For the birds
Lately, I've been spending a bit of time near my back windows, looking out to see the wildlife in my back yard. Now, I live in suburbia, in a development of arced streets full of circa-1961 houses (split levels of three different varieties on my street, with some center-hall colonials thrown in in the "newer" section of the development which dates from, oh, 1965 or something). Our lots are roughly 1/4 of an acre in size, and many of my immediate neighbors lack fences, leaving their yards together to form a sort of common green. There are lots of established trees in this neighborhood, built on what used to be a farm. In fact, on one of the perimeter streets, there are still a fair number of apple trees; I imagine, although I can't be certain, that those old apple trees might have been left from a small orchard back when this was really a working farm, before the bulldozers and variances came. But I have digressed mightily.
The point is that my backyard is a small one, with a wooden fence surrounding it that is high enough to deter our dogs from jumping out, but low enough to lean on if you want to talk to a neighbor. In the middle of it (almost exactly the middle, actually) is a pole on which we have two different bird feeders: one with a pectin base, full of dried fruits and nutmeats, and another that is currently full of safflower seeds, since the cheeky squirrels seem not to care for it nearly as much as other feed. Being greedy buggers, however, they will still go for the safflower seed, regardless of what the lady at the birdseed store says. We also have, much nearer the back door, a small screen feeder full of thistle seed, which is preferred by the many sorts of finches we've got here (purple and gold and house), as well as by the mourning doves and juncos. Some of the juncos will even land on the screen to feed, although allegedly, they prefer ground feeding.
This year, like last year, I'll be participating in the Great Backyard Bird Count, a joint project between the Cornell Ornithology Lab and the Audobon Society. I'll be printing out the handy-dandy guide to birds in my area and keeping an eye on what's out there now, so that when the time comes on the weekend of February 13th-15th, I'm ready to correctly i.d. and count the birds.
In a kismet sort of moment, one of my oldest, dearest friends sent me Wallace Stevens's poems, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird in an email today, one more reminder to look at the birds.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
by Wallace Stevens
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
Read the rest of the poem here.
The point is that my backyard is a small one, with a wooden fence surrounding it that is high enough to deter our dogs from jumping out, but low enough to lean on if you want to talk to a neighbor. In the middle of it (almost exactly the middle, actually) is a pole on which we have two different bird feeders: one with a pectin base, full of dried fruits and nutmeats, and another that is currently full of safflower seeds, since the cheeky squirrels seem not to care for it nearly as much as other feed. Being greedy buggers, however, they will still go for the safflower seed, regardless of what the lady at the birdseed store says. We also have, much nearer the back door, a small screen feeder full of thistle seed, which is preferred by the many sorts of finches we've got here (purple and gold and house), as well as by the mourning doves and juncos. Some of the juncos will even land on the screen to feed, although allegedly, they prefer ground feeding.
This year, like last year, I'll be participating in the Great Backyard Bird Count, a joint project between the Cornell Ornithology Lab and the Audobon Society. I'll be printing out the handy-dandy guide to birds in my area and keeping an eye on what's out there now, so that when the time comes on the weekend of February 13th-15th, I'm ready to correctly i.d. and count the birds.
In a kismet sort of moment, one of my oldest, dearest friends sent me Wallace Stevens's poems, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird in an email today, one more reminder to look at the birds.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
by Wallace Stevens
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
Read the rest of the poem here.