Heart of winter

By Conrad Beaubien

One of the pluses of having a small house is that one can stand in the middle of it and take in views of every direction; one can even stretch arms and touch opposite outer walls simultaneously. In truth you would need extended arms to make that happen, but since I’m encouraged to set some kind of goal for morning exercises, maybe fictional long arms will do for now; that is once I get stiffened elbows to come onboard.

A wraparound view allows for the daily pleasure of witnessing the goings on of the bird world, a colourful feathered circus that congregates at various times in all sorts of configurations at the bird feeders. Like so many other folks feeding the birds, especially through winter, the interaction is good for the soul; in fact I see it as an offering, a dessert of sensibilities in all manner of speaking. I have to declare a bias here because I have a tough time holding off on desserts of any kind, especially ones fait maison. The sweetness and delicacies of the daily hubbub of feathered friends is addictive.

Enjoying hot porridge at the kitchen table in the morning becomes a heightened moment with the liveliness out of north and west facing windows as platoons of cardinals, male and female, descend onto the feeders once the carload of juncos have had a feed. Or for example, loading the woodstove by the south window takes a while as I see how the purple and yellow finches seem to have organized their own schedule for an early feed; taking a bath by the south window that looks onto an ancient apple tree can take forever, letting the water get cold as I consider the posture of twelve doves as they squat at various levels of branches somewhat like clumps of sourdough weighing on the verandas of a Florida condo.

To note the daily intricacies of the bird world is enriching. As I write this I glance to a south facing window as chickadees and sparrows negotiate with blue jays for a turn at the grain, meanwhile a red headed woodpecker is hammering on a sumac tree and over on my right a nuthatch runs down a tree. I’m told that the latter species are the only ones capable of descending a tree head first, which I imagine can be tricky and takes practice; somewhat like the special skills of the hummingbird of being able to fly backwards. See what I mean about the circus of performers? I’m sure if I observe long enough there’s gotta be some jugglers in the sphere of the birds. Maybe crows? Now where was I?

Remarkably, as I take in the beauty I observe that there are no occasions when birds can relax as they eat, no serene moment. The energy spent being forever on the lookout for the enemy is amazing. They will take a bite and quickly check around, ratchet their necks as they look up, down and around before taking the next morsel. A large portion of their vigour is consumed by being on alert at each instant. The cardinals take turns being on guard while their mates eat and then roles are reversed; blue jays and robins are renowned for calling out warnings to all that a threat is near— feral cat under the brush, a Cooper’s hawk lurking near?

There is a definite hierarchy within all species, and the immediate observation of the birds—of which there are over ten thousand species globally—is more than just entertainment. It is an ongoing reminder of the interdependence of all species of nature of which humankind is but one member.