Three little birds Pitch by my doorstep Singing sweet songs Of melodies pure and true Saying, "This is my message to you." Singing: "Don't worry about a thing Cause every little thing is gonna be alright." --Bob Marley
When I taught American Literature at Baton Rouge High, I always looked forward to the Transcendentalists. Ralph Waldo Emerson's lofty but spot-on musings about isolation and self-reliance inspired me, but Thoreau's distilled observations about the natural world struck a chord in me like nothing else I taught. Had I been less of a traditionalist and more open to new ideas, I'm sure I would have also loved teaching the poems of Mary Oliver as well as those of Wendell Berry. But they weren't in the textbook and I had never studied them in college, so I was ignorant of how much their appreciation of nature could resonate with me.
My students were polite (meaning I never SAW their eye rolls) as I waxed eloquent about Thoreau, describing how he watched the battle of the ants at his woodpile and detailing how the red ants and the black ants reminded him of Patroclus coming late to the Trojan War. His discussion of loons, however, and his evoking their haunting call inspired in me a love of that particular bird. It was not until I retired and visited New Hampshire and Vermont that I finally heard them in the wild. I don't have a pond to play checkers with the loons, watching them dive and guessing where they will surface. Heck, I don't even have any loons. But I do have 2.4 acres in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and I do have a front porch that offers me my own particular glimpse into the world of nature. I have become, without really aspiring to be, the Bird Woman of Ridgehaven.
The song sparrow was the first bird I came to love when we bought this house. I delighted (mostly) in his early morning trilling, which I had never heard before. To this day, he (or one of his progeny) sits on top of the blue bird box, singing his heart out ALL day long. I also have come to love the noisy Carolina wren (even though she tries to build a nest every year in the garage) as well as the Carolina chickadee, who scolds regularly if I haven't put food out or if I get too close to the nest box I provided this year, now hanging on the porch. The beautiful pairs of Eastern Towhees make me smile with their "drink your tea" calls, and they are some of my favorites. I look forward to the arrival of the rose breasted grosbeaks as they pass through in the spring, and the cardinals are always a joy. I love watching the red bellied woodpecker endeavor to get at the food in my caged feeder with his long beak. The irritating blue jays get greedy if I put out food they can get to, but I like them nevertheless. I can't forget the hummingbirds although they are not yet numerous at the feeders, probably because there are plenty of flowers blooming at the moment. However, I derive great pleasure from thwarting the pesky (and dangerous to song birds) European starling by not putting out any food he likes (and sometimes with my BB gun). The starlings have replaced you-know-who as my favorite target.
But... I have become obsessed with bluebirds.
To make a very long story short, I have been trying to attract bluebirds to the property since we moved here. And I've been successful. But last year, after spending a LOT of time looking at posts from various bluebird Facebook sites, I decided to make a bluebird trail. Now I have a total of five nest boxes scattered around the property, and FINALLY again this year a pair decided to nest not only in several of the more distant boxes, but also the one in the front yard. The opportunity to delve into the daily habits of this couple has given me more pleasure than just about anything I do. I laugh and tell people that I probably have spent $100 on every egg that has hatched in the past three years. I can only pray that most of them made it to adulthood. I have bought nesting boxes, roosting boxes (don't confuse the two), predator baffles, water containers (heated and unheated) and FOOD out the wazoo. I buy butter bark, butter bark bits, dried mealworms, live mealworms, and suet. I have even begun to make my own suet, which also requires peanut butter and non-medicated chick starter food. (Of course ALL the birds love many of these delectable items, and when it's not time for baby birds to be hatching, I also feed them a variety of tasty tidbits. Upon closer examination, I guess I love most birds.) Even the raucous crows that live in the woods serve their purpose. We had been told by a neighbor that she thought a fox was living under her back porch. I have been on the lookout, and a couple of days ago when the crows were raising a ruckus, I followed the noise and saw them harassing the poor, bedraggled fox. She was doing a good job of ignoring them, but a few days later I saw her again because I looked where the crows were congregating. I guess they are at least good alarm systems, if nothing else. I think of my mother often when I feed the birds, because she loved them too. This connection to My Sweet Gladys probably is one of the reasons I find this activity so enjoyable.
I have done a poor job of getting to the point, but here it is:
When I sit on the porch and watch the birds, which I sometimes do for hours at a time, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for being able to live in such a beautiful setting. Since the middle of March, when the world as we knew it shut down, I have been in self-imposed isolation. My social circle has shrunk to four people whom I see on a regular basis. I know that this kind of isolation has bothered others who are more socially interactive than I am, but I have actually enjoyed it. I do not miss substitute teaching (although the extra money was nice), and I have fallen into a rhythm to my days. I sleep until mid-morning, do a few chores as needed, walk the dog, prepare meals on my night to cook, read read read read read (I have neglected that in recent years), and watch TV in the evenings. My days are calm, unhurried, and totally lacking in stress. I recognize that many Americans are not nearly as fortunate as I am. There is no point in going into the political ramifications of all that we are enduring as a nation, but I have found that if I withdraw from the endless repetition of cable news shows and Facebook posts, I am much more at peace. I WISH I could say that I have come to new insights about myself or the world I live in as a result of my communing with nature, but I haven't quite arrived at Bob Marley's "every little thing is gonna be alright" because I fear we are not nearly out of the woods with this pandemic. But on the porch, serenity displaces fear--at least for a while.
So I will continue to watch for the bluebird fledglings to come to the feeder, to chase away the starlings, to laugh at the woodpeckers, to hope for another glimpse of the fox, and to thank God for Ridgehaven.
But... I have become obsessed with bluebirds.
To make a very long story short, I have been trying to attract bluebirds to the property since we moved here. And I've been successful. But last year, after spending a LOT of time looking at posts from various bluebird Facebook sites, I decided to make a bluebird trail. Now I have a total of five nest boxes scattered around the property, and FINALLY again this year a pair decided to nest not only in several of the more distant boxes, but also the one in the front yard. The opportunity to delve into the daily habits of this couple has given me more pleasure than just about anything I do. I laugh and tell people that I probably have spent $100 on every egg that has hatched in the past three years. I can only pray that most of them made it to adulthood. I have bought nesting boxes, roosting boxes (don't confuse the two), predator baffles, water containers (heated and unheated) and FOOD out the wazoo. I buy butter bark, butter bark bits, dried mealworms, live mealworms, and suet. I have even begun to make my own suet, which also requires peanut butter and non-medicated chick starter food. (Of course ALL the birds love many of these delectable items, and when it's not time for baby birds to be hatching, I also feed them a variety of tasty tidbits. Upon closer examination, I guess I love most birds.) Even the raucous crows that live in the woods serve their purpose. We had been told by a neighbor that she thought a fox was living under her back porch. I have been on the lookout, and a couple of days ago when the crows were raising a ruckus, I followed the noise and saw them harassing the poor, bedraggled fox. She was doing a good job of ignoring them, but a few days later I saw her again because I looked where the crows were congregating. I guess they are at least good alarm systems, if nothing else. I think of my mother often when I feed the birds, because she loved them too. This connection to My Sweet Gladys probably is one of the reasons I find this activity so enjoyable.
I have done a poor job of getting to the point, but here it is:
When I sit on the porch and watch the birds, which I sometimes do for hours at a time, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for being able to live in such a beautiful setting. Since the middle of March, when the world as we knew it shut down, I have been in self-imposed isolation. My social circle has shrunk to four people whom I see on a regular basis. I know that this kind of isolation has bothered others who are more socially interactive than I am, but I have actually enjoyed it. I do not miss substitute teaching (although the extra money was nice), and I have fallen into a rhythm to my days. I sleep until mid-morning, do a few chores as needed, walk the dog, prepare meals on my night to cook, read read read read read (I have neglected that in recent years), and watch TV in the evenings. My days are calm, unhurried, and totally lacking in stress. I recognize that many Americans are not nearly as fortunate as I am. There is no point in going into the political ramifications of all that we are enduring as a nation, but I have found that if I withdraw from the endless repetition of cable news shows and Facebook posts, I am much more at peace. I WISH I could say that I have come to new insights about myself or the world I live in as a result of my communing with nature, but I haven't quite arrived at Bob Marley's "every little thing is gonna be alright" because I fear we are not nearly out of the woods with this pandemic. But on the porch, serenity displaces fear--at least for a while.
So I will continue to watch for the bluebird fledglings to come to the feeder, to chase away the starlings, to laugh at the woodpeckers, to hope for another glimpse of the fox, and to thank God for Ridgehaven.
