A Bird in the Hand
Before Mom moved in with us, Juan and I did a five-year caretaking gig at a privately owned lake in the Seeley Swan Valley of Montana. We rented out our home in town and moved into the caretaking cabin near the small earthen dam and spillway at the east end of the lake. Mountain lions, wolves, and grizzly bears were frequent visitors. A riparian thicket below the dam offered wonderful habitat for birds, which we enjoyed feeding during the winter when the bears were sleeping.
I decided to train the birds to feed from my hand, so early one winter morning when the world was quiet, I bundled up and stepped outside. On cue the chickadees and nuthatches talked to me from the cottonwood, awaiting their breakfast, but this time I didn't spread sunflower seeds on the railing as usual. Instead, I filled my outstretched hand with seeds, rested my arm on the railing, and waited without moving a muscle. The birds made tentative landings nearby but were too spooked to come any closer. I stood there for fifteen minutes while the birds made confused attempts to get their breakfast. My dog, Lily, lay still in her bed by my feet.
I decided to train the birds to feed from my hand, so early one winter morning when the world was quiet, I bundled up and stepped outside. On cue the chickadees and nuthatches talked to me from the cottonwood, awaiting their breakfast, but this time I didn't spread sunflower seeds on the railing as usual. Instead, I filled my outstretched hand with seeds, rested my arm on the railing, and waited without moving a muscle. The birds made tentative landings nearby but were too spooked to come any closer. I stood there for fifteen minutes while the birds made confused attempts to get their breakfast. My dog, Lily, lay still in her bed by my feet.
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Finally a bold little chickadee alighted on my finger. It weighed nothing, its tiny feet so delicate they felt like praying mantis legs clinging to my skin. The chickadee bolted without taking any seed but within seconds the same bird returned, lingered long enough to grab one seed, then fly away. The tone of the chickadee and nuthatch chatter in the branches above my head changed and soon more birds arrived from the thicket. One after another their tiny feet prickled my fingers while they snatched seeds. The nuthatches were the bullies of the bunch, butting in line by mock charging the chickadees. I was delighted that my experiment had worked so quickly. I was cold and needed to go inside, so I scattered the remaining seeds along the railing.
As I turned towards the lake before going back into the cabin, a mountain lion I had not seen until that moment, jumped straight up into the air, then darted up the hill out of sight. I had been so still for so long and so focused on the birds that neither the mountain lion nor I had been aware of the other's presence. What a beautiful sight - every muscle in the lion's body defined in the early dawn light. As it streaked into the trees, its tail stretched out like a banner as long as its body. |
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Without thinking I glanced at Lily, who will only chase an animal if she sees us see her see it, so she had to go to work. Lily darted out of her bed and ran after the cat. I was terrified she would become its meal, but the cat was long gone and true to herder protocol, Lily “came around” at the border of our property and promptly curled up against my legs shaking and quivering in fear. We retreated into the warmth of the cabin. After that surprise, hand feeding the birds became my morning ritual, but I left Lily inside. When Mom first moved to Montana, she and I lived together in our home in town and Juan continued working our caretaking job. Mom and I vacationed at the lake with Juan several days a week. When Mom's first Montana winter rolled in, she was overwhelmed by its intensity and its bitter cold, so we tried to ease her angst by telling her we could get the birds to feed out of her hand. This peaked Mom's interest and shifted her focus away from the cold. She had fed her birds year round at her old home and she loved the idea of a tiny chickadee alighting on her hand. So we bundled Mom up in Juan's heavy coat and hat, filled her hand with seed, and instructed her to stand completely still. The birds quickly accepted Mom and were soon landing on her hand one after another, snatching seed, glancing up at her briefly, then veering off to the cottonwood. Each bird returned to Mom's hand again and again. Mom stood out in the cold without moving a muscle for over twenty minutes. The look on her face says it all. http://bigguys.zenfolio.com/p786714363 |
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