I sat on the deck the other day, watching the comings and goings. I was thinking about my girl, of course, but also just enjoying a beautiful day.
Here’s one of the many tales from my backyard.
“Nom, nom, nom. Sure is nice to have the feeder to myself. No pushy starlings or jays around.”“Hey! You’re a baltimore oriole, you’ve got your OWN feeder over THERE!”“Now wait just a darn minute! There’s not enough room for all your friends too!”“Man, what’s the world coming to, mumble, mumble mumble…”
“I’m outta here, I’m not going to listen to this old guy anymore. Plus there’s grape jelly over there!”“Nom, nom, nom, nom.”
I’ve told you about this fluffy bit of joy before. But I just have to tell you about my experience this morning.
Even though I stopped filling my bird feeders this spring, due to the bird disease in our state, many of my little birds are still stopping by. I watch them check out where their feeders used to be, or be-bop among the branches of the trees and shrubs we planted just for them.
And lately whenever I go out on the deck one particular chickadee arrives, almost instantly, and looks at me intently.
So I go down the steps to the seed bucket and grab a small handful. By then the little bird is waiting expectantly in the beech tree near the bucket. He won’t come land on my hand, but if I move it toward him he doesn’t fly away. And he will move closer and closer, until he’s on a branch within my reach. Then he carefully leans over and selects a seed from my palm.
From another encounter a few years ago.
Generally he flies to a higher branch and eats it, then flies away. He has never come back for a second helping, though he always makes me smile.
But this morning, as he was hopping down the branches to my hand another fat chickadee landed near the top of the beech tree and started to make a lot of noise while flapping it’s wings. I thought it was admonishing my little guy for getting too close to me.
Still, he reached down low, hanging almost upside down and carefully selected a seed, then flew part way up the tree and cracked it open. And then he flew up next to the noisy chickadee and fed the precious treat to the other bird!
Visiting the birdbath last summer.
By now I was smiling ear to ear as I stood still, hand still out, more treats awaiting. Would he come back?
And he did; almost immediately he bounced back down to the branch near my hand, grabbed another seed, moved up and opened it and then took it to the chirping fat bundle of feathers near the top of the tree.
Then he came down a third time. This time he and his friend (or mate?) took off with the seed, maybe to their new home.
Last fall at Kensington.
I think there’s something right in the world when a tiny little bit of nature can trust us scary humans. I’m still grinning hours later.
Change Is Hard 