For weeks now I have been at the mercy of an energetic flock of migrating (hopefully) Nuthatches. Nuthatches are beautiful. They are blue-winged and red-breasted with long black streaks of eyeliner highlighting their brows. They are also hoarders. They descend at feeders like a troupe of addicts, hyped up and in constant motion, not eating, but grabbing seed and storing it away in the nooks and crannies of nearby trees for later consumption. They can empty a half-gallon feeder in a little over a day and they are so many and so overwhelming that they have ousted all but the largest of the blue jays. They are pushy, messy and bad at sharing and making extra work for me. I know that they are just birds, and visitors to boot, but I miss the Junkos and Grosbeaks.
Then this morning, a small piece of justice. The squirrels, normally left out of the feeder entirely except for what falls the two stories to the ground, were up early this morning, frantically pulling away at the branches of the firs. Happily reaping the rewards of all the Nuthatch labor. And to all things a balance.