I married the Bird Man. This obsession of his is deeply rooted in his childhood summers spent with Uncle Kenny on the turkey farm in northern Minnesota. Once school was over for the year, he was shipped off to help out with those thousands of birds, and possibly to be moved out from underfoot of Mom, who had three younger kids to deal with. I’ll never know for sure. At any rate, those summers with the turkeys left an indelible imprint on his character. He will often wake me with this quote from Uncle Kenny, “Gotta feed the birds”.
So he hung a clothesline that stretches from a tree on the edge of our woods to our deck. It boasts no less than six feeders of various styles, and these New Hampshire birds came flocking. They have never disappointed us. But that was not enough for the Bird Man. A few years back, he mounted two little feeders on our bedroom window. Every morning, as we enjoy that first cup of coffee in bed, (a highly recommended antidote to divorce), we enjoy their comings and goings. Their visits pervade our mornings, varying with the seasons. Ungainly doves, aggressive blue jays, flamboyant cardinals, bright yellow finches, titmice and sparrows. Once in a while, we are surprised by an exquisite bluebird. What a show! You never know who will swoop in next.
But here’s the issue. Our bill at Blue Seal is beginning to rival our grocery bill. So I’m considering the possibility of frying up some of that bird seed. It might not taste so bad, especially if I use lots of butter and a few onions in the mix.
Gotta feed the birds!