Spring is the time for bird song, right?

It’s the season when male birds have recently returned from a winter in warmer climes or from having endured a long, cold winter here in Maine. They belt out strings of sounds that we humans generally find pleasing and musical. The males do this initially to establish territorial boundaries and then to attract the attentions of potential mates.

Dawn in late spring and summer can be a cacophony of sound, when hundreds of birds in any given area within earshot of each other are all singing at the same time.

But in the fall, long after the symphony of summer bird song has been replaced by the sounds of autumn crickets, and even after the crickets are silenced by the cold north winds, if you listen carefully, you can hear the occasional small, quiet song echoing through the woods, fields, maybe even your own backyard.

Lately, sparrows have been migrating through our region in abundance. One recent warm, sunny day, we heard a halting, quavering version of the whistled “Old-Sam-Peabody-Peabody-Peabody” of a white-throated sparrow in our backyard. Another day, it was a quiet rendition of the sweet trills and whistles of a song sparrow.

These intermittent, often imperfect and typically quiet renditions of the normal spring/summer songs are apparently the work of immature males who may be practicing throughout the winter to perfect their songs for the serious use next year.

Some people have reported that they have been hearing the “Who-cooks-for-you, who-cooks-for-you-all” hoots of barred owls in the night, after months without a sound from the nearby forest. Barred owls are year-round Maine residents, and in the fall young birds disperse to find a spot where they can live for the winter.

The hooting we hear at this time of year is likely adults sending a strong message to potential intruders that this is their “title” to the land. At the same time, immature birds may be “giving a hoot” to test if the parcel they’re interested in has already been, shall we say, spoken for.

Ruffed grouse will occasionally make their drumming sounds in fall, probably for the same reason barred owls do. Some people have heard the sound without realizing it, because it sounds remarkably similar to a tractor starting in the distance: a series of low “pomp” sounds increasing in speed until they coalesce into a low whirring trill.

The birds make the sound by beating the air with their wings while standing on a fallen log or stump. They’re often hidden in a thicket of fir, spruce, or hemlock where they have less chance of being surprised by a bird-eating hawk or fox.

In the case of the ruffed grouse (some people call them “partridge”), the drumming sound serves the same purpose as a song, since the ruffed grouse does not sing.

It may be that the quiet of autumn is now engulfing us, but listen carefully and you may hear that occasional reminder that spring will come again.

Dr. Jeff Wells is the senior scientist for the Boreal Songbird Initiative. During his time at the famed Cornell Lab of Ornithology and as the Audubon Society's national bird conservation director, Dr. Wells earned a reputation as one of the nation's leading bird experts and conservation biologists. Jeff's grandfather, the late John Chase, was a columnist for the Boothbay Register for many years. Allison Childs Wells, also formerly of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, is a widely published natural history writer and a senior director at the Natural Resources Council of Maine. Together, they have been writing and teaching people about birds for decades. The Maine natives are authors of the highly acclaimed book, “Maine's Favorite Birds.”