The birds started coming. Word got out, or maybe some other all points bulletin, that there was a free lunch on the Odhner window pane. Feathered creatures appeared tentatively, to nab a seed or two, and were on their way. It was lovely. The sound of them landing was subtle, yet it drew my attention quickly enough
to enjoy their brief visit. It was such a sweet interlude to my day that I bought a second plastic feeder.
I am not sure if the increase in food is what triggered the arrival of squirrels, or the fact that they are always on the lookout. I have watched enough of Mark Rober's fascinating videos to appreciate the tenacity of hungry squirrels. But I naively thought I would
be spared.
The arrival of a ten-inch mammal makes considerably more noise than that of a five-inch finch. It startled rather than soothed me. Plus, they were greedy. Wrens took just a raisin or sunflower seed and flitted away. The squirrels grabbed, spilled, and came back as if serving the whole neighborhood. I was annoyed.
After a day of gorging, the feeders were both empty and askew from heavy traffic. I gave up. There was no joy in refilling them. They hung empty for two weeks.
Then I tried again. I attached them higher on the window, securing their suction cups to the glass, and pouring in a generous
amount of bird fare. It has only been a few hours, but nothing has happened.
As I contemplate the modest effort to renew my friendship with the aviary community, I recall another relationship I have rekindled. A friend and I had a falling out several years ago. The previously steady flow of connection petered out until it sputtered to a stop.
Then last week I realized that I can still write a letter. So I did. Nothing praiseworthy or brave, but a gesture.
It has only been a few days, but I am waiting.