Three Little Chickadee-dee-dee-dees
Family watches out for each other, and we're all family here.
Three brothers sitting on a bough. I call them brothers, although there is no way for me to tell. Chickadees all look very much alike to my human eyes, although it is obvious that they recognize each other.
Usually the bigger of the three arrives first. He is brave and strong. Then the other two swoop in, most often from the same direction. There is a tackle and a tumble on the branch before all three are upright again, with peeps and chirps that I can only assume are from the joy of being reunited.
Perhaps now you understand why I think of them as brothers.
The littlest one flits over to a broken branch stub. I wonder if he is like us, if this little nubbin of wood is akin to a favorite recliner or our side of the bed. Will he mourn if the wind one day knocks this little perch down?
The plumpest of the three, Big Boy, has little fear of the silly human woman sitting near the suet block, book resting uselessly on her lap. He alights on the feeder and begins to stuff his round little cheeks with seed and suet.
Chickadees appear to be gluttons, and they are. Their tiny bodies house a racing metabolism. They are also soul-cousins to squirrels, as they will stash those cheek-fulls of seeds in tree bark cracks so that they always have a snack nearby. Have you ever noticed a wildflower or a blade of grass growing from an overhead branch? Thank a chickadee.
Little Brother is also brave enough to feed as long as Big Boy is on the feeder with him, but he will quickly flit away if Big Boy flutters off.
The middle brother, whom I call Laz (short for Lazarus, for he rose again), will not brave the feeder if I am outside.
Some weeks ago there was an accident. I do not know if it was cat, hawk, or another mishap, but Laz showed up on our balcony with a damaged wing. He seemed fine in flight, but he could not fold it in. Being unable to fold his wing meant he couldn’t land on the feeder.
Perhaps he chose our balcony from familiarity, perhaps because there was food. Maybe it was simply nearby and sheltered, a place to heal where no predator could reach him.
Concerned, I cautiously stepped outside. He flew into the cedar nearby, watching me warily. I set a dish of water on the balcony deck, and broke up some suet and set it nearby so he could feed without the feeder. He’d grab a few mouthfuls and then fly to a nearby branch. Within a few days his wing began to fold again, with just the tip not sitting smoothly against his little round body. In a few more days he was back on the feeder, back to tumbling with his brothers. But the trauma had changed him.
Whereas Big Boy and Little Brother seemed to delight in the dare of feeding near a human, Laz was now pure caution. Even other birds made him nervous after first.
His brothers are gentle with him. I watch as Big Boy eats his fill and then stuffs more into his cheeks. This bounty is delivered to the branch where Laz watches and waits, breakfast brought to him in bed so his caution won’t leave him hungry.
Laz rarely waits alone while his brothers enjoy their repast. Little nuthatches surround him, chittering at him and over him. A lone junco lands nearby and joyfully shares the good news of the day before fluttering off to clean up the mess of seeds that tumbled to the balcony deck as the chickadees were feasting.
Tomorrow morning I will look up from my desk, inside, to see all three brothers bickering and feeding on the suet block. They’ll decimate it, leaving nothing but an empty feeder cage. Big Boy will land on the laundry rod just outside the window and peck at the glass, informing the waitstaff that a second round is needed, as the other two playfully wrestle over who gets the last crumb.
I don’t expect a tip, but I still bring out a new block of seeds with a smile.
Chicka-dee-dee-dee indeed.
Snips and Snails and Suet Block Bells
Few things make me happier than a round, plump chickadee singing to me. Although all songbirds are precious, something about my black-capped little buddies warms the very cockles of my heart. Whether playing in the snow or singing for a girlfriend high up in the trees, these little ones seem all about love and camaraderie, which is what I want to be all about, too.
If there is reincarnation, let me come back as a chickadee!
Chickadees are omnivores, so a mix of fats and seed is just right for their hungry little bellies. Chickadees don’t migrate, but it seems we get a lot more around here in winter. Perhaps because they nest together in big colonies, often joined by other small non-migratory birds like nuthatches.
Supplies:
Two 4” plastic flower pots
Two lengths of twine, at least 2 feet long
Two large metal washers
Ingredients:
1 cups birdseed – something formulated for small songbirds is perfect
1 cups sunflower seeds – a favorite of chickadees everywhere, I promise
1/2 cup cornmeal
½ cup lard (or peanut butter)
2 tsp plain gelatin
½ cup water
Poke a hole in the bottom center of each pot, if there isn’t a hole already there. Fold the twine in half. Feed the looped end through the hole so that the loop emerges out the bottom of the pot. Leave the loose ends long enough so that they will stick out of the top of the pot by a couple of inches.
Mix everything together except the lard, gelatin, and water. Heat the water and dissolve the gelatin in it, following the instructions on the gelatin package. Now – quick, quick! – stir in the lard. It will melt and incorporate it with the gelatin.
Stir all of this together with the seed mixture. It should be a lovely, gloopy mess – the slop of kings! Fill each flower pot mold with the mixture, packing it in tightly. Be careful to keep the twine centered. Once packed with seed, thread the twine ends through the center of the washer and tie a fat knot to hold it in place. The washer should be sitting centered on top of the birdseed, with the hanging loop sticking out the bottom of the pot.
The suet block needs to cure. I simply stick it in the fridge for a day or so. The impatient among us can use a freezer for a couple of hours. This may be necessary if chickadees are pecking on your window – where is my order?!
Pop that little bell-shaped suet block out of the pot. It should be ready to hang.
Chickadees prefer a bit of shade and a bit of tree cover. I’ve successfully fed them from three stories up in the sky, so don’t think they only frequent the bushes. In fact, hanging a feeder a bit higher protects them from cats and other ground-based predators, while some tree cover above shelters them from flying foes.
Now sit and wait patiently, preferably with a good book that you won’t mind ignoring once your new feathered friends arrive.
Daybook
Weather~
Too hot, too hot! It was in the 80s, can you believe it? I can, but we won’t dwell on the negatives of our epoch here. We do what we can, and we hope for the best. The best for us is that the mercury began to settle down by the end of the week.
Moments of Joy~
Leaving Seattle. I had to journey down to north Seattle to pick up the younger son from the light rail station – he was kind enough to ride public transportation from the airport so I could avoid the worst of the city. Of course, him being home again is also pretty dang joyful.
Sticky Wickets~
The aforementioned drive to the city was the big sticky wicket of the week, but short lived at least! There’s also been some budgeting snafus as we navigate our new limitations with my loss of a major client to AI -so she says while spitting on the ground like an old world curse.
On the Homefront~
We stayed near home for much of the week, which is my favorite place to be most of the time.
The harvests are coming in quick and heavy. We probably picked two gallons of runner beans, with most being dehydrated for winter use.
Pounds of tomatoes! Most ended up as my favorite tomato sandwiches, but a tray or two were morphed into faux sun-dried tomatoes.
Herb bundles are hanging all over the house right now. Like the birds and squirrels I am crying, “winter is coming, winter is coming,” for I won’t be fooled by August heat waves.
Zucchini, of course. Some of these will definitely be dehydrated, but several have found their way into the hands of my neighbors.
Does anyone else adore how kale keeps giving, summer or winter? I know I do. You can also eat the flowers, similar to broccoli raab. In fact, you can eat the flowers of any brassica, so toss them in that stir-fry or salad!
I was thrifty for my 2 hour drive to the city. I packed a picnic so that hunger would not drive me nor the offspring into the waiting arms of the nearest fast food chain. I also brought a good book – Landings by Arwen Donahue. It’s a reflection on a year of her life on her Kentucky farm, featuring her gorgeous watercolor illustrations. Highly recommend!
I’m bringing home an armload of heirloom tomatoes every couple of days now! The home medicine cabinet is filled with a fresh batch of cottonwood bud salve, which as you know is my favorite muscle rub.
Thrifty meals, all at home!
Keeping it simple with burgers and fries in celebration of the prodigal son’s return from the east coast.
Heat wave! I made a simple pasta salad and served it alongside ice-cold watermelon slices.
I baked the tortillas into bowls early in the morning, before it got hot outside, so we could have a cool dinner of taco salad later in the day.
It cooled a bit so I turned on the stove top to make a bacon-kale-mushroom risotto, served with a side of garlic-green beans.
Simple chicken wraps and a side salad, both designed to use up lots of garden produce.
What is better than Friday stir-fry? Chicken, garden raab, and plump mushrooms served in a peanut sauce over rice noodles.
Pizza night! Sausage and a rainbow of different veggies. Of course, we had to have a cucumber salad to complement it.
The chickadee and nuthatch are more inspiring society than statesmen and philosophers, and we shall return to these last as to more vulgar companions.
-Henry David Thoreau
Fondly yours in love, peace, and gratitude,
Jenny Wren