New word brings new meaning to chirping of birds

My friend Janet, who knows I love both words and birds, texted me an interesting “word of the day” last week: “seatherny.”

Pronounced “seth-er-nee,” it is purportedly “the serenity one feels when listening to the chirping of birds.”

Whether or not this is a real word (it appears in plenty of online memes, but I’ve failed to find it in a more legitimate source like, say, a dictionary), there is no question that one does feel serene when listening to birds.

Or at least I do.

The arrival of this word coincided almost to the day when my resident curve-billed thrasher opened its spring concert season from the top of the mulberry tree in the front yard.

A fair number of Northern Hemisphere songbirds start warbling in mid-February. Historians speculate that folks in medieval times may have used this highly predictable occurrence as a kick starter for the celebration of Valentine’s Day.

My thrasher chimed in a few days early, perhaps recognizing that some chirping-induced serenity is always welcome.

If you don’t have a resident curve-billed thrasher, you are missing out.

It might be inappropriate to assign human characteristics to wildlife, but when it comes to curve-billed thrashers, it’s impossible to not go there.

They are brash and sassy birds, gifted with judgmental yellow-orange eyes and a way of cocking their heads that makes you know your every move is being questioned.

I have a bare tree branch tucked up under the awning that shields my living room picture window, a protected perch for feathered visitors.

When a curve-billed thrasher arrives, it’s all business.

First off, it quickly clears the area of any other birds who attempt to flutter in. Curve-bill thrashers do not believe that sharing is caring.

Then, my resident thrasher turns and almost presses that curved bill into the window. I know immediately I am under surveillance and the bird does not approve. I swear I can hear the insults:

“You’re wearing that sweater again today?”

“What are you eating? Is that good for you?”

“Why do you still have that chair?”

After a winter’s worth of this kind of scrutiny, some glorious birdsong and its accompanying “seatherny” is more than welcome … if it’s even a real thing.

Right now, I’m too serene to care.

Betty Williamson, for better or worse, forgets new words almost as quickly as she learns them. Reach her at:

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