Last summer we found a cheap thistle feeder at the supermarket and hung it outside our living room windows. It attracted crowds of goldfinches. In fact, there was no room at the inn on most days, with birds hanging on the feeder’s suspension hook waiting a turn at one of the available perches and others flying at perch occupants in hopes they would abandon the perch so that the aggressor might take their place.  We enjoyed the resulting show so much that we bought two new seed feeders and a suet feeder to hang in place of the thistle feeder when the goldfinches migrated south for the winter.
The thistle feeder was hardly the first bird feeder we’ve had, but those were hung amid the pine branches on trees near the house. I’ve always loved goldfinches, and had only previously seen them lining the chain-link fence surrounding our pastures on early morning weekend walks to fetch our newspapers from their receptacles hung on the post of our mail box. Their song is precious, especially as they gleam in an early morning sun. First warned of my presence by my crunching of driveway gravel, they would watch me approach only to fly away as soon as I crossed some predetermined avian Maginot line. And so I hung the thistle feeder on the eave overhanging our living room deck in hopes of seeing them up close, a privilege previously denied to me.
Winter brought an array of interesting birds. A large pileated woodpecker frequented the suet feeder along with flickers, a downy woodpecker, and a hairy woodpecker. Chickadees, nuthatches, juncos, steller’s jays, and other small birds fed regularly at the seed feeders. These birds were of interest because of their variety, not their color. They were mostly black, brown, white and gray, although several possessed surprising patches of red or rose. But their most striking features lay in the intricate overall design of their feathers.
The last few weeks have proven to provide the most interesting bird watching. The hairy woodpeckers have found a feeder hung outside our kitchen window, one they can hang upside down upon and reach up to pick seeds from the feeding holes. They are beautiful birds and fun to watch. The feeder is next to the window, so they are only a foot away when we watch and they seem to sense that we cannot get at them through the glass. A sudden movement will startle them away, but if we move slowly and deliberately we can stand and watch them feed for as long as they’ve a mind to do so. Their acrobatics are both clownish and graceful.
If you had asked me last year what sorts of birds lived on the Farm, I would have mentioned robins, sparrows, steller’s jays, woodpeckers, starlings, juncos, nuthatches, chickadees, quail, goldfinches, the occasional owl, and others I have seen walking our lanes and roads. One long ago summer, we enjoyed the sight of a male pheasant strutting boldly up and down our lane, but we could never discover his nesting place. And all the while I knew there were other, shyer birds living here with us, because I could hear calls that fit none of those named above. Our new feeders have drawn these recluses to our windows this spring.
The spring’s first surprise was an evening grosbeak. I have been eagerly awaiting the return of the goldfinches since they are lively and fun, and a week or so ago I caught just a glimpse of something resembling a goldfinch, but much larger. A visit to Merlin, the Cornell University iPhone bird application, suggested it might be an evening grosbeak. With time, I was able to be certain of my identification as it or its clone returned to the feeders on several occasions. And then, a few days later, I was startled to see that the bird had become orange instead of yellow, and another visit to Merlin revealed I had seen its cousin, a black-headed grosbeak. Who knew there was so much color hiding in our underbrush and thickets?
This spring has also brought us white and golden crowned sparrows, lively birds which seem to be passing through the Farm to a more northern summer home. We saw them for three or four weeks, but now they seem to have vanished. I still watch for them and I may yet see a straggler or two on their northern migration.
Before this last year, I would not have considered myself a bird watcher. But there is something fascinating in watching a wild bird so close up, especially when one can do so from the comfort of a couch or favorite armchair. There is little cost to us beyond that of the seed and suet and the perpetual tasks of restocking the feeders and cleaning up our deck anew. Our Orkin man is appalled at the fallen seed and husks, insisting that it will attract varmints we don’t want. I am certain he is right, for I have seen squirrels foraging for seed on the deck, and, if they are present, other small animals are likely there during evening hours. But it seems a small price to pay to see all of this color and motion so close up.
It took awhile for the shyer birds to begin frequenting our feeders. The first were the steller’s jays, often seen about the Farm over the years but never up close. They are shy of people, and prefer to roost up high in a tree and hurl insults as you pass beneath.  Peanuts proved their downfall, and once one of the more intrepid among them discovered peanuts in the shell, the rest were not far behind. And with the jays came other birds who don’t normally frequent the environs of our house.
I like to think that we have provided a peaceful place for them to approach so near, a place only contaminated (from a bird’s vantage point) by Marco, our black cat, who periodically makes his appearance on our deck to see if there is anything but seeds to dine upon. He has proven successful a time or two at finding a more interesting meal (from a cat’s vantage point), but he is so distinctive against the decking that his appearance usually clears the decks of anything avian. The jays often squawk at him from the safety of nearby tree limbs, and he appears to know better than to attempt a foray in their direction, He greets their insults with studied disdain, and then saunters off in another direction as if to imply that their insults are nothing more than an irritation.
In Marco’s defense, he has been successful in keeping the prospective varmint population to a minimum – a fact to which we can testify given the variety of guts, heads, and other miscellaneous offerings he’s left on our front and side door mats as offerings.
And so it is that this spring has been far more colorful than those of the past. For then we had only the flowers to brighten our days – the forsythia, azaleas, roses, crocuses, quince, snowdrops, tulips, daffodils, heathers, and other varieties known only to Helen but not to me. To this spring has been added an avian mixture of oranges, yellows, grays, roses, browns (solid, speckled, striped, and mottled in every imaginable design), blacks and fawn.
I await only the insects, butterflies, and bees to make the Farm complete.
Hi Gavin,
I’m forwarding this the Shirley Hudson – she is a noted bird expert!