Bird House

Day 247: Bird House

Winter is a pleasant thing when you work for a botanical garden and arboretum. Where before, you would grumble about gray skies and cold temperatures, now you welcome the long vistas, visible now with the leaves fallen from the trees. Where before, you would complain about all the things you couldn't do in the winter, now you welcome the things you can do. I don't mean things like cross-country skiing and snowshoeing, although of course those are fun too. I mean seeing for the first time a wasp's nest revealed in the upper branches of an oak tree you've passed a thousand times, like invisible ink under a flame. Or robins flocking like an extended family gathered for the holidays. Or animal tracks, crisscrossing the landscape like quilting.  Before, you thought winter lasted a full six months, starting at the first snowfall and continuing all the way through April. Now, you realize that autumn continues until the last leaves fall in December: you still have carrots and kale buried under the snow and organic matter for compost, if only the city hadn't stopped picking it up. Spring begins in February, when the first skunk cabbage pokes up through the wetland ice, a joyous harbinger in the chilly landscape.

Part of this, of course, is your co-workers. Usually it's right around Valentine's Day when the all-staff emails start coming. Somebody glimpsed the scarlet flash of a redwinged blackbird. The chickadees and cardinals are starting to sing. The stems of the red osier dogwood are bright red, almost glowing against the gray landscapes. The sap is running: somebody comes in with homemade maple syrup.

Birdwatching is excellent in the winter, birds bright as confetti and quick as falling water. Sam and I made this birdhouse years ago, in my dad's woodshop in the UP, out of scraps and hinges. No birds ever moved into it. We tried widening the hole with a two-inch drill bit - it was sized for sparrows - but with nothing for the bit to bite, the widening didn't take. It's been sitting outside on the ground for a few years, a disintegrating reminder of a pleasant afternoon many seasons past. My winter garden, with its seedy coneflower and swaying grasses, attracts birds better than any built object.

Bring on the cold. I'm ready.