Yesterday I went out mustard hunting. . . . Or maybe it would be more accurate to say I was blackbird hunting. Almost exactly a year ago while I was driving back from grocery shopping (right before the world went all to heck), I spotted a red-winged blackbird perched beautifully on a fence post in front of a bright yellow field of blooming mustard in Petaluma. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera with me at the time. But the image was etched into my brain. So a year later, I drove out to the spot where I saw that blackbird. The fields of beautiful mustard flowers had returned, but alas, there were no blackbirds to be found.

I hung out for a while, not wanting to give up. Some finches tried to console me, but their tweets almost felt like mockery.

Perhaps sensing my sadness, a crow actually swept down and posed on a post for me in front of one of the fields. Technically this WAS a “black bird,” but not the one I was searching for. Still, I appreciated its kindness and consideration. Crows really are smart creatures.

Giving up the search in Petaluma, I drove back to Sonoma, stopping by another very mustardy field along a stretch of highway heading into town. I had never noticed any blackbirds there, but you never know.

For the first ten minutes or so, although the views were gorgeous, I barely saw a a single bird. 

Seeing how lonely I was, a benevolent hummingbird came down and sat next to me not two feet away. Then it did some fancy aerial flying to entertain me in between its rest stops on the fence wires. 

And then—I kid you not (OK, maybe a little)—a metal (and/or plastic) four-winged bird flew overhead! . . . I still have to review my Audubon field guide to get an ID on it.

After the unusual bird had departed, I wandered a little bit down the highway . . . and then I heard a call. Hark, it was the elusive red-winged blackbird! I raced in the direction of the bursts of song, but for the longest time I couldn’t spot it. Finally, after much squinting and head craning and desperately panicked screaming—“BLACKBIRDOO, WHERE ARE YOU?!?”—I saw it . . . hiding in the middle of a humongous oak tree. I asked it very politely if it would be so kind as to pose on a fence post in front of the field of mustard for me.

“Nah, that’s OK. I’m happy here in the oak,” it replied.

Phooey.

Walking further down the roadside through overgrown grass and weeds, I stopped in front of another stretch of field and stared for a couple of minutes. It was there that I finally spotted a pair of red-winged blackbirds diving in and out of the underbrush of mustard. Overjoyed, I hurriedly snapped some pictures of them, grateful that I wouldn’t leave this experience empty-handed.

I had my photos of black birds and mustard, and I was happy. I thanked them (both the birds and the flowers), feeling I could now go home not feeling like a total failure.

After waiting for a fair amount of traffic to zoom by, I crossed the road, got back into my car, and started driving home. But just as I was about to pass by the last stretch of field before entering back into “suburbia,” lo and behold, there it was:  a red-winged blackbird standing on a fence post in front of a mustard field! I quickly drove ahead to the next intersection, clumsily did a 180, sped back, pulled over by the side of the road, and pulled out my camera. 

CLICK! 

Mission accomplished.

Now it’s on to my next goal . . . to find a yellow-winged blackbird posing in front of a field of ketchup!