We have been feeding the birds for the first time, this past year. For twenty years on Goose Creek, we chose not to feed the raccoons or to give the black bears an object of disapproval that nothing more substantial than sunflower seeds was contained in the feeder-wreckage they left behind.
A year ago, my mother (possibly self serving?) insisted I put a bird feeder on the window next to my computer desk. Coincidentally, she can see it from the guest bedroom where she stays when she visits. I ordered a suction-cup-mounted feeder from Wild Birds Unlimited. (See photos)
That was at least thirty pounds of sunflower seeds ago. It is the feeder's one-year anniversary. And the birds have come at the rate of 20 a minute at times. How can they expect me to get any work done?
I confess, I do often put my digital pen down, and just wonder what the life of a titmouse or a chickadee could be like; what they know; what they think; how they vote.
I'm not entirely convinced that this supplemental feeding of native birds by the pound is the right thing to do. And it is not an entirely satisfactory arrangement. And so later, I'll offer full disclosure on why I will stop feeding the birds soon, the when depending on seeing my first breeding-plummage male goldfinch on the feeder.
TUFTED TITMICE
The usual suspects at the feeder consist chiefly of tufted titmice (the ones with the PeterPeterPeter call.) They line up on the banister of the porch railing just outside the window and, in their more cooperative moods, take turns, shifting one position closer in line towards takeoff, like a queue of passenger jets on the tarmac.
While I have been able to tell them apart by their behavior, I regret none of them yet have the names of familiar visitors. But among them, I am able to distinguish 1) the bold; and 2) the timid.
The former flies directly onto the nearest seed tray, no matter what motion or shapes appear through the glass. Type 1 is in no particular hurry to leave after hefting a sunflower seed. It hops twice along the lip, gives a head-twist assessment of the situation, and flies off confidently.
Type 2 has listened to Debbie Downer. It will not take off at the end of the taxi-way. Other birds jump in line. When hunger overcomes trepidation, it often takes two or more approaches to actually land on the feeder; and then, this is often a pathetic hanging by the feet so that the hungry bird dangles awkwardly almost out of sight below the feeder.
It will, eventually, muster the will to hop into the tray, where it will immediately grab a seed and fly in a panic, scarred by this horrific experience.
I did not know how to tell males from females, but find it is more difficult than I'd thought. There are some subtle differences in the black forehead patch that I have not yet been able to discern.
What Is the Difference Between Female & Male Tufted Titmouse Birds? | Animals.mom.com
I had thought of titmice as tiny little birds, until the chickadees showed up. Now they are tiny!
CHICKADEES
Under the best of circumstances, I cannot figure out how the black head, white face stripe and black bib does anything but paint a target on this little bird. The coloring is so bold (in shades of gray) that instead, it might advertise some other aversive aspect of this bird to potential predators. Maybe they taste bad or cause indigestion when consumed. I'll never know. Like most males, being seen by females is more important than not being seen by predators—the high cost of getting laid. (Eggs, that is.)
Last week, a male cardinal was on Runway One with a chickadee at the gate, the two birds maybe a foot apart--a Volkswagen Beetle next to a red school bus. Little is a relative term.
GOLD FINCHES
I had wondered until mid-March if we would have these birds at the feeder. I planted sunflowers in the garden last year (right out of the birdseed bag, matter of fact) and the fall goldfinches ate the heck out of them. Why would they not come for the same seeds at the feeder?
Eventually, they have come, all drab and gray-green female looking birds, maybe a smidge larger than the chickadees, though less robust. But now, these ragged, unkempt birds are showing up. They're mangey-looking, with patches of pale yellow appearing in the odd place here and there, like a skin condition.
Then I realized that they are molting the winter plumage, and the new wardrobe does not arrive all at once. I have yet to see a summer-yellow male. But I am expecting.
I have gained a new admiration for these birds as seed specialists. They land on the platform, and they just hang out until they are ready to leave. They will sort with some discretion among the seeds, and are not not afraid to toss out those that just don't have the right heft to be worth shelling. They make dextrous use of their beak and tongue to extract the seed and reject the husk. And they eat their fill, all done in a single extended visit, while the traffic on the tarmac backs up.
TREE SWALLOWS
These are obviously not seed eaters, which you can tell by their beak shape and their body design. These are feeders of insects-on-the-wing, and a bird who flies giant spirals because it can, and as a form of both play and prowess. As much as I regret the lack of bluebirds in the boxes, I confess I am thrilled to have the months-long air show from the porch rockers, swirling bird silhouettes against the sky and distant mountains.
Honestly, I did not think what was left of the ten tree houses the former owners left here in summer of 2020 would hold together for another generation of birds. But the houses, such as they are, are almost all occupied now, and so far, no apartment association complaints.
The bluebirds, however, have protested loudly over being evicted, as first-come house holders. They just can't seal the deal with the relentless pestering of the much more agile and fast flying darts that torment until they get their way. There goes the neighborhood.
I wonder if I could interest a boy scout pack in a project to make me ten new cedar bird houses for next summer. Hmmm.
AND THEN THERE WAS THE CAT
So this is the reason why I will not be adding more seed to the feeder once the male goldfinches show me their stunning mating colors up close and personal. More often than not, Mosey the cat is bird-watching while I type, her tail often twitching like a feather-duster over my computer mouse.
She is convinced that there must be a secret button to push, a hidden door that will give her access to the all-you-can-eat buffet just the other side of the glass. Maybe if she pulls the curtains just so or lies hidden in ambush while sitting on my keyboard? I can't live with the distraction. And it's time the birds find their natural food, in good supply over summer.
THE END
It was bright mid-afternoon when I realized I'd rambled on too many bird-words here, when there was an odd knock on the glass from behind the pulled shade that blocks the sun as well as the cat's and my view of the feeder. This was not seed-feeding noise but something else I had not heard before.
I gently lifted the blind to find an impatient chickadee pecking on the glass.
The feeder was empty.
Such an entertaining, informative article! Tx, Fred!
I come from generations of bird watchers here in northern Pennsylvania. My grandfather, a country newspaperman for much of the 20th Century (and some of the 19th) wrote often of his backyard birds. in his weekly column. "My birds gave me the cold shoulder for four straight mornings last week. I had begun to wonder, and then one morning came a male Cardinal. The brilliant bird took his time for a hearty breakfast of sunflower seeds. The next morning there was one Bluejay, and for a few seconds a Chickadee visited the feeder, just outside the window where I have my own breakfast. Since then the usual variety has come to breakfast and all are very welcome regardless of the brilliance or somber appearance of their attire."