It doesn’t take long to notice the different eating habits of birds if you have feeders in your back yard.
Starlings, the bullies of the bird world, take what they want, when they want it. When old enough to take wing, the baby starlings imitate their parents, fluttering to a feeder, nipping at seeds and suet and displaying terrible table manners, often dropping as many seeds as they consume.
All this is fine for Red Tail, the squirrel that uses our back yard in Park Forest as his personal three-star restaurant. The rodent has been able to overcome the cones and baffles placed around the feeder poles. And with the influx of winged creatures, its attempts to chimb up a pole to get a snack has lessened. It just consumes those leftovers on the ground. Red Tail is a frequent visitor and has been with us for three year now. In terms of squirrel years, it is nearing retirement but shows no signs of slowing down when it comes to finding something to eat.
While most birds peck at food right side up, the nuthatch disdains proper manners. These smaller birds eat upside down or sideways. Woodpeckers, on the other hand, have better avian etiquette, using their long bills to good advantage. Your average woodpecker is not a picky seed picker and seems to consume more in less time. It is a habit we once tried to break with our children with only modest success.
A returning visitor to our feeder is a woodpecker with a bright red cap. I say it must be a “red headed woodpecker,” but am told by Madame it is a “red bellied woodpecker” because of a spot of red on its chest. I say I see it not at which time my words are met by “the stare of death” from her, which ends all discussion.
As usual, hummingbirds have returned. These little creatures are among nature’s hardiest, making annual summer-to-winter pilgrimages of more than 3,000 miles each way. Their diet consists of insects and sweet nectar, some of it from our feeder.
In a kind of avian symmetry, those bright orange-bodied orioles continue to nibble at the oranges in the feeder by our back window. They left us for most of a month while nesting but have returned to feed and flit like brilliantly clad fashion models. But as is the case with some preening fashionistas they can display some bad manners.
One morning, three orioles swooped in for breakfast, and while one ate its fill, a buddy, in all respects a wingman, not only chased away the third bird but followed it trying to keep it away with both darting and diving, it was as if they were imitating World War I airplanes in a silent movie. Twice more the outcast oriole returned, and twice more was driven off. “And stay away,” may have been the bird-language warning the last time.
The vividly red cardinals have been here since early spring and are always welcome at the feeder. The other day a male cardinal came calling, and I assumed it was a fan of the Ohio State Buckeyes because its fiery red plumage and grey body seemed to mirror the school colors.
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Those blood-red cardinals and sunset-tinted orioles are winged promises of summer, a season of sun soon to be announced by those buttery blobs of yellow, the goldfinch, whose joyful color is a promise of hope, making all things beautiful.
Personal Note
Someday soon we will write some personal notes to those who responded after hearing about the fire that engulfed our son’s house last month. When we last met on these pages two weeks ago the stench of smoke was in our nostrils and a sense of almost total disaster seemed to overpower us.
Then, everything seemed lost. Hundreds of books were ashes. All those boxes crammed with family photos were water-logged and smeared with the dingy grime of damp soot. Clothes were incinerated. Electronic devices from televisions to a smoke detector in the hall were masses of melted goo. Personal possessions from souvenirs of trips taken to family histories were destroyed.
But most important, our son Alan Shnay, his wife Elisabeth Brecher and two dogs, Aubrey and Bella, and their friend, who stays with them, were safe. For those who asked, Alan’s cello, the one he uses when he performs with a couple of suburban symphonies, needs some repairs but is still playable.
I’ve often thought the three fastest forms of communication are television, telephone and tell someone in Park Forest. Help came quickly. Strangers willingly became part of an extended family unit and today they have a place to stay in a nearby community until their home is rebuilt.
Our deepest thanks.