Snow Quiet. And This is Nuts.
Birdseed finds its way, and the squirrels took a snow day.
I found birdseed in my coat pocket leaving a college basketball game two days ago. And last week, in a different coat. Black oil. Shelled. Peanuts. Evidence of a life that clearly revolves around something feathered. Some fumble with coins in their pockets. I, seeds.
And something that quiet frankly, is a routine that plants itself in my daily before coffee even. It’s become that path in the yard I seek out every morning. It’s been white for a long time…a few days of a sodden green. But snow boots are required for what seems like well over a month. And after that thaw, the Northeast blizzard that dropped a heap of over a foot whilst I slept.
That morning, when the snow was still falling, soft and steady, wrapping everything in a lingering quiet…I went out to feed the birds. It was a heavy, beautiful snow. Practically up to my knees. The walk to the feeders taking much longer than the morning prior.
My little red-breasted nuthatch found me immediately. I scrambled for a peanut — his namesake, because of course I forgot to preload my pocket like a professional. It was as troublesome a moment as leaving your wallet behind when you are at the registers. Quick thought, I grabbed one straight from the feeder, still wearing its thin pale brown skin, and placed it carefully on my open palm. He waited in the elderberry, with cautious optimism. Bless his patient little soul.
He landed on my hand a moment later.
And then?
He refused it. Gave it a bit of a side-eye even.
This tiny woodland food critic took one look at that skin-on nut and said, “I prefer them plain.”
I laughed. Out loud. Alone in the snow. In my yard. In a blizzard. I put the skin-on nut back in the feeder and walked back inside. Ok, my friend. I get it. Lesson learned. I should have known. Every other time he has taken it, it has been the plain, naked nut. But I cherished the moment his tiny, tender little feet landing on my hand for that brief moment. Because every time, I wonder if it will be the last.
Meanwhile, there are sunflower seeds scattered across my kitchen and laundry room like I’m running some kind of underground aviary. They garner a chuckle every time I see one. They seem to just jump out of the storage tin I swear. The bird equivalent of finding dog kibble feet from the bowl. My biweekly vacuum run is about to become a daily situation because I now feed birds out of all three doors of this house. It used to be only one. But I finally shoveled enough of a walkway that now my daily runs to the yard are easier from whatever door I choose. And so it is for the deliveries of mail and other incidentals.
The honest-to-goodness best part of the blizzard? Not a single squirrel in sight. A full vacation day from yelling, “Hey! Those seeds aren’t for you!” I like mammals. I do. But the silence? Magic.
My five-dollar CVS Slinky toy wrapped around the shepherd’s hook worked… for a while. Until those fiery, floofy rodents engineered a new approach: climb the elderberry branch, launch some air, bypass the Slinky deterrent entirely. The elderberry launchpad. Of course.
Can I move the shepherd’s hook? Not a chance. I’ll be lucky if it budges by Easter.
A homeowner fully committed to the bird life — pockets full of seed and a nuthatch with standards. And it’s yeah…maybe a little nuts.
I've only seen a few red-breasted nuthatches here. If they could talk, they would say, "I hate go eat and run." But the thing is, they always do. It takes a lot of luck and timing to get a photo!