My proletarian birds, mostly blackies and robins, have fled in panic. Perched in a high burr oak branch hanging over the guest cabin, watchful as a sober Secret Service agent, the predator lurks -- or did until I scared him off trying for a photo.
It's a sparrow hawk. They're not uncommon in the woods and fields around here, but this is the first time I've spotted one hunting the Camp J grounds.
I hope he hangs around. This is one of the years when I need to trim up the no-mow zone, and he'd be handy for helping control the creepie-crawlies displaced by the tidying -- the field mice, the occasional garter snake, and maybe even the village zoning czar whom I believe lurks there, fiddling hopefully with his video camera.