With record-breaking cold temperatures sifting across the countryside day after day and night after night, I was not at all surprised this past morning when Anne Murray’s tune “Fly little snowbird, fly, high, up in the sky” came flashing back into my mind.
I had just manipulated down the three snow-covered steps from our front porch – and there they were.
It was the biggest flock of snowbirds that I had ever seen. I guesstimated there must have been ten score or more of them. They seemed to be spattered evenly across the front lawn and halfway down the length of our front lane. What they were eating I could not tell, but later, on looking closer, I discovered what their nourishment was.
The snowbirds I’m talking about, folks, are not the grey-haired multitude of RBs that take off each winter for warm climes in the south. Nor is it the like-named jet formation dare-devil flyers that entertain across the continents. The snowbirds I’m talking about are the plump, little well feathered birds that come down from where they nest on the tundra, beyond the far north tree line, to visit us each winter.
This particular flock seemed exceptionally tame, with little intention of moving on when I moved closer to see what they were eating. What I discovered was the seeds of the large white spruce that had escaped the tornado of four years ago. The seeds that had been scattered by the strong, swirling winds of the day before were being stripped of the tiny wing that had twirled them to the ground and eaten one at a time for lunch.
Across the lawn, a little further away, there seemed to be quite a bunch of them that appeared to be reaching up and down – and they were. They were gathering the seeds from the brown-eyed Susan and purple coneflower that we had planted around the circular steel grain bin. Their stiff, uncut stems and multiple seed heads make an ideal feeding spot for all winter birds.
While several slate-coloured juncos and a lone mourning dove fed on the ground beneath the bird feeder, a pair of cardinals shelled black-oil sunflower seeds within. Meanwhile several blue jays were stealing gaping mouthfuls of whole corn from my pheasant pens. All of a sudden they flew up, screaming their heads off for whatever reason, and the entire flock of snowbirds took to the air as one.
Like a cloud of snow, wing tip to wing tip, in rising and falling unison flight, they circled once, twice, then spread out again to land further out on the hillside where the goats pasture during spring, summer, and late into the fall. I can imagine there to be a selection of weed seeds out there as well.
Three and four years ago, the snowbirds came in lesser numbers and perched many days for hours at a time on the roof of the building where I house my canaries, doves and fancy bantams, but last year, perhaps because the snow was so deep, they did not show up in our area. But it sure is good to see them back once again this year.
“Fly little snowbird, fly, high, up in the sky. Spread your tiny wings and fly away.” I expect that tune to stick in my head for the rest of the day.
Take care, ‘cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-986-4105