A feeling of delight fills me as I walk into a yard that’s almost snowless. I carry a red plastic Folgers coffee container filled with birdseed. Time to give my birds their morning meal. This will be one of their last feeding days. With the changing of the seasons, I’ve let my bird food supply dwindle, and soon my local feathered friends will have to go it alone.
Spring is here.
It’s a far cry from last November when frigid winds blew and the resident chickadees began harassing me for hand-outs. I filled a small suet cage on the deck and scattered sunflower seeds on the ground between the apple tree and the driveway.
As winter passed, the snowdrifts grew into glaciers, forcing me to climb higher and higher onto the snow banks to throw out food. Chickadees, nuthatches and pine grosbeaks scrambled around, filling their gullets with seed and the air with birdsong. The birds and I got along famously throughout the winter.
However, before leaving for vacation, I’d decided it was a good time to show some tough love and wean them off their dependency. While I was gone, they could darn well adapt back to their natural feeding world. I saw no sense in starting again when we returned in May. After all, wouldn’t winter be gone?
Wrong. Returning from vacation I stepped right back into frigid and snowy weather. Not feeding my birds seemed cruel. So I slogged out through snow drifts and cold once again, three times a day, fed my feathered friends.
And boy were they happy. Wings flapped. Chirps echoed. Little clawed feet clung to the suet feeders. My yard was a bird-Disneyworld, and that doesn’t begin to describe the red squirrel action. Slowly, spring arrived.
A heavy rain fell last night and finally did a number on the snow. This morning I don’t need boots to reach the feeding grounds. I notice actual gravel (not slush) underfoot and rejoice. Time for more summery projects…filling the deck with geraniums… planting zucchini…sitting on the dock. Since my birdseed supply is almost gone, I figure the little creatures have a few more days, and they will truly be on their own.
Until next autumn.
Added Note: The day after I wrote this, our neighbors called with the message that a large, hungry bear had been visiting their deck, showing no fear. Without a moment’s hesitation, I took down the suet feeder. Although the woodpeckers and nuthatches appeared frustrated, I figure my decision is a wise one.
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