Today it is overcast, so I didn't indulge myself by sitting outside, but the past few mornings I have been doing so, and I have discovered something. You'll never guess what it is – a totally new discovery of mine: I've discovered birds.
Truly, I have. Fantastic creatures aren't they?
Really, of course, I don't at all claim to have discovered birds. What I actually mean is that I have discovered – drawn in myself the cover from – the pleasure of watching the birds in our yard. I've never been very much of a bird person. I know how to identify several species both by sight and sound, but that, like my ability to identify plants, is part of a general desire to ground myself in my environment, rather than the result of enthusiasm that has led to concentrated study. Birds have always just been around -- something I’m aware other people like to spend a lot of time watching/feeding/thinking about, but not something I've particularly cared about.
But back at the beginning of the summer Jamie came home with this funny, super-domestic lighthouse birdfeeder. And then about a week ago while we were both sunning ourselves, we realized, to our chagrin, that what we had taken to be a really stupid-looking mushroom sculpture recently placed in our yard by the landlord (part of his attempt to make the house look highly saleable) was in fact a birdbath with the top on upside down.
We turned the top over, added water, and suddenly, I see why it is people like to look at birds. Because I've been immensely delighted, and surprised, and delighted by my surprise at seeing birds use both the birdfeeder and birdbath. I'd simply never noticed how fun it is to watch birds behaving in birdly ways, to see their different plumage and the different species personality it corresponds to, to watch mated pairs and competitive pairs interact, to note the differences of approach different animals make to the area.
I've particularly noted a few birds. We have, first off, a pair of really fine-looking, gigantic robins in our yard. I'd truly never noticed how big these birds are! Robins aren't delicate – I'd always thought they were, but now I see that they're sturdy-looking guys; ready to pounce on insects or dive purposefully from limb to limb. They're like mechanics, I think – they get the job done, and they focus on their goals. The red color is part of a generally productive attitude towards the world: a little brightness goes a long way, but there's no need to overdo it. I haven't actually observed either of the robins at the birdbath, though. I only keep seeing them on the grass. Perhaps, as part of the new personality of toughness I've noted in them, they don't need to bathe.
The really big tough guys of the yard – the crows and the blue jays – sure do, though. Both of these birds are highly aggressive about the birdbath. The crows just move in – often several of them at a time (which almost no other species does). I've long loved crows (an exception to my bird-not-noticing) because of precisely this muscle-y quality: they seem to assert themselves without thinking. They're not pushy, exactly. They just are. Their loud, brash voices simply announce – they're less strident than unashamedly volume-heavy. They remind me of people's relatives (including my own) – the family reunion quality of them is in the way you can imagine them moving in on the picnic table or the drinks just the way they move in on the grass or a tree or the water. I love when they look sullenly aggrieved, too, because it's so patently there. Whatever they feel, they feel, and they feel totally justified in feeling it. Crows are deeply bodily birds, I think.
As are blue jays, but the blue jay brand of dominance is way more flashy and, I think, more anxious. Blue jays are another bird I've often noticed, partly because of their bright coloring, but also because of a long-held antipathy. Jays, out of territoriality, will sometimes kill other birds' young. I witnessed this in childhood and decided that I could never like such a bullying animal. Watching the blue jay in our yard at the birdbath, however, has somewhat resuscitated them in my liking. The anxious way a jay will approach, go away, approach closer, away again, and finally splash brusquely and overconfidently in the bath makes me think of blue jays as like businessmen. And I understand that. I understand, though I still do not like, aggression born of unconfidence. I feel pity for jays – so brightly colored and still so defensive. They are the investment bankers of the bird world.
Compare the cardinals, who turn out to be way more ethereal than I thought. We have a pair of cardinals, like the pair of robins, but unlike the robins I see the female much more than the male. I think she's braver than her mate, but both of them are quite shy. Their quick uneasiness at the birdbath is, again, exactly the opposite of what I would have expected from them. Because of the sharp crests, I always thought cardinals were acidic, judgmental sorts of people – bureaucrats, perhaps -- but it turns out they're more like librarians. They're quiet, factual, intelligent, perhaps a little tenuous in their hold on the physical. They move constantly, always thinking of the next task.
As do my favorite of all, the wrens. We've had these wrens on our porch for several years, and they've had eggs every year, so there are now at least four wrens in the general vicinity of our yard. They're the most unmitigatedly cute birds. Their little round bodies and delighted, busy hopping gives them the air of excited entrepreneurs. I think of them, actually, as being something like the Micawbers. "Something will turn up! Something will turn up!" their movements seem to say. The impression is reinforced by the silliness of trying to build their nest in the wreath on the door, which they have done several times. That's such a Micawber thing to try. I see wrens most often at the birdbath – they clearly enjoy it, hopping all around the rim before getting in and splashing for a long time. The wonderful thing about them, least brightly colored and smallest, is the joy they seem to take in life. I guess, in the end, they're the ones I most want to be like: impractical, maybe a little silly or defenseless, but always, in the end, trying to have fun.
Labels: nature
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