Soup Kitchen

Turkeys.

It has been three days of biting cold. Here on the hill, under the constant shade of Douglas firs we still have six inches of soft, powdery snow. Everything waits for the melt. Our house, with it's bird feeders tucked up under the eaves has become an oasis, a soup kitchen of sorts, for the wildlife. We have birds; more of those that are familiar and whole groups of new birds, wrens and flickers that are usually not so bold. During the day the deer linger around the house, eating the rhododendron leaves the birds have cleared of snow as they queue up for the feeders. At night families of raccoons sit outside on the deck munching on fallen seed. And we have turkeys. I woke this morning eye to eye with a pair of massive wild turkeys feasting under a high feeder with five or so of their friends. They are massive, imposing creatures, with apparently no other place to go. I am happy to provide this simple service.

Where is your small soup kitchen? What small service can you provide today?

Picture:

http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=1776

Pecking Order

Seed.

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.

Photo

www.RubyGoneWild.com