Old haunts for new birds

“I did mange to meet the ghost from the upstairs closet (large bedroom), followed me around for a whole day.” So wrote David Hoffos in the Macaulay House residency journal that I've been perusing this afternoon.

Outside my bedroom window (I'm not in the large, haunted bedroom) there’s a songbird who has been my bedtime companion over the last weeks. If I was more of a birder I’d be able to list its name, and while I love painting birds I’m lazy with my ornithology so I haven’t come to any sort of answer. Laying in bed at 2am his repetitive call is a comforting cadence and a pleasure to nod off to.

With light peeking through the dark plastic blind, the six note refrain also begins to sound like the slow pendulum rhythm of a rusty swing set. For some reason it sits a little spookily with me but that’s because I watched too many horror films as a teenager and people keep asking me if I’ve met the McCauley House ghost. In this gold rush town myths die hard and while I haven’t met the ghost I have a songbird offering me lullabies. If asked, that seems worthy of some small legend.