GREENE CO., MO — A constant trickle of chickadees, titmice, and doves at the tray feeder sparked comments during Christmas dinner this afternoon. Even my mother’s 94-year-old uncle, who has lost most of his sight to macular degeneration, saw and remarked on the quickly moving birds.

It’s not a white Christmas this year; the weather is clear and mild. It was colder and windier on Sunday afternoon, when Charley Burwick and I spent some time birding Greene County. We didn’t find our friend Greg Swick’s Northern Shrike near Fellows Lake, but we did oo and ah over Short-eared Owls hunting late in the afternoon. Watching short-ears is always a highlight of the winter for me, and I hadn’t seen them yet this season.

As evening fell, we spotted a Great Horned Owl silhouetted against the gold and orange sunset. Taping for screech owls was unsuccessful that night, but I did hear two Great Horned Owls, and a pack of coyotes sent up a wild, cackling, collective howl. The full moon was huge and white, almost too bright to look at directly. Mars shone brightly beneath the moon, holding its own against our satellite’s brilliance. I had forgotten how cold 30 degrees can be.

Some of you may remember that I attended a presentation in March about the Foja Mountains expedition in New Guinea. A team returned to the mountains in June of this year, and a report of their trip was recently released (here’s one news story: Two New Mammal Species Discovered In Indonesia’s Wilderness). The BBC has a photo gallery, including three stunning bird photos. I also found this promotional/fundraising video narrated by Dr. Bruce Beehler: The Foja Expedition.

More unfamiliar birds in little-known corners of the world flutter on my horizon. What was under the tree for me this year? Field guides to Southeast Asia, Costa Rica, and Peru — all in anticipation of travel assignments in 2008.

Speaking of field guides, here’s a sneak peak at a project I’ve started working on: World Bird Field Guides.

Finally, let’s not forget the many ways birds help us celebrate Christmas: The Tree, The Crèche, The Stamps, The Cards, and The Carols.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

GREENE CO., MO. — I can hear the katydids calling tonight. It’s a sound I always associate with Ozark summers.

On this whirlwind visit, I’ve had a few moments for birding. On Saturday morning, Charley, Lisa, and I took a tour of three known raptor nests around Springfield.

We arrived first at an old-fashioned, park-like estate on the western side of town. We’d barely pulled in the driveway before a large, dark accipiter zipped low across the yard, sending a rush of adrenaline through all of our systems. The recently fledged Cooper’s Hawks were active and noisy in the trees, though we never did see the parents. I had a good look at one bird as it paused on a limb, and I noted the fine brown streaks on its breast — almost as if they were done with a pencil. This is a characteristic plumage feature of the species.

Next was an abandoned series of lots where Mississippi Kites had nested. The young bird left the nest just days before I got back, but we did see two or three kites circling in the sky overhead. At least one was molting its flight feathers. Mississippi Kites have bred at a few locations in southwest Missouri over the last few years, but they are still scarce.

Our third stop (after a half-hearted attempt failed to turn up a previously reported Painted Bunting) was at an east-side industrial complex where Swainson’s Hawks have nested for several years. This is a bit east of their usual breeding range, but they don’t seem to mind. We had good looks at two gorgeous light-morph adults. We couldn’t locate any juveniles or the nest, and it was difficult to tell whether the parents still had young in the nest or had fledglings out somewhere. We didn’t hear any young birds calling, which seemed odd.

We finished up with a surprise: three Common Loons at Fellows Lake. They were all in non-breeding plumage, and one appeared to be growing a new set of flight feathers. Do loons molt flight feathers in the fall? If I’m reading the Missouri birds checklist correctly, summer records of loons are unusual but not so much so that the need documentation.

I miss birding with Charley and Lisa and other GOASers. They helped launch my birding career, and they encouraged me to write about birds — to share my impressions and experiences with others, even in the days when my enthusiasm was far greater than either my knowledge or my skill. (So, nothing much has changed.) Thank you.

GREENE CO., MO. — Birdsong surrounds me completely. The world, though scarred by winter’s blind fury, is green again.

Robins sing continually, their complex melodies inviting deeper contemplation. But a House Wren’s rich gurgle interrupts, and the papa bluebird defends his turf against grazing starlings.

Goldfinches, Chipping Sparrows, cardinals, Red-bellied Woodpeckers, and House Finches — I hear them all as chickadees and nuthatches frolic.

From deep in the woodland, a Carolina Wren is singing; earlier, it was a Bewick’s. And now, a Chipping Sparrow has landed on the porch next to me, uttering a sharp, repeated note.

The young House Finch, fuzzy plumes still softening its head, has left, but now a thrush sings somewhere in the trees. I couldn’t say which thrush it is — this is a gap in my knowledge.

Pewees, hummingbirds, tanagers, waxwings. Chimney Swifts, a nighthawk. And always, the unbroken song of robins. While the males sing, a female gathers grasses just below the bluebird box.

Certainly, there is much to love about Texas. But I’d forgotten how much I miss Missouri.

GREENE CO., MO. — I went walking well after dark, when most of the neighbors were sealed up tightly in their boxes and a chilly wind roamed the quiet streets.

Why? Oh, I wanted to see the light displays, and to feel the cool night air. And I hoped I would hear an owl, but I did not.

I didn’t realize until the day was almost gone that this is winter solstice. That means that Search and Serendipity is two years old today. The blog itself is not that old, but two years ago on the winter solstice, I began a project: to write about the birds I encountered over the next solar year.

The project soon floundered because I didn’t have an audience — and because the spring semester roared to life soon after. But three months later as I watched a singing cowbird, I had what I thought was a revolutionary idea. I should write a blog about birds! And so a few days later, I began. I decided to put up the entries I’d written earlier in the solar year, for after all, the solstice made a good beginning.

Two years ago on the solstice, I wondered what life after college would bring. I couldn’t have imagined then that of the next 24 months, I would spend nearly half in a nation called PNG.

And now the solstice has come again. A new year has begun.

GREENE CO., MO. — It’s the most wonderful time of the year … Christmas Bird Count season! OK, maybe spring migration is a little more exciting, but there is an undeniable magic about the CBC. I felt a rush of anticipation and nostalgia on Friday as I explained the CBC to some British friends in Dallas.

Twenty-four hours later, I was birding 450 miles to the northeast, joining friends old and new for the Springfield CBC. The day was warm, damp, and gusty, more like late March than mid-December. Early-morning owling was a total bust; we heard nothing we could count until the small birds started stirring in the brush and hundreds of robins streamed overhead in reluctant light.

Out of a day so long and full, our minds fashion well-crafted vignettes: the Winter Wren so busy among limbs and stones, the Pileated Woodpecker taking brilliant dogwood berries, the illimitable robins on their wilted sumac heads. Robins and goldfinches bathed on a gravel bar; juncos flashed through willows. A LeConte’s Sparrow flushed from the bluegrass at our feet, short tail angled downward as it flew. A Bonaparte’s Gull floated far across the water.

I’ve already blogged our group’s two best finds. The cedars, oaks, and pastures around Fellows Lake are supporting spectacular concentrations of starlings, robins, and various blackbird species. We scoped one pasture that held an estimated 500 Mourning Doves — more than any of us had ever seen at one time.

For these good birds and big numbers, we endured groans and murmurings during the compilation potluck. Everybody knows that the Fellows Lake area holds some of the best remaining habitat in the rapidly developing count circle. Of 88 species recorded during the day, our group had 71, many of which were not recorded elsewhere.

We didn’t have all the good birds, of course. Everybody exclaimed aloud when David announced he’d relocated the St. John’s Merlin, which has returned to the hospital for an incredible fifth winter. If this is indeed the same bird, she’s getting old for a Merlin. She must be tough and smart, and lucky.

A single Eurasian Collared-Dove was reported on the 2004 count, and 19 in 2005. This year, the count leapt dramatically to 148. Cooper’s and Red-shouldered hawks and Hermit Thrush were also reported to have new high counts (thanks for the info, Dorothy).

There were misses, as always. Some instruct us about distribution; others are less explicable. I don’t think anybody had Pine Siskins or Red-breasted Nuthatches, and Golden-crowned Kinglets were scarce. I didn’t hear one all day. Our group couldn’t find a Killdeer to save our lives, but other groups did.

I relish the excitement and camaraderie of the compilation — and the secrets, meaningful glances, and competitive jeers. I knew we didn’t have any new species for the list this year, and I waited anxiously to hear whether anyone else had either. But no, not this time.

When you bird year after year, you learn where to search for special birds. I knew exactly where to find a shrike this year, and the bird did not let me down. But you keep your eyes open for serendipity birds too, like a white-fronted goose slipping through the evening sky. After all, this is the CBC, and anything can happen.

CBC season extends to Jan. 5, 2007, so you still have time to find a count going on near you. If you’ve never been, or if you haven’t been in a long time, find a circle and start counting!