Alas, much of the last week has been spent clearing white stuff from around the little blue house in the village. At times, the threshold, cobblestones, driveway, sundeck and steps disappeared from view completely, and getting out and about to do anything at all was quite an exercise.
In winter, I maintain a track around the garden for Beau, and recent snowfalls have filled it in over and over again. His circuit has been dredged out several times in recent weeks, but Himself is up to his houndy ears in white stuff whenever he goes out, and he is not amused by the situation. Clearing his path is more akin to tunneling than it is to anything else at the moment, but we keep at it.
After waiting out high winds and heavy snowfall in the cedar hedge, village birds are hungry, and first thing in the morning, the garden is filled with clamorous fluttery folk waiting for their breakfast. Before anything else is done, bird feeders are cleaned and refilled, and seed is scattered on the deck for ground noshers. There have been many mornings recently when just getting to the feeders was a chore.
Cardinals, blue jays, nuthatches, various woodpeckers and winter finches visit from time to time, but sparrows, chickadees and juncos are always about. How can one not feel affection for the tiny feathered spirits who visit every day and express their thanks when food is put out for them, even in the most inclement weather? I keep hoping that grosbeaks (evening, pine, rose-breasted) will turn up, but they prefer rural areas and only visit village feeders when they are desperate.
I once wrote here about an icy morning when a sparrow flew into the house, made itself comfortable in the sunlit dining room for a few minutes and sang joyously, then flew back out into the garden when it had warmed up a bit and had something to eat. Sparrows are as numerous here in winter as they are in most urban areas, but it is always a pleasure to watch the little passerines who stay here when other bird kin have forsaken us and headed for warmer climes.
Depths is an appropriate word for the circumstances in which we and the birds find ourselves this winter. We are almost drowning in snow, and village plows are fast running out of places to put it. Our little feathered friends are having a hard time finding food in the white stuff and appreciate well provisioned feeders.
The bird at the top of this morning's post is a male house finch. They are welcome visitors in any season, and I try to provide them with their favorite nosh in winter: black oil sunflower seed, nyger seed and white millet.
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