Writer. Contributing Editor at The Discarded Image. Digital Content Strategist. Here's where I publicly explore the books I'm reading, the projects I'm working on, and other current interests. In a Cynical World, Birds Are My Happy Place
I was born a skeptic squinting up at cynicism. In the upside-down America of 2018, I’m a skeptic dangling over the chasm of cynicism, willing myself to hang on a little longer. But you know what makes me happy in that immediate, blank-out-everything-else, grin-with-pure-joy kind of way?
Birds.
Well, not just birds. Any non-human species visiting my little slice of paved-over suburbia is bound to get a gleeful “ooh, look!” out of me. The rabbit committee that meets every dawn and dusk outside the vegetable garden gate. The squirrel that, in this summer drought, has taken to straddling our little patio fountain like a drinking fountain, and darting off again when he’s had his fill. The chipmunk who lives under the back step, stepping out to slick back his ears with tongue-dampened paws and chirp plaintively for his lover. I treed a young raccoon one evening; she’s wasn’t aggressive, just curious and hungry. Happily, the monarchs have been frequent this year.
It’s like a never-ending episode of Wild Kingdom over here. And they’re all my friends.
But more than all the others, it’s the birds that delight and comfort me.
What is it about putting out a block of suet, a column of mixed seed, a globe of sugar water, and then sitting back to watch the avian pride parade, a riot of color and joy, swooping in, whooping it up, and leaving feathers in their wake?
Bird visitations are better than gifts. I’d rather catch a little buddy dipping into the blue basin of my bird bath than get $100 in the mail.
The goldfinches are among the most social species in my neighborhood. Sometimes just a single, radiant male drops by for a snack. But often it’s a throuple sharing a longer meal. They squeak up-turned questions at me as they pluck seeds from the coneflower heads. Did you know finches can be taught to speak? I hear that unless you’ve raised them by hand, they’re not likely to use your words, but I still respond with a high-low “hello” each time they make eye contact with me. Maybe someday we’ll get beyond a surface conversation.
I do commune with the chickadees, though. They’re quick to tap at the window and let me know if the feeder is running low. And they keep up a running commentary on everyone else’s behavior.
I hear the white-breasted nuthatches in the tree cover before I see them. Those staccato beeps clear traffic just long enough to snatch a seed from the feeder and dash back to their preferred seed-cracking branch.
The rose-breasted grosbeak doesn’t make a sound, just waits majestically for a turn at the suet.
Are ducks smart? The pair of Mallards that nested in my ornamental grasses near the alley weren’t, but with the neighborhood watch on the job, their brood made it safely out of the nest. And for a few weeks we all got to enjoy the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Mallard sharing a short sunset flight together every evening.
The Eastern bluebird box was a pipedream, since the post I put it on isn’t meadow-adjacent. But the wrens found it to their liking, which is fine by me since they make daily rent payments in virtuosic singing.
Sparrows come in flocks of three or five or nine—always an odd number. Do they even know what it means to be alone?
The cardinals come in pairs, except for a brief window in the late spring when they sometimes bring a reluctant junior, his crest awkwardly too big for his body like a teenager’s nose.
And time just stops if the ruby-throated hummingbird comes to rest long enough for me to make out the scarlet sequins on her collar.
The ratio of work to reward is ridiculously low when it comes to welcoming nature to the backyard.
I don’t have much control over global politics or the fires burning through my beloved Glacier National Park. I vote. Protest. Email my senators. The skeptic in me reminds me not to get my hopes up while I do my small part to effect change.
But then I go out to the patio and lose myself watching birds.
Featured Photo Credit: Brandon Withrow
