Field Notes from an Old Chair Well, they’ve come, these early crews though it’s only March, which in Michigan means maybe warm one day, the few new tender greens making sense, then frigid and snow the next four, fragile bodies ballooned, all fuzz but feeding and competing just the same. Who would’ve ever guessed you’d be happy anticipating birds? Since you’ve taken up the old folks’ study of how certain species seem to like each other, showing up in sync...
