Feeder Frenzy
The raucous cries of the blue jay ring through the house. He is at the bird feeder, exerting his right as one of the bigger birds to be sole feeder, while the nuthatch and the titmouse watch cautiously from the cover of nearby branches, waiting their turn. Only the tiny chickadee is brave enough, and slips impertinently on to the other feeder, apparently impervious to the size of the blue jay. The blue jay leaves and the others fly in from their shelter of the viburnum. A little later, we have a party of goldfinches, which proceed to consume the bird food at a speed that belies their little bodies. The finches are joined by cardinals, and for a short time, there is a parade of colors: the neon yellow and dramatic red feathers of the respective males, along with the more subtle hues of the females. Even the blue jays, however, stay away from the feeder, when the grackles swoop in. These crow-like birds, with their black bodies and shiny blue heads, come in troops of three or four and sometimes over a dozen, and dominate the two feeders. Through all this, the mourning doves stay on the deck floor, content to feed on the food scattered by the other birds.
This dance continues in spurts throughout the day, as birds, small and large, striking and understated, quiet and boisterous, all take their turn. A few times, it is interrupted by squirrels. As soon as we can hear them, one of us rushes out to shoo them away, but only after they have thrown down much of the food. Now the birds are in quite a tizzy, some still trying their luck at the feeder, others competing with the doves on the deck.
At the store, we pore over bird feeds to see which one would attract even more birds. The nuthatch is a picky eater, and discards half of what it finds. So do the woodpeckers, which always look like they are going to tip over, perching almost vertically on the sides of the feeder. Some birds are hesitant, like the fledgling cardinals which wait awhile on the nearby branches, then tentatively hop on the railing, and finally on to the deck. Their plump little bodies are all shades from tan to red, on their way to developing their signature red color. Every new visitor to our feeder is greeted with a hurried search on our phones. Earlier this summer, we discovered the grosbeak, with its bright red bib, and he has since been a constant visitor. Some like the Eastern Bluebird and the Towhee came here merely to examine the pickings and didn’t stay long. Then, there came once, a brilliantly colored orange and black bird who made too short a cameo appearance to be properly identified.
Not all birds choose to come to the feeders. The robin remains oblivious to all the hoo-ha, intent only on finding the worms among our plants. Other birds, hidden among leaves and moving too fast to be recognized by amateurs like us, peck at the peaches and throw away most of them before they have the chance to ripen. Still others appear to know the exact time that my blueberries ripen blue and swipe them, leaving none for us to taste. A pretty anise hyssop plant, purchased earlier this summer, turned out to be quite the star of the garden. Its mint-like purple flowers lasted almost a couple of months and attracted several insects, including a large black butterfly. Its star power however increased multifold, when we sighted hummingbirds hovering over it. The iridescent green backs of these little powerhouses glimmered in the sun as they darted through the garden, searching, until they settled on the hyssop flowers.
As we see the birds flying back and forth from the feeder, we scour the trees trying to find their nests. Our garden is surrounded by trees. From my kitchen window, I can count a couple of oaks, several red maples and who knows how many white pines. The bluebirds may no longer drop in on us, but we can see their unmistakably brilliant cyan bodies flit from tree to tree. We once watched in awe as some birds chased away a hawk from atop a white pine, seemingly to protect their young.
We carefully pick our bird feed and our flowers, and brim with pride and satisfaction at the results. From our view on the deck, it is easy to get consumed by the drama in the foreground, and equally easy to forget the weighty role of the giants in the background. The woods may appear still and silent but are the reason why we have our visitors in the first place. The Red Maples offer nesting sites to both the woodpeckers and the squirrels, the white oaks provide acorns to the nuthatches, and caterpillars to the chickadees. In winter, when all is white, the pines with their endless supply of needles offer a winter haven for all the birds which choose to stay here in the cold.
Seen in perspective, our garden is but a short-term restaurant, no more self-sufficient than I am. However independent or accomplished we may appear, we have both grown in the shelter of trees far greater than we will ever be. Some, like the oaks and pines that surround my garden, have always been near me: a constant and reassuring presence in my life, they supported and nurtured me through my steps and missteps. Then there are others, like the unknown trees far to the south, that provide a winter home to my migrating hummingbirds. These others who I do not know and who will never know me, challenged norms, defied authority, and endured ridicule or even abuse. In doing so, they opened doors and paved paths, so that my journey may be easier that theirs had been.
It is evening now, the birds have retired into the woods, and the only sounds that can be heard are of night-time crickets. Our feeders are almost empty, and we will need to refill them in the morning. I look forward to tomorrow’s dance while reminding myself, that no matter how often we fill them, without the trees, our visiting brood would certainly dwindle, if not disappear altogether. Our little feeders, brimming with drama and action along with their backdrop of countless trees together let me know, sometimes gently, sometimes boisterously: flocks of birds require groves of trees.
