“Wow! Will ya look at the birdfeeders swinging sideways!
And what gives with all the birds making themselves at home in MY home?
There must be a hundred of them parked in all the entrances to my hidey-holes in the woodshed. Zoom on in and look at the pieces of wood. Nearly every piece is occupied.
Oh, well. They’re just trying to get out of the wind too. I suppose I can always sneak in the back door if need be.”
“Floyd! You’ve been at the suet block forever!” says Johnny Junco. “Don’t you think you should give me a turn?”
“Bah! Go eat the seeds I drop,” says Floyd.
Rufus and his Missus zoom in as soon as Floyd takes a break. “How is it?” asks Rufus.
“A lot of fat before you can get to the good stuff,” she says.
“Well, why don’t you get right into the cage?” Rufus says. “You’re slim enough.”
“Why thank you,” the Missus says. “How kind of you to say so. I hadn’t thought of that. But you stand guard in case Floyd or his girlfriend, Bossy Flossie, comes back.”
“I guess I’ll just have to pick at what drops on the ground,” Johnny says. “Those guys are just too big for me to take on. But at least there’s something for everyone.”
“How’s the water down there?
“Oh, I don’t know. Lukewarm?”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to dip my beak in and see.”
“Sheesh! I almost hopped in there. I thought you said it was lukewarm?”
“Look warm to me.”
Cool mist puffs
From stream to sea.
Icy droplets
Yearn to be free.
Oregon junco
Grasps a twig,
Craving bare ground,
He can dig.
Finding seeds and
Fat insects,
More like what
A bird expects.
Tiny sparrow
Sits alone,
So much snow
He can’t condone.
Keeping warm
and saving strength,
Sunny days
Will come at length.
***** Please visit my other blog: annelisplace
It’s not a turkey that needs to be carved, but Fletcher the Flicker is getting creative as he dines on a snack of suet at the feeder.
“I’m going to carve you into a little duckling. Who knows? It might improve the flavour.”
“Oops! What was I thinking? I’ve eaten your bill, my little duckling.”
“Hmm! You’ve got a problem there, Fletch.”
“Well don’t just sit there and criticize, Orson. Do you have any bright ideas?”
“I guess not. Unless he’s gone to think about it….”
“Well, Fletch, I … er … let’s see …. For one thing, his bum’s too fat.”
Fletcher closes his eyes and counts to ten. “Lord give me strength.”
But then Orson has an idea.
“You pick away under his chin – that will help – and I’ll pick away at his fat tush. And by the way, it’s great working with you, Fletch. That snarky starling is not nearly as nice as you are.”
“I’m keeping my distance when he’s around. Get a load of that spearing beak and those mean, beady eyes. Not to mention that grabbing set of claws he’s got. No, Sir! I’m not doing anything to draw attention to myself. No sneaking a bite while he’s there.”
Fletcher carves a duck of suet, Asks his friend for help to do it. Orson's happy to oblige him Least he knows he won't get bludgeoned. Snarky starling, meanest birdy, Doesn't share, and oft plays dirty. Orson spends his time with Fletcher, Both are happy, yep, you betcha.
“Eh? Orson? What’s that you said?” That Oregon junco knows everything that’s going on around here.
It's a chilly wind today, My fur coat is on to stay, I'm so happy to be warm, With the temps below the norm.
“If you’d pay attention, Lincoln, you’d know there’s been a big change in the weather.” Him and his big fur coat. He probably hasn’t even noticed. But just look at Emma. She’s still trying to figure it out too.
Look now, Lincoln! See the ground, See the flakes fall all around? Food will be more precious though, Covered as it is with snow.
“Sheesh! This is just like in the movies where Bambi says, ‘Mother, what’s all that white stuff?’ and she says, with her soft, stunned voice, like some naive housewife out of a 50s sitcom, ‘Why … it’s snow!'”
Emma snarfs in deep, long sniffs, White stuff gives off special whiffs, Did a raccoon pass by here? Did a rabbit scratch his ear? Licking, tasting flakes of snow. Tries to bite it, where'd it go? Funny flakes of wetness fall, On her head and over all. Emma gives her coat a shake, Leaving just one lonely flake, Sitting on her pointy nose, Then into the house she goes.
I wonder if there’s a restaurant up there. They dropped some food here on the floor, but maybe there’s fresher stuff up top.
Ah … this is more like it. A real borgasschmord of meaty worms and grains. Looks like a zinnia dropped some seeds here, and a bunch of other weedy things left promises of more weeds in the spring. I could help Anneli out by eating the weed seeds. But it might be easier to go dine at The Suet Block today.
Uh-oh! Looks like Mr. Darling Starling is already tucking in.
“Hey, Star! Don’t you know Anneli doesn’t want you here?”
“And why might that be, you little piece of Junc-o?”
“Well … she says you gobble too much food and don’t share, and anyway, she doesn’t like feeding baby killers. You know you’re a nest robber.”
“Harrumpf! Watch it, Twirp, or I’ll peck your eye out. And anyway, you’re not social distancing.”
“OMG! OMG!” said Harry, the hairy woodpecker. “I’d like to go down there, but – sheesh! That starling is star-k raving mad! … and-and-and he’s m-m-mean too.”
“I’m being good, Mr. Starling. See? I’ll keep my distance. I’ll just sit here and watch until you’re done.”
“Well, Twirp, you should have brought a chair. I’m gonna be a while.”
“Heh, heh, heh. Here comes Anneli. Look at that coward fly. He’s a “star” at running away. Coward! Heh-heh-heh. Wish Anneli would sit out here in the rain with us … sigh….”
You’ve seen pictures of my woodshed before, but take a closer look at the wood. It is dotted with birds, most of them Oregon juncos and pine siskins all trying to find shelter and food to keep enough warmth in their little bodies to survive until the fury of the storm has passed.
The rain lashed out in torrents and blew into all shelters sideways. The feeder is blurry, in constant motion, blown by the howling wind. The Captain and I made up a hanging cage for yet another suet block and moved two birdfeeders farther into the woodshed under cover. As we worked in that screaming wind we noticed more than one tiny bedraggled siskin huddling under pieces of firewood, feathers soaked, desperate to get out of the piercing wind that slapped icy water onto their wee little bodies. I could have cried. But we did what we could and had to let “good ole Mother Nature” do what she does best – kill off the weak. Survival of the fittest is hard to watch sometimes.
I took two quick videos of the storm from the deck of our house. In the onslaught of the wind and rain, I kept pressing the wrong button to stop the video and as I lowered the camera I caught an ugly picture of my slippers and an empty flowerpot. Not Academy Award film quality, but you’ll get an idea of the force of the storm. What you won’t see are some of the gusts that were way more violent than what I captured here.
If you turn on the sound, you’ll hear only the music of nature.
Today the birdfeeders are empty again. I’m refilling them a lot but if it will help some birds survive, I will keep on filling them as often as needed.
These little birds make me happy all year, so I want to do what I can to help them out when they need it.
No poem today. I’m too unhappy about watching them suffering yesterday.
A new birdfeeder presented unexpected challenges for some birds. The seeds were visible, but access to them was different from the way it was done in the old feeders. All the outlets for the seeds are near the bottom of this new feeder.
Very simple for most of the birds. The sparrow has it figured out. “Come on down,” he calls, but the towhee, on the top right, is still puzzled.
“Nice seeds, but how in the heck do you get at them?”
“Whatcha doin’ up there, Rufus?” the Oregon junco called.
“ARRRGGHH! These are the darndest things. I can see them. Why can’t I get at them?”
“You just stick your head in the red dish … look … like this!”
“I just don’t get it. I’m looking right at the seeds, and I can’t get them.”
Honestly, I don’t know what else to say to him. What a dimwit.
“I guess you could always have some suet, Rufus.”
Brand new feeder, brand new seeds,
Specially made to suit their needs.
High-tech model, high-tech spout
Way too hard to figure out.
Rufus hammers, Rufus picks,
He’s exhausted all his tricks.
Junco coaxes, junco shows,
Why is it that junco knows,
How to get them, how to eat?
Rufus must admit defeat.
He can’t get it, he can’t do it,
Junco points up at the suet.
Don’t go hungry, don’t despair,
Eat that suet over there.
Feeling stupid, feeling dumb,
What a birdbrain I’ve become.
Rufus gorges, Rufus gobbles,
Now so fat, his flying wobbles.
wordsfromanneli 