Tall, western-facing windows at one end of our bedroom look toward the hill and woods of the back portion of our small half-acre yard. The nearer view, just past the windows, is of our butterfly garden, populated by plants chosen specifically to attract butterflies all summer and birds year round.
Two comfy rocking chairs beside those windows cradle our still-sleepy bodies as Randal and I sip fresh coffee in the mornings and plan our day. It’s hard to give up the much-preferred, just-after-daylight observations on the patio, but late October mornings are too cool now for outdoor comfort.
Numerous bird enticements beckon the feathered crowd we wish to view: sock feeders stocked with thistle seed for the goldfinches and house finches; tube feeders filled with black oil sunflower seeds for the chickadees and titmice; traditional feeders containing peanuts and safflower seeds for whoever is hungry; platform feeders for any and all—including the squirrels. There’s also a small terracotta saucer of black oil sunflowers seeds meant for the cardinals, unaccountably shy in this crowd. On the ground we scatter cracked corn for the mourning doves.
Of course, none of the birds understands our intended meal designations; the food is eaten greedily, and as desired, by whoever arrives earliest, meaning we sometimes see mourning doves awkwardly swinging to and fro on the platform feeders, too. I have not yet made out what it is they eat there with such relish.
After dining, the doves enjoy a morning footbath. A 14-inch terracotta saucer installed as a water dish for squirrels, has been appropriated by the doves. Looking quite pompous in their charming feathered waistcoats, they wade solemnly and purposefully through the shallow dish. The strutting birds neither drink nor bathe in the water; it’s just for washing dust from their feet, it seems. Squirrels continue to drink afterwards with enthusiasm, having no objection apparently to the foot-flavored elixir.
Nearby a lone bluebird keeps watch, occasionally routing the occasional feathered ruffian whose looks he distrusts. The bluebird house Randal built will not be used during the long cold months to come. However, Papa Bluebird is not taking any chances that squatters might invade. Mama Bluebird likes this house and we all know that if Mama ain’t happy . . . His vigilance as the cold season approaches reminds us that, yes, spring really does always come again.
Copyright 2008 by Edith Flowers Kilgo. All rights reserved. May be used only with prior permission and attribution.
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