Feed the birds

I am no ornithologist. I’m not even a twitcher. But I do love to watch birds. When we first put up the feeder at the farm, we received regular visitations by a band of the usual suspects – blue jays. Those greedy monsters gobbled up all of the feed and bullied any smaller bird – humble wren and chubby chickadee alike – so that they had the entire store for themselves. I went through birdseed like crazy and decided I might actually give it up after the first season.

The next year I was working from home so I had a chance to watch the birds more carefully. I observed as the smaller birds hung out in the massive cedar beside the house, waiting for the jays to leave. When the coast was clear, the chickadees literally hopped down the length of porch rail and up onto the feeder, where they filled their beaks with sunflower seeds. I was surprised, because I assumed the smaller birds would prefer the smaller grains of wild seed to the larger seeds. I was very wrong. At the end of the week, a pile of wet, mushy golden seed was left at the bottom of the feeder, desired by no one. I decided to switch to a feeder menu of pure black-oiled sunflower seeds, and that is where the fun began.

I began to notice different birds at the feeder each week. I inherited birdwatching books from an old friend and set up with my binoculars and cup of tea by the window. I learned what to call each new pair and group of chattering, fluttering birdfeeder guests. We had a chime of wrens, a host of sparrows, a flight of barn swallows. This last group had introduced themselves earlier in the year when they dive-bombed us in the swimming pool, gathering sips of water.

One of the most amazing things I have ever seen – not in my own backyard but while sitting by the water – is a murmuration of starlings. These summer visitors from Arizona form a cloud overhead before swaying in a fluctuating, wavy dance that just takes your breath away. It’s a truly amazing thing to watch and it sounds beautiful too – the chorus of beating wings. If you haven’t seen a murmuration, search it online and watch a video. 

Each season we seem to have new visitors to our feeders – so I added another on the back stoop where I can observe while at the kitchen sink. Last year a couple of ruby-throated grosbeaks arrived: she with her subtle markings on a mousy brown coat, he with his dapper outfit of black, white and the romantic splash of blood red on his chest. We get hummingbirds at the wildflowers beside the deck every summer, and we are honoured with a visit from a pair of cardinals at least once every winter. Their red coats flashing against the snow always get a gasp out of anyone who sees them – and they are said to represent a visitation by a loved one recently departed.

Birds are often the subject of romantic imagery and prose. And if you watch them long enough, you begin to learn their different personalities. I can see why birdwatching might become addictive for some people, prompting them to spend all kinds of time and money on the pursuit of rare breeds. I’m just happy to see them enjoying the feed I put out for them, to help feather their nests for new babies and to fatten them up for winter.

It’s time to put bricks of suet out now, to energize the birds who are flying south. They need that rocket fuel to get them through the several thousand miles they will cover to Florida. Soon the main visitor to my feeder will be the woodpecker, who pulls seeds out of the gap in the side of the feeder and then hides them in a crack he has made in our wood siding.

Each weekend morning in the winter, the woodpecker ensures I do not sleep too late. He has chosen the siding right outside my bedroom for his store of winter food. The rat-a-tat-tat of his pecking rouses me from sleep slowly, with dreams of hammering and tap dancing before I open my eyes and realize it’s just that feathered jerk again.

I don’t know much about birds, but it sure is lovely to have them around. And all I have to do is lug a 25lb bag of seed through the door every week or so – a small price to pay for so much beauty.

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