When I was a kid, one of my favorite sounds was the call of the Mourning Dove. I didn’t have any idea what kind of bird made that sound and I probably didn’t care; I just loved the sound. It’s a haunting, beautiful, mournful sound. I was drawn to it for the same reason that I like music in a minor key. It touches my heart.
When Don and I lived in San Diego, we made a bird feeder out of a wooden tray placed on an old iron sewing machine base. It sat in the center of our backyard and hundreds of Mourning Doves would stop by each day to chow down. I could look out at that bird feeder from my office and see 20 or 30 mourning doves standing on the tray, sharing a communal meal.
Since we’ve moved East, mourning doves haven’t been on the property. Until this year. A pair of doves has taken up residence and I see them quite often. And I hear their beautiful call.
The other day, I spotted one of them in the birdbath! That’s a first.
