, rather than its spring song, is connected with its breeding behavior. Perhaps.

A gorgeous cool morning and a wet walk. The sunrise is now noticeably later (close to 5:45 a.m.) and the sun now rises a good bit to the south over Pine Neck. Although the tide was fairly high, it wasn't the tide that dampened the promenade. After last night's dramatic thunder storm(s), every bit of vegetation was soaked and the fast-growing vegetation, heavy with moisture, was bending over the narrow paths around the edge of the marsh, dousing me with water at almost every step; by the time I got out of the marsh, I was dripping wet.

Wet above and below, I nevertheless made it out into the marsh fairly close to sunrise. Overhead there were numbers of Barn Swallows and Purple Martins criss-crossing in perpetual motion. It seemed as if every single Martin from the nearby colony, young and old alike, was in the air, swooping and chirping. Martins have a neat flight mode which generally consists of fast wing beats and then long glides and they like to chirp and chuckle as they hunt, generally fairly high in the sky (or, at least, at medium and medium high levels). Lower down, the Barn Swallows were in charge, often swooping just inches above the Spartina; they also make their distinctive little noises. Perched in the vegetation at the edge of the marsh were a young Catbird and a young Yellowthroat. A piping Spotted Sandpiper popped up out of the grass and flew to cover.

Purple Martin.

But the most intriguing moment of the morning came early on - just shortly after sunrise. As I was first working my way out out towards the middle of the marsh, I became aware of some very striking sounds coming from the main channel which carries the marsh water from the mid-marsh open area over to the pond. What was it? Impossible to see in or track it any closer without sinking into the marsh mud; the Spartina alterniflora is at its peak right now and affords very few glimpses into the depths of the marsh. The sounds might best be described as high squeaks followed by lower-pitched trills. It could, I suppose, have come from a mammal but given the location, the tide and the character of the sounds, I would guess that it was a marsh bird - most likely a rail. Which rail? Almost impossible to say. There are six species in North America plus the Common Moorhen or Gallinule and almost any one of them could show up; except for Yellow, they are all breeders somewhere the environs of Long Island although only the Clapper is common. Virginia Rail bred here in 2004 and raised a chick and would be a good candidate.

Went back out to the spot in the marsh where I heard an interesting vocalization early the day prior, but didn't hear it this morning (admittedly I was a few minutes late this morning as the sun was already well over Pine Neck across the creek). It was a busy time nonetheless. There were Saltmarsh Sparrows (formerly Saltmarsh Sharptailed Sparrows) zipping around and the swallows and martins were active as usual. Overhead was an unusual sight: a line of seven Great Blue Herons making its stately way south (do herons normally fly in neat 'flocks' like that?). And American Goldfinches were still moving around the head of the marsh; at one point, I saw two males with a female.

Clapper Rail.

In the past, I have mentioned Germander or Wood Sage as a wildflower in the mint family that blooms in wet ground near the marsh edge. As the season has progressed, I have discovered this plant in many places including major stands where I am quite certain it never bloomed before (or, at least, not in this profusion). This plant is popular with insects and I have noticed bees investigating the flowers.

Add to the list of flowering plants the Great Pink Hibiscus otherwise known as Rose Mallow. This is a genuine hibiscus - Hibiscus moschuetos to be exact - and it is pink in our area (the white form with a dark red center is either derived from a southern form or is a garden cultivar). It usually comes in August so it is blooming very early this year (along with just about everything else including farm/garden fruits and vegetables).

Yesterday evening's rain arrived with a front that broke the heat wave. Last night was was enlivened by the season's first katydid and the loud, persistent calls of tree crickets. And the night was succeeded by one of those crisp, cloudless, brilliant mornings that stir the soul. There was also a breeze and the attack of the mosquito hordes of the past few days abated. Even the birds seemed quieter perhaps because there were fewer insects to hunt. There were a few Martins and Swallows about and several Saltmarsh Sparrows were darting around the Spartina on the marsh. Belted Kingfisher came rattling by and our local Spotted Sandpiper (I assume it was the same one that has been present for the past week) came a-piping. As the tide moved in and I moved down, two Green Herons jumped up, squawking and landed on treetops on the near side of the pond. Can anyone explain why these are called GREEN Herons? As they land in the full sunlight with their thick necks outstretched, their bristly crest raised up, they show some striking colors: a purple mantle; deep chestnut neck; yellow eye, eye-ring and lores; two-tone bill (dark above, yellow below); startlingly bright yellow legs; black cap/crest; white mustache and front-of-the-neck streak. Nice show but where's the green?