There’s a reason I have a difficult time with warblers. They won’t come to my feeders.

Cherry trees surround most of the house while various apples fill in much of the rest. That of course is where I find the warblers – checking out the blossoms in the spring and early fruit in the fall.

A few, like the yellow warbler, visit often enough to be a recognized friend. That sadly is the exception among these birds for, more often than not, I catch little more than a hint of color on a quickly darting bird who – really – would prefer to be hidden among the green leaves.

I have to count myself fortunate then if one literally pops in, certainly much more fortunate when good health returns after a moment’s stun. You know, a bird in the hand and all that.

To further complicate the issue, warblers change color from spring until their return in the fall. (The pattern doesn’t really change – it just becomes far duller in the fall. I know the feeling.) I picture our local coeds exchanging bright spring costumes for autumn colors as they (and we) prepare for what lies ahead.

I had in hand (literally) a young female Magnolia Warbler. The strong black breast streaks are missing as are many of the bird’s usual points of identification. I held it and marveled at the gray, yellow, black and white little gal (so I learned) while musing how I’d ever tell it from all its cousins.

I turn to Plate 11 in the Peterson Warbler Guide and marvel (once again) that anyone identifies any of these birds. There are seven illustrations for the Magnolia, all different of course. The males (not really of concern to me right now) all have black streaked breasts though it darkens with age – as do all their other markings. The female, on the other hand, enters fall with just the soft yellow beneath except for a faint gray necklace. Her spots were there in the spring and will return next year. By then her markings are similar to the male only much duller (no surprise) and less distinct.

I suspect once again Mark Baldwin came to my rescue though, once I knew, identification seemed simple. Well . . . relatively so. The yellow chin and even brighter yellow rump were giveaways. Like so many it had two white wingbars and, according to the book, will have a broad tailband of white once it grows up.

I have seen her twice in all the years I’ve been here, both times about now in mid-September so I’ll keep my eyes open. Blossoms are obviously gone. I suspect they seek the ripening berries of the cherry trees.

The Peterson tells me Alexander Wilson was the first to capture a specimen. That bird just happened to be in a magnolia tree “hence the rather inappropriate scientific and English names (although Wilson did recommend the more descriptive English name ‘Black-and-Yellow Warbler.’)” It could also have named “Spruce Warbler” for its favorite breeding habitat.

As for song identification, let me turn again to my favored old Birds of America: “No two writers agree as to the song of this bird. The difference of opinion would indicate that the Magnolia has a greater variety of notes than any other warbler. Each observer likens its song to that of another bird, and this warbler seems to have no song peculiar to itself.”

I’ll keep looking for this one in particular for the name evokes pleasant memories of a long-ago trip to South Carolina to see a friend star in “Fledermaus.” Frank met me at the airport with a freshly-picked branch supporting the lovely and aromatic magnolia. No wonder I still love that state – or the blossom which I’ve since learned may also be found around here.

Susan Crossett has lived outside Cassadaga for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. Her Reason for Being was published in 2008 with Love in Three Acts following in 2014. Information on all the Musings, her books and the author may be found at Susancrossett.com.