I’m usually up by 5am, and out the door on the way to work by 6. During autumn, winter, and early spring, I do a lot of morning things in the dark. One of those things is to keep the birdfeeders filled. In our yard, we have, by count, seven feeders. One for hummingbirds, one for orioles, one thistle tube feeder, one thistle window feeder, one hopper feeder for the birds, one hopper feeder for the squirrels, and one crow tray. Oh, plus the suet basket, which is firmly attached to the side of the hopper feeder and kept closed with cable ties (the crows keep trying to steal it). So that makes eight feeders, actually. Most of the feeders only require weekly fillings, but those who dine at the two hopper feeders demand that they be filled on a daily basis.
It’s autumn, and the weather is still warm, so without necessity of jacket or snow boots, I go out to the garage, fill up the two small buckets with seed: one with regular seed (for the squirrels) and one with the “good stuff†for the birds. I wander back through the house, tripping over the cat, who loves to wind around my feet while I walk, and flip on the outdoor lights. Sliding on my sneakers, I unlock and open the slider; I go out onto the deck and take a deep breath of pure, cool Cape Cod air. Then down the steps to the yard.
First objective: the regular bird feeder. I scuffle through the dead leaves on the ground (and with half a dozen maple trees in the immediate area, there are ALWAYS dead leaves on the ground), thereby making enough noise to alert any little creatures gleaning the last of yesterday’s seeds and (hopefully) send them scurrying away. I check the suet basket: I can see holes in the block of suet where eager beaks have pecked through, but there’s still plenty left. I flip open the top of the feeder, and pour in half the bucket of “good†seed. Closing the lid, I scatter the rest on the ground under the feeder. I know perfectly well that the blue jays will scatter some feed out of the hopper in their eternal quest for the perfect sunflower seed, but there are an awful lot of other little creatures who depend on some extra food on the ground.
Next objective: squirrel feeder. I shcluff around the garden and past the birdbath, across the yard and back toward the tree-line, where the squirrel feeder resides. I duck through some overhanging branches. The squirrel feeder is positioned near the edge of our property, where the line of hemlocks and the undergrowth affords smaller creatures some measure of protection against death from above on silent wings. I set the buckets down, and snap the bungee cord off the hopper. I notice that the cord has been almost chewed through again, and make a mental note to replace it on Saturday morning (when I do the regular yard chores).
Opening the hopper of the squirrel feeder, I am startled as a tiny mouse leaps out, lands lightly in the underbrush and scurries away. Darn! That happens every few months, and it scares the beJebus out of me every time! “Little mouse finds food and refuge in empty feeder.†Sweet story, but nearly heart-stopping on a cool fall morning before the sun has risen. Gathering my scattered wits, I dump half the seed into the feeder, close it, and secure the bungee cord back around it. (The cord is not necessary to prevent the squirrels from opening the feeder—they regard it rather as a sort of seatbelt contraption whereby they can slide between the cord and the feeder and hang securely while they shovel in seed. No, the bungee is for the raccoons who would otherwise clean out the feeder each morning, leaving nothing for those creatures accustomed to their daily sunflower seeds. Greedy bustards.) I scatter the remaining seed on the ground around the feeder and into the undergrowth, squirrels being notoriously stingy when they are sitting on top of a full feeder and loath to share their “king of the world†position with their bushy-tailed brethren.
I collect the buckets, schluff back through the yard past the garden, add the fact that the thistle feeders are running low to my mental “Saturday†list, and trudge back up to the deck and into the house. Flip off the outdoor lights, slide off the sneakers, trip over the cat, amble back to the garage to replace the buckets on top of the birdseed bin. Now I can think about breakfast and leaving for work!
As always, see you by the feeder...
Alan (and Suzie)
