The train, passing by
a mile across the field, sounds as if it were driving right through the living
room: a nasty east wind has been blowing all day. It has been bending the tall
spruce towering over the highest poplar in the bush across the house, whipped
the horses’ tails between their legs when they ventured out to the unprotected
hill to the south, even tousled the feathers on the heads of the crows pecking
by the side of the road. It is a cold wind, too, an unpleasant change from the
gentle spring breeze that caressed our faces only a couple of days ago when we
had tea on the deck in the afternoon.
What can I say - it is
April, after all, known for its unpredictable weather changes. Still, is it
really necessary to have a November day more than a month after the spring
equinox? The sky, milky white and foreboding, suggests that the newest forecast
might well be true: more snow is expected as early as tonight, as much as ten
centimetres. This time, however, it will fall on bare ground and likely not stay
around so long. Sure, some small remnants of the mighty snow banks are still
left, ragged and dirty, along the north side of the tree lines or in a ditch
hardly touched by the sun’s rays, but as of today even our magnificent snowman
is a thing of the past, and soon the somewhat greener area of the lawn will be
the only indication that a giant was keeping watch here once. For a few warm
days it melted right before our eyes, hollows and bumps appearing where none
had been before, losing first one dead-tree arm, then the other. Then, only an
armful of snow left, the process almost came to a standstill yesterday when
temperatures didn’t rise above +4. This morning I could have held the remaining
snow in my two hands, and there is no more speculation as to who the winner of
the bet will be. It turns out that the seemingly overly optimistic estimate of
April 22nd was not that far out after all, and with names on every
day from the 25th to the 2nd of May it was a tight race
till the end.
The birds are not
concerned with weather forecasts: they are getting ready to raise families.
This morning at breakfast I watched the flurry of activity at the bird feeder.
Normally at this time of year it has been taken down already, but there is
still some ‘wild bird seed’ left, those tiny grains usually spurned in favour of
sunflower seeds by the chickadees and blue jays, and I am waiting for juncos,
redpolls, nuthatches, even the odd hairy or downy woodpecker to clean it up.
Yesterday a flash of bright yellow caught my eye: a solitary evening grosbeak,
such a rare guest these last few years, had come for a visit – what a beautiful
surprise!
This morning there was
a steady back-and-forth of the regulars at the feeder while the robins hopped
around on the lawn. Suddenly a drama on the roof of the feeder: the hairy
woodpecker, intent on splitting open a kernel, got very excited at the approach
of a starling and went after it with beak and claws. The starling was not to be
deterred, however, and stood its ground, advancing on the woodpecker with
spread wings, verbally attacking its adversary. Insulted,
maybe, the woodpecker left, and the victorious starling entered the bird
feeder.
The feed, however, was the last thing on his mind: he was checking the
site out for its nesting suitability, clinging to the ceiling for moments on
end. His mate flew in from a nearby poplar tree where she had been waiting for
him to create safe passage for her, and for a little while they conversed on
the roof of the feeder, he repeating the ceiling-and-wall testing procedure a couple
of times, their beautiful iridescent blue-green feathers speckled with tiny
white dots. I saw the male’s orange beak open and close, and sliding the window
open a crack I could hear his song. In the end, they must have decided against this
location after all – wisely, I must say, because I don’t plan to leave it there
much longer, and there are many old or dead poplars in the bush that must be
much more suitable for their purpose.
I watched another bird
couple, this one not interested at all in the feeder: two magpies stalked back
and forth on the lawn in serious conversation, heads nodding, one’s long tail feathers
raised, the other’s standing straight out. Just a little while ago, the
afternoon drawing to a close, I noticed movement close to the centre of the big
pine outside the kitchen window. Chickadees, robins and chipping sparrows
are darting in and out of there all the time, and I imagine that there are several
nests every year. This swaying of branches, however, was not caused by those
small birds; it was much too pronounced for one of them. It wasn’t long until I
had traced the movement to the two magpies, busy at work on a branch about two
metres above the ground, close to the trunk. They each had dragged a dry twig in there and
were busy positioning them to build the foundation for their nest.
I was less than
pleased: did I really want magpies to nest in that tree? So close to the house,
with all the racket that was going to ensue once their babies hedged and
started to fly? Magpies have a reputation, too, to eat eggs and fledglings of
song birds – maybe I should go out and shoo them away! I must say I was tempted
for those very reasons, but then I thought, what
right do I have to get involved? What makes me privileged to pass judgment
on these birds, when, to be truthful, I had to admire them for even attempting
to build in such a tight spot?
I watched them hop up to their chosen nest site,
branch by branch, like climbing a spiral staircase, their bulky nesting
material making it even more difficult to navigate the inner labyrinth of the
tree, and decided to let them be. The chickadees and nuthatches didn’t seem
concerned – there is so much room to breed around here – and maybe the presence
of the magpies will prevent the yellow-bellied sapsucker from boring holes in
the bark of the pine this year.
I will watch and learn more about the behaviour
of these smart birds with their beautiful plumage – and hopefully not at some point curse the
moment I didn’t interfere.
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| Promise |
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