The
park in the summer is a beautiful place. Thick forests of lush trees, winding
gravel paths, gurgling streams and bird songs floating across the air. Here,
you can see a big beaver dam, keeping the water behind it deep and still, while
the water before it smashes and splashes over watermelon-sized rocks poking out
of the stream bed. There, a little muskrat glides through the water only feet
in front of where you sit, then abruptly vanishes with a noisy sploosh! Not far
off, a pair of mallards glides effortlessly past the trees and towering cliffs
and land in the brook with a quack and a rippling splash. And, if you look
closely enough, you can even see little fish winding endlessly around each
other beneath the water’s surface.
We sat
in a resting spot, with a little wooden platform and a bench. I could hear the pit
pat pit pat of tiny feet as wee, striped chipmunks padded back and forth hoping
for the treat of a couple of seeds or some nuts. Nearby, a couple of fluffy red
squirrels took turns chasing each other wildly around, each trying to the be
the first to reach the peanuts somebody had left on the railing. In the trees
around us, chickadees, nuthatches and sparrows hopped easily from branch to
branch, waiting for an opportune moment to swoop down and grab some dropped
sunflower seeds.
A friend
decided to go one better. She hoisted herself up on the railing not too far
from the birds’ favourite aspen. She put a little pile of seeds in her palm and
outstretched her hands, fingers spread out. All was quiet. Very quiet. A bird
in the aspen stopped chirping and paused a minute, as if thinking things over.
Our friend didn’t move. The bird hopped tentatively along the branch, getting
closer to our friend. Then it stopped. We waited. It took a few more hops. Then
stopped.
Finally,
in seemingly one movement, it took off from the branch, landed on my friend’s
hand, grabbed a seed, and took off into the forest.
Someone
else decided to try the same thing and, in a minute, had the same experience.
Oh, me
too! I wanted to try! I had conflicting thoughts about the wisdom of
interfering with or feeding the birds, but how could I pass up the chance to
touch one of Mother Nature’s most precious, like that?
I put
some seeds in my hand and held it out. No bird approached. Be patient, I
thought. It could take time.
Minutes
passed. Our friend got another bird. Someone else had a squirrel approach and
take a snack. I got nothing. I tried another spot. Another angle. I sat right
where our friend had been the first time. Still, the birds kept their distance.
I was
feeling discouraged. Was I going to walk away from here the only one not allowed
to have this amazing experience? And pray tell, why not? What was so different
about me from everyone else?
I tried
again and again. The seeds ran low. The sun crept across the sky. The others
got another bird! And another!
And
still I stood there with a handful of untouched seeds.
I sat
on the bench, tired and low. I lay my hand on the railing, palm up, seeds still
heaped up, and watched nothing happen.
Suddenly,
the person next to me said softly, “Try laying your fingers flat. See if that
helps.”
I
looked at my hand. It was relaxed and my fingers had curled up into the
position they quite naturally take when I’m at rest. It might look a little
like a claw, I thought. Like something ready to grab, rather than to give.
I lay
my fingers completely flat so my hand was more like a plate than a bowl. Then I
waited. I wasn’t entirely convinced this would help anything.
Suddenly,
a chickadee was standing on the edge of the railing a couple of feet away. I
could see its wee black bill and intricately decorated plumage very clearly. It
sat there very silently for a moment, little head cocking quizzically from side
to side. It hopped a wee bit closer. I didn’t move. Would it? It was very still
for a moment. Then it hopped just a little closer, still. Then a bit closer.
Then closer.
I held
my breath and everyone else stared silently. It was just beyond my finger tips.
Suddenly
it was in my hand. I felt tiny little talons gently gripping the edge of my
hand, and the gentle poke of the tiny bill in the palm of my hand as the bird
grabbed a seed.
Then it was gone.
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