I almost hate to write about Pudding Hill Lane, for at the moment I have it nearly completely to myself. I discovered it while on Breeding Bird Atlas duty last year, and can't get enough of it.
There is a Pudding Hill, and it stands to the left of the lane as one walks toward the dead end. The hill is a Wildlands Trust preserve, and they've recently added a parking area and information kiosk. To the right of the roadway, a field slopes gently toward a thin line of trees that stand guard over an elliptical pond, Chandler's Pond. Not too far away is an old basketball camp that the Boston Celtics used under Coach Red Auerbach.
There are only a half a dozen houses or so here, which means that traffic is minimal, and for the most part, the air is free of manmade noise, of automobile exhaust. Instead, it's filled with darting tree swallows, calls of eastern phoebes, trills of chipping sparrows. My half hour list shows 19 species of birds seen or heard.
I stopped short under a pine tree overhanging the road. A robin was sitting on a nest, aware of my presence, but not worried enough to make a move.
Time: 38 minutes.
New species: (Butterflies) eastern pine elfin (5).
Stranger hellos: None.
What else is happening: gave a lecture on backyard birds to the Norwell Council on Aging; gave a lecture on the American woodcock to the Duxbury Council on Aging; conducted our bi-weekly waterfowl survey at North Hill Marsh Wildlife Sanctuary in Duxbury; worked like crazy on articles for South Shore Living and Captains Guide.