Feeding "birds" in Winter

Goldfinches, still Winter-drab, squabble at the feeders, every so often exploding shrapnel-like into the air. But, do pigeons (squab) finchle as they peck at breadcrumbs in a park or beans at a silo? Why not turn the verb about?

goldfinches etc. at Winter feeders

Photo by J. Harrington

Woodpeckers, pileated, red-bellied, hairy and downy (in descending order of size, but not appearance at the feeders) pound on slabs of frozen suet and, occasionally, one or another of the smaller species will grab a sunflower seed.

downy woodpecker feeding on suet

Photo by J. Harrington

Chickadees briefly forego their "fee-bee" calls to land, grab and fly away with a sunflower seed. Several white-breasted nuthatches ("whi, whi, whi....") also appear, take a seed, and fly away. Cardinals, most notably a male showing bright red against white snow, have begun "what-cheer, cheer" Spring songs from near the tops of snow-covered trees. Then a male, sometimes accompanied by a female, will be seen feeding on the ground or at the copper feeder which has a tray on the bottom. The same feeder favored by local red and gray squirrels. (The whitetail deer prefer the tube feeder in front of the house.)

red squirrel approaching heated birdbath

Photo by J. Harrington

Some days we've counted as many as half-a-dozen red squirrels concurrently twitching their way across the snow surrounding the front feeder, the one nearest a wood lot of trees that provide a safety factor. Squirrels, aided and abetted by blue jays, are successfully clearing several inches of freshly fallen snow, accumulated on top of a number of branches. Smaller birds like chickadees and nuthatches then clear what's left so the perches soon become snow-free. Other branches remain untouched. We wonder why.

Much of this posting has been written to establish that, with more and more bird species starting their Spring songs, and squirrels starting to chase each other around, we are not alone in looking forward to the transition from Winter to Spring. How do we know that the bird songs are actually mating calls and not complaints about the harshness of the season?

On the First Day She Made Birds

By Diana García

He asked me       if I had a choice

what kind of bird

would I choose to be.

I know what he thought I’d say

since he tried to        end

my sentences half the time

anyway. Something exotic

he thought. He thought

maybe macaw.

That would fit

all loudmouthed

and primary colored

he would think.

(He thinks too much

I always thought.)

But really       at heart

I’m more

don’t laugh now

     an L B J

          little brown job

except               except

I’m not the

flit        from

branch

to        branch        type

such a waste

of energy all that

wing flap

and scritch scritch scratch.

Really now

can you see me

seed pod clamped

between my beak

like some landowner,

Havana cigar

clenched

between his teeth?

No         I think         not

I think

green heron.

You ask why?

Personality

mainly.

That hunched look

wings tucked to neck

waiting        waiting

in the sun

on a wide slab of rock

alongside a slow river

like some old man

up from a bad night’s dream

where he’s seen his coffin

and you say to him

Have a nice day

and he says        Make me.

Oh          you want looks

I’ll give you

looks:

long olive green feathers

a trace of

iridescence

I could stand

going out       iridescent

chestnut sides and head

a black crown

yes        a crown

something regal

to flash when you get

too close

dark bill         bright

yellow legs

and that creamy streak

down my throat and pecs

good

        not great

but good         pecs

just enough for a quick

hop to the next.

The best part

no sexual dimorphism

male         female

both alike

endless possibilities.

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