I saw him at the feeder on Monday. “That’s a new kid,” I announced, but of course I didn’t get a picture because I wasn’t holding the camera. Just watching the birdies flutter about.
This morning, I heard the call. The wild call of the Carolina Wren. He has the loudest call of any bird of that size, which is smaller than a Robin, but bigger than a Finch.
You can’t miss the call. You can hear it through closed windows and doors. This time, I heard it in the living room … and the sound was coming from the backyard. I went back there, missed him, but while I was standing there with my camera in my hand, staring at the empty feeder, who should land but the aforementioned and previously heard, Carolina Wren.
As I was reading up on this little wren, there was a lot of commentary on how these migratory birds have largely stopped migrating. Partly, because of climate change and alterations to their environment, but even more because of …
People with feeders have dramatically changed the migration of birds. Whereas they used to fly to the tropics, many just fly down to like … Maryland or New Jersey … and now, many are not bothering to migrate at all.
I read an exchange between someone in South Carolina bemoaning her lack of Carolina Wrens and was answered by someone in Michigan who said, “Well, we just got a foot of snow and they are happily eating at my feeder on the porch!”
We feeder owners are supposed to report seeing birds showing up where they should not be … and especially if they seem to be suffering from an ailment.
As I stood at the French doors in the dining room, I watched both Cardinals — male and physical come and go. I didn’t even both reaching for the camera.
They play this game with me every morning and I didn’t feel like playing today.
They flew off and I got a short visit from one of the red-bellied ladderback woodpeckers. He waited for me, but my camera didn’t feel like focusing. He got annoyed and left. Who could blame him?
No problem. The little squirrel popped onto the railing. He went into the flat feeder and chugged a pound or two of seeds, then came back to the rail. Where he sat and looked at me. I tapped on the glass. He ignored me. I tapped harder. He ignored me harder.
Duke got disgusted with me and the squirrel and went out back to do some anti-squirrel barking. Meanwhile, after one more round in the flat feeder, the young squirrel rambled off into the trees. Slowly. I think he waved at us on his way to the giant trees.
With the squirrel gone, the birds came back. I took a few pictures. Then I went and drank coffee. The birds are wary of that big, furry, four-legged, bird!
Garry appears worried that the birds aren’t eating enough. I assured him that they appear fat and happy, so they are eating enough. You know you’re hooked when you’re worried your wild birds aren’t getting enough to eat.
Not to worry. We have about 40-pounds of high-quality birdseed and as they get fully into breeding, they’ll also get hungry. They will eat. They always eat.
I also saw a really huge hawk in the woods yesterday. It was so big, I wondered if it might be a young American Eagle. We’ve had them nest in our woods before, but usually, they like being by the river. But then again, we’re less than half a mile from the river and that’s not much for an eagle. Barely a flap of the wings, come to think about it.
I went out to drop off a package at FedEx and took a camera. Marilyn hasn’t been getting out much unless you count visiting the doctor and tests, so I feel an obligation to always have a camera with me.
It was coincidental but has a lot to do with fences and a general pointedness that’s part early spring in New England. Everything is poking up, but no leaves are out so everything is poky, pointy, and spiky.
Marilyn, having squared my pictures, has deemed this the right pictures du jour.
Garry bought me roses and they are still looking lovely on the table in the living room. While I was poking around, I found pictures of the last of my roses from this past October.
I was looking at them today as we were coming home from shopping. I realized that the rose bushes have gone into a full wrestling match in the garden. The barbed roses have wound themselves around the rhododendrons that have grown like crazy since I cut the roses back last year.
I sat there, staring at them, and seriously wondering how in the world to untangle the two bushes. These aren’t little bushes, either. Both are more than six feet high and at least that or more across. I can feel the pain of thorns already and I haven’t even picked up the pruning shears. It’s going to be pointy, poky, thorny, bloody springtime!
Not only spiky squares. Jagged, barbed, bristly, serrated, prickly, spiny, and pointy whatever, but these are flowers. This time.
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