Frost, Feathers & First Songs of Spring - Feb 15, 2026

Jennifer Dowd
Feb 15
3 min read

This morning, Finnegan and I rose early and headed to one of our local estuary beaches.

The tide was supposed to be out — perfect timing, I thought, for shorebirds feeding in the soft glow of morning light.

But when we arrived, I stopped in my tracks.

Everything was covered in frost.

The grasses, driftwood, shoreline paths — all of it shimmered beneath a delicate crystalline coating. As the sun began to rise, the frost glittered like tiny stars scattered across the landscape.

It felt magical.

I bundled Finn into his jacket, slipped him into the backpack, and off we went into the sparkling stillness.

And yet…

It sounded like spring.

Before the birds took center stage, a wild rabbit greeted us — calmly foraging for breakfast as if it had been expecting us. It paused just long enough to allow a few photographs before continuing its morning routine.

Soon after, the estuary came alive with sound.

Red-winged Blackbirds called back and forth across the frosted marsh — their unmistakable voices carrying through the cold air. Photographing them proved tricky with all the branches, but I managed to capture a few mid-call moments as the rising sun lit up the landscape.

Red-winged Blackbirds are often among the first to sing before spring truly arrives. Males begin defending their territories weeks ahead of the season — a reminder that wetlands and estuaries are not empty winter spaces, but vital breeding grounds preparing quietly for new life.

Then came the chorus.

Despite the frost and the late-winter calendar, the morning sounded unmistakably like spring.

The air buzzed with chatter.

Feeding among the early morning seeds, they moved through branches and across the ground.

And something unusual happened.

For the first time in my life…

Every bird looked at me.

Not the usual quick turn-away or the classic “butt shot” I’ve come to expect — but full, knowing glances. As if each one paused to say,

I know I’m cute. Go ahead.

I giggled to myself.

Song Sparrows are known for their incredible musical range — each bird can sing several different song variations. It’s part of how they communicate territory and attract mates. Their adaptability allows them to live alongside us in urban environments, but they still rely heavily on dense shoreline vegetation for safe nesting.

Each photo felt like a tiny bolt of energy running through me — especially those magical over-the-shoulder looks.

Eventually, I found a quiet spot where Finn could explore safely.

Clipped gently to my backpack, he moved at his own curious pace while I slowed mine to match. Photographing small birds requires patience — and today, Finn unintentionally gave me the perfect rhythm.

Step by step.

Pause by pause.

Golden-crowned Sparrows quietly foraged nearby.

These winter visitors rely on coastal habitats like this one to rest and refuel before migrating north to their breeding grounds. Safe, undisturbed shoreline spaces are essential for their survival during these colder months.

I spotted this Turkey Tail Fungus which is found on dead or dying wood. It plays an important role in breaking down dead wood, returning nutrients to the forest and supporting the ecosystem's recycling system.