Skip to main content

Robins In Transit

    Hey, everyone. It is Sunday morning in the States. It is 60 degrees and overcast, with rain yesterday and last night plus the threat of more to come. The robins don't seem to care. There are dozens of them in some of my trees, flitting through the bushes and... just now flying headlong into my study's window. Ha, ha. I have seen birds literally break their necks like that. It brings to mind the bizarre Hitchcock movie called The Birds, in which our fine feathered friends get tired of human-related problems and start attacking people.
     Nothing like that with these birds. They are mild and well-behaved, other than their odd toilet habits. This morning being so unseasonably warm, I carried my coffee to the front porch and watched ...life happening.
    I have several Bradford Pears in the front yard. They are the trees that have become popular for their white blooms in the spring. Their pears stay tiny and unsuitable for human consumption, but birds think they are exquisite. I suppose that these robins may be traveling south for the winter, though I am no expert on the migratory habits of birds. They are just stopping for a fruit breakfast at the green retreat. (By the way, you'll notice the 'volunteers' in the picture above. The Bradfords have roots that like to run atop the ground. Sometimes these roots will sprout new trees that grow right into the past foliage.)
   Carley and I fed birds for years. I forget all the reasons we quit doing so. They tend to crap in unwonted places, for one thing. Then cats seemed to see the bird feeder as a prime hunting ground, which made me feel that I was contributing to their trap. Accessory to cat violence, or something.
     Talking about the Bradfords, these trees keep their leaves so late in the winter that they have become a favorite of mine. Here it is in mid November and they still offer a nice burgundy leaf color. They are full and pretty and make a good screening foliage. It will probably be sometime in December before all their leaves are gone. Reminds me of an old song by the Mamas and the Papas. All the leaves are gone, and the sky is grey...
     I wonder if the robins didn't stop as much for the scenery as well as just the food? I don't have a good feel for an animal's appreciation of beauty. I would like to think that they enjoy nature since they are such a charming part of it all. Except for the poop thing. Although that is just nature as well.
    It's funny. As I sit a while and just watch, the birds get ever closer to my chair. I am sitting here in my pajama bottoms and a tee-shirt, barefoot, enjoying a hot, tasty cup of coffee. They start to think, "Hey, that guy is okay, after all. We can continue to eat and preen and show off our tiny, dull-orange bellies. Then we can run a few hurried steps on the ground. Then pose, then run again. Because that is what we do, at the author's green retreat."

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The White Chicken Mystery

    The other night I happened to come home very late. It was the middle of the night and I was driving up a steep mountain road. Near the top I saw something white in my headlights. It was standing in the other lane, standing very still. It was a large white chicken. It was probably a rooster because I thought I could see his comb as I whizzed by at my customary pace. He never moved a muscle. This is weird, don't you think?      After a couple of days to consider this phenomenon, I have come up with some plausible answers for his bizarre behavior. 1. He was conflicted whether or not he should cross the road. 2. He was feeling cocky and decided to play chicken with the traffic. 3.He was being hen-pecked at home and had decided to end it all. 4. Someone had egged him on to do it. 5. He had just watched the movie Fantastic Four and decided to try to stop a truck the way that Ben Grimm did on the bridge. 6. He had driven himself crazy wondering if ...

Egg Art

     Hey, everyone. One of the odd customs in America is the Easter Egg Hunt. Here at the Green Retreat, we do a hunt every Spring. I just ran across some of the pictures from this years hunt and it is obvious that an artist had sneaked into our midst. The orange egg is a rendering of one of the Angry Birds of gaming lore. If I were a bird and had to pass an egg that size, I would be angry too. Ha, ha.      We typically will dye about 10 dozen eggs and people get quite creative with their quotes and colors, as you can see. Many of the eggs are a bit risque for these pages. After having a few laughs, we hide the eggs. All of them are never found, which is cool. It is amusing to see old men (me) and all ages of folks, walking around with a basket on their arm. Some of the hiding spots are dastardly. Like eggs hidden in the guttering downspouts and ten foot up a tree. The kids are perhaps the most devious at hiding the colorful orbs, goi...

The Biscuit

    Hey, everyone. What a relief that Christmas is over, huh? I don't think it was meant to be the way it is.     I started thinking about the so-called good 'ole days today. My wife says that at her house, they would take a left-over biscuit and shine their shoes before church. I one-upped her by saying, "Oh, yeah? I ate the biscuit when everyone got finished with it. And I was grateful for it." Truly, though, you can and people did, shine their shoes with a biscuit. Hey, they were greasy little buggers.     Speaking of greasy little buggers, I remember when everyone had wells and were very conservative about water, particularly those of us who had to crank a handle up and down to get a bucket of water. There was no daily bath. (No showers in those days, mate.) About twice a week we took a bath and here's the recipe: The oldest kid took a bath first, then the next oldest etc. You can see why younger siblings hated the older. Bathing in the...