The Northern Mockingbird is so entertaining. From sunrise to sunset it sings incessantly and I have no idea what its actual voice sounds like. Its palette of sounds is seemingly endless: chirps, trills, whistles, peeps, coos and everything in between. You see the Northern Mockingbird is a mimic and there doesn’t seem to be another bird’s voice that it can not replicate. It will rattle off the songs of a scrub jay, white crowned sparrow, house finch and black phoebe in a staccato  burst that can last a minute or more. I read somewhere that mockingbirds have even been known to mimic the sounds of car alarms. Amazing, huh?

These birds are year round residents where I live so I see and hear them often. It’s in springtime that I appreciate them most though as that’s when their songs are especially vociferous and celebratory. On most spring mornings I find a mockingbird perched atop the tallest cypress tree in our backyard, catching the first rays of sun and welcoming the new day with its repertoire of  tunes. I never tire of listening to this bird sing. Like springtime itself, the mockingbird’s happy chirping fills my heart with joy, hope and a feeling that on this day, at this moment, all things seem possible. When the mockingbird is onstage, there’s no room for fear and negativity and all seems right with the world.

When I was in my mid-30’s, I shared a house near the beach in Santa Cruz with my girlfriend at the time Michelle and our close friends John and Diane. Our backyard was a green haven surrounded by tall shrubs and a mini-bamboo forest, it was often the setting for spring and summer parties. Many in our circle of friends were musicians, when we got together we’d fill this tranquil green space with our voices, guitars and drums. On one particularly golden Saturday in April, my friend Mark and I were deep into a spirited version of the Grateful Dead gem “Birdsong.” Throughout the entire song we were accompanied by a mockingbird. This tuneful little sprite seemed to have a real feel for what Mark and I were playing. As we jammed, it chirped and bebopped right along with us, weaving its voice in and out as the music flowed between us. Luckily, one of our friends recorded this human/avian duet. It was upon listening back that we were able to hear how perfectly the mockingbird’s song blended with our own. Also audible on the tape was the voice of our dear friend Suzy, who six years later  would succumb to ovarian cancer at the age of 36. She was a middle school teacher and an adventurous soul, who loved to travel and dance. Suzy was all flowing auburn hair, hazel eyes and acerbic wit, she squeezed every ounce of joy that she could out of life. She and I were good friends. For many years Suzy was a mainstay of our scene. She played congas and was usually part of our jam sessions. She left this world much too soon, her passing was a shock that left a gaping hole in our tightly knit little hippie confederacy.

So once again spring is upon us. The myriad voices of the Northern Mockingbird figure prominently in the soundtrack of the season. In the mockingbird’s song I always hear a little piece of Suzy and that luminous morning so many years ago when we made music with a mockingbird.