My morning stroll at work one day last week was cut short because the field I usually walk through had completely disappeared. Well, it didn’t disappear, of course, but it was under several feet of water. There was no grass to be seen, only a huge pool of water reflecting the gloomy sky above.

The adjacent river, which is really just a trickling creek most of the time, was now a raging, angry force that had spilled over its banks and flooded the land on either side. Heavy rains the previous night, combined with the few inches of snow that had been on the ground, turned a usually serene setting into a foreboding, aquatic landscape.

What struck me most was how different everything looked. Flooding obviously can drastically change a landscape in a matter of moments, but it can be quite jarring when you are used to seeing something every day and suddenly it looks like a different world.

The experience got me thinking about having a regular birdwatching spot and getting to know an area like the back of your hand. You get to know every tree, branch, stump, rock, and bend in the trail so that you can immediately pick out when something looks different. That’s helpful when it comes to hawks or owls perched in trees. Even from a distance, you know something is different because that branch doesn’t always have that lump on it.

You also get to know what birds to expect to see during the various seasons. When a new bird shows up, it sticks out like a sore thumb and you can zero in on identifying the newcomer. That happened the other day when I was walking in “my” birdwatching area and a bird flew across the trail ahead of me and disappeared into the thick brush. By its shape, size, color and way it moved, I knew it was something worth putting effort into finding because I knew it wasn’t one of the regular birds that I see there in the winter.

Turns out, it was a gray catbird. I see tons of catbirds there in the summer and early fall, but it stood out as different because it didn’t match up with any of the regular winter birds. Seeing a catbird in New England during the winter is not unheard of, but it’s certainly not common.

I had a similar experience on that same trail during the spring. This time, it was the bird’s song that gave it away as being something that typically is not found there. Just as you get to know the sights of a place, you also get to know the sounds. It’s probably a subconscious thing, but it happens, and it helped me track down a white-eyed vireo, a bird that is more commonly found in the South than in New England.

The white-eyed vireo song is somewhat rambling, bubbly and insect-like all at once. It is unique and definitely stood out from the usual songs of cardinals, Carolina wrens and towhees that I have grown accustomed to hearing there. Knowing it was something different gave me pause to find that bird in the brush no matter what. Like most birdwatchers, I’m not going to give up easily when I know something unique is close by.

Getting to know an area well has its advantages. Whether something looks out of place, sounds a bit off or is suddenly underwater, you know it’s something worth investigating.