Simple Pleasures of Summer - Chickadees


                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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