Out of the Blue
Sudden flashes of blue outside took me by surprise. I peeped out to see what was at our bird feeders; I had seen this flash of blue before, during walks outside in warmer weather, but never here. Could it be….? Yes, it was! Eastern Bluebirds, which I had never before seen at the feeder! I had always assumed that the bluebird, was either shy, or like the Robin which it somewhat resembles, content with insects and worms, and did not need our offerings of birdseed. Yet suddenly, here they were; late winter had brought us surprise visitors.
Over the next few days, the bluebirds made their presence known not just with their striking appearance: bright blue wings and orange chests, but as much with their raucous behavior. We are familiar with most of the birds which come to feed: juncos, nuthatches, cardinals, sparrows, woodpeckers and sometimes blue jays. They come in ones and twos, and take turns feeding, waiting on the sidelines as needed. The boldest bird of them all is the tiny chickadee which dares to come and watch from close by when we fill the feeders. While these birds are well mannered and generally follow the rules of feeder etiquette, the bluebirds came to party. A gregarious lot, they flew down in flocks of four to over a dozen. There would be a flurry of blue wings as they flitted from feeder to feeder, monopolizing all three of them. Throwing caution to the wind, sometimes six to eight bluebirds would precariously perch on a single feeder, causing it to rock deliriously, a drunken reflection of the spirited behavior of these blue busybodies. The only other time I remember seeing an ambush like this was when we had two dozen or more crows settle on our deck, a whole flock of them that stayed the whole day, and refused to leave.
All the other birds, used to the more orderly feeding pattern, were clearly overwhelmed by this blue fanfare. They would watch from the sidelines, waiting for the party to end. The cardinals, looked especially bewildered by this manic group. This frat-boy behavior was apparently unlike anything they had seen. For all his flamboyant color, Mr. Cardinal is a cautious fellow. Even the slightest disturbance by a little junco on the neighboring feeder, a bird half his size, and the cardinal flies away. Each morning, he came by and watched from the safety of the snow clad Viburnum that grows next to our deck, waiting for this blue brouhaha to subside, while his somewhat bolder mate surveyed the scene from a little closer on the deck railing. There they would stay, venturing near the feeders only when assured that the rowdy crew had flown away, and then darting back to safety when another flock of bluebirds invaded the feeders moments later.
This became the highlight of my next several mornings, as each time I heard a rustling sound, a sign that the unruly crew had alighted on the feeders, I would interrupt my work and run to the window, and bask in that blueness. How can one not smile in the face of so much joyful abandon? Rowdy though the bluebirds were, they clearly disapproved of my hiding behind curtains and slyly spying on them, and would fly away as soon as one of them sensed my presence. I would trace the cheerful blue until they all disappeared into a nearby pine tree, and wonder what had caused their sudden appearance in my garden. A little research and I found out that bluebirds come to feeders only when they have run out of their main food: insects and worms, which usually happens late winter to early spring. That would appear to be the logical reason. But I would like to think that they came here to remind me of the colors of winter.
It took me a long time to get used to the starkness of this season: a time that felt cold in temperature, and by extension, cold at heart. Everything felt dreary, hostile even, as reflected in a dismal landscape of white and brown. It was clearly beautiful, but this was a severe, ascetic beauty. It resided in ice-covered pine needles gleaming in the sunlight, in partly frozen streams that wind their way between snow-covered banks, in the long dark shadows cast by leafless trees. Then I discovered red, winter’s most startling color. It starts with the red winterberries that carry on the autumn blaze into winter, and in the stems of the red-twig dogwood growing next to woodland streams, and is carried through in the holly, which hides its carmine berries underneath deep glossy dark green leaves. Every red cardinal that I saw brought a smile to my face, a flicker of hope that there is yet color in this pristine white world. I still cannot claim that I enjoy winter; my tropical blood strongly rebels each time I step out. I secretly envy the folks who glide and cruise in the ice or snow on skis, snowboards and ice skates. Me, I walk gingerly on the trails, hoping I do not embarrass myself, yet again, by falling. By February, my eyes are weary of the white, and ache for color. The red winterberries that lit up the woods in early winter have disappeared, eaten by the birds as they well should have. I have long stopped noticing the green offered by the pine trees and the hemlocks. And so, this year, February brought me blue: a joyful, boisterous blue. Nothing is ever just black and white, there is always color, one just has to look and give it time.
And then just as suddenly, one fine day mid-February, the bluebirds stopped coming. Perhaps they had taken what they needed and saved enough till the ground thaws in spring; perhaps they just had some cousins visiting and needed extra supplies. I ran to the deck and back, each time I heard the slightest rustle, but there was no flash of blue. They were gone. It was a good party while it lasted. I hope they now know that they have a place to come back to, the next time they run out of food in winter.
It snowed again last night, and once again, everything is white. We just cleaned the cars and driveway, and my hands shiver as I come in and take off my gloves. I look at the feeder, and there is a solitary junco pecking away, while on the snow-covered deck, a squirrel and a mourning dove collect the scattered feed. But now I know that hidden somewhere behind that pine tree, even in the midst of all this cold, there is a party going on, clothed in blue. A brilliant, boisterous blue. And out of the blue, I find myself smiling.
