Margotlog: Bird Bath Episodes (Winter and Summer)
Ok, I've tried everything aside from moving back to South Carolina where I grew up, and where, LET ME REMIND YOU WARM-HEARTED RESIDENTS, there was SNOW during one of my holiday visits to my parents, years ago. YES SNOW! With all the city's bridges, glazed to ice, getting to the airport was strictly for seasoned S.C. drivers. I bit my tongue and clenched my fists as the taxi-driver, with nonchalance, kept looking over his shoulder to deliver yet another bon mot.
Now over the last few frigid Saint Paul weeks, the heated coil that has worked to keep bird bath water liquid for two years now has given up. No frilly waves as a strong wind soars over the back yard. No beaks dipping for a drink.
I do love to watch the birds--winter, summer, spring, fall. They are my soul mates, whether they know it or not. Every day I praise them silently, these brief and joyful reminders that some can fly, and not only in giant jets. I don't want to be Icarus and have my human-made wings melt as they approach the sun, but I love to watch birds congregate--over seed, grass, flowers, and yes, all year long over liquid water.
But in our frigid winters, this inevitably becomes a challenge, and not a cheap one either. The heaters I use cost nearly $70 each. This is more than I spent for any Christmas present except my husband's neon green "Warm Things" robe. Am I throwing around brand names? Can't help myself: this is the best robe either of us has ever worn. His neon green, mine forest green. His a woman's Extra Large because the guy robes weren's nearly as warm, and neon green because when I got my money ready to order a woman's extra large, all the somber colors were used up.
Lately also, due to construction noise in the neighborhood, my bird visitors have declined. Only in the twilight do the deep red male cardinals come to the feeders, and the tan-red females forage on the ground. Occasionally a sassy blue jay barges in, no fear except for a fast exit. And the rosy finches that bear up under the cold also come to the feeders only the twilight, when from my kitchen window they look like sparrows.
Off and on, I've considered in my frustration stomping around the neighborhood, yelling at front and back doors, "Your noise is bothering the birds." But this is Saint Paul. We don't dare get too "fresh" with our neighbors, though this past summer, I chastized my near neighbors for "adopting" a mostly outdoor cat who loved leaping into my yard and startling the far greater number and variety I so loved to feed. My neighbors are dandy people, cat people, like me, but not bird people.
I became truly rancorous and even bellicose because eventually they stopped feeding this feline wanderer, and the critter appeared less and less. I was grateful, very grateful, but would not want to go through that angry trauma again. So now, I try to keep my mouth shut and let Robert Frots's motto: "good fences make good neighbors" suffice.
Finally and totally out of my control, I spied a hawk way way up in the bare brances of a wide-flung elm.It kept leaning over and tearing at something it held in its claws. Even with my binoculars, I couldn't see what the victim was, but the bird itself was unmistakeably a Peregrine Falcon. Looking it up in the bird book, I read: "feeds entirely on other birds." Yes, our Audubon friends have helped restore the Peregrine Falcon. I will just have to curb my selfish desire to be in charge of every single winged beauty. Bird depredations on each other are completely out of my control
