Where the Heck Are all the Birds?

Down here in the Toddville Tidewaters, birdfeeders are funny places. With over 250 different species of birds in the area, and being right under the Atlantic Flyway, the major route for many migratory birds, you’d think a birdfeeder would be the happening place, at least in the bird world. After surfing the Internet and looking at the many colorful birds supposedly all around me, I invested over fifty bucks to feed our feathered friends.

As a kid growing up on the Eastern Shore, I always had a bird feeder. The usual visitors frequented my feeder: cardinals, blue jays, chickadees, nuthatches, downy and pileated woodpeckers and an occasional flicker. I did attract plenty of tufted titmouses (or would that be titmice?). They aren’t colorful birds, but are handsome in their own right. They sort of remind me of a drab-colored, but smaller, cockatiel.

Oh, and my feeder attracted the obligatory, and obnoxious, squirrels, too.

But I could never attract the really pretty birds I saw in the books: evening grosbeaks, purple finches, bluebirds, indigo buntings, and just about any of the warblers. Down here, I figured I’m right under their migratory route and should attract some of these birds, at least a cedar waxwing. Cedar waxwings look like cardinals, but they aren’t red. They are very striking birds with subtle hues of tan and yellow with a strategically placed red stripe.

And down here, I would even be happy with the obnoxious squirrel. The rare, and endangered Delmarva fox squirrel calls this area home. Once ranging from Pennsylvania through Virginia, it is now restricted to only a few areas in Maryland with Dorchester County boasting the largest population. Sure, to a lot of people, it may look like a smaller, fatter gray squirrel with a much bigger tail, but it is endangered so I have to see one before it disappears forever.

I bought a 3-in-1 feeder. Wild birdseed went in the middle, suet on one side, and sunflower seed cakes on the other. I wanted a gourmet feast to please any bird’s pallet. I set it up in the front yard where I could see it no matter where I sat in the house and patiently waited for the birds to come the next day.

Nothing.

The day after that: nothing.

For a full seven days, not one bird visited my feeder.

I decided that the feeder’s location wasn’t enticing enough for the birds. It stood smack in the middle of the yard with no trees or bushes anywhere near and it was probably too close to the house. I moved it away from the house near the woods’ edge where the cut lawn met the tall weeds I never got around to cutting. Now, I figured, the birds had protection from the weeds and trees and would feel safe to come feast. I eagerly anticipated my visitors the next morning.

Nothing.

The day after that: nothing.

For a full seven days, not one bird visited my feeder.

Then on the eighth day, I glanced out and saw a downy woodpecker eagerly poking away at the suet. On the ground were a couple of birds, but I couldn’t make out what they were because the weeds obscured my view – and the feeder sits too far away from the house. My eyes aren’t like they were when I was a kid.

I ran to the car to get my binoculars, the pair I had since I was a kid. I tried to bring everything in focus, but the best I could do was get a cloudy, slightly blurry image. (My binoculars have been shot for years and I’ve never replaced them. I should, but I can’t afford a new pair right now. The house takes everything, so I have to make do with what I got.)

I tried to use my plain eyes, again. As I took the binoculars away, another bird flew down on the feeder, scaring the woodpecker away. I could tell it was a handsome bird, but my naked eyes focused in on it about as well as my binoculars. (In the past couple of years, my excellent 20/15 vision has deteriorated to 20/20 and I’m sure a bit worse, now. I should get new eyes, but they can’t do that, yet. It sucks getting older.)

I raised the binoculars back up hoping to at least make out what this handsome bird was. I brought it into focus the best I could and there was no mistaking it. Finally, I saw my first cedar waxwing, something I always wanted to see since I was a kid.

I excitedly handed the binoculars to Keith. This was a treat that had to be shared. By the time he got the binoculars to his eyes and centered on the feeder, the cedar waxwing had flown off.

Christmas is coming. I’m hoping for a new pair of binoculars and a return visit from the cedar waxwing. Keith just has to see it.

And I have to figure out how I can afford a good camera….

© 2006
Mark Darien
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Please include this copyright notice if you share this article

Toddville Tidewaters' Welcome - Part IV

Note: If you haven’t read Toddville Tidewaters Welcome parts I, II, & III, you may want to read those first to make sense of what this final installment means.

After cracking open my beer, I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. As I lit my cigarette, my neighbor across the street pulled up. As he got out of his truck, he yelled over, “So how do you like living here now?”

“It’s an adventure, but fun!” I walked to the middle of the road and struck up a conversation with him. It was my first meeting with our one and only neighbor.

Mr. Dawson turned out to be an elderly man, but I couldn’t tell you how old. I’ve since learned that life on the Eastern Shore must be hard on the natives like Mr. Dawson. Everyone looks a good fifteen years or so older than they really are. Must be from a lifetime of working in the sun as a fisherman or crabber.

We did talk for about a half an hour as a light rain continued to fall in the strong breezes. As we talked, we heard a tree fall behind Mr. Dawson’s house. I reckon the breezes were stronger than I thought, but compared to earlier in the day, I don’t feel right saying it was windy.

From him, I learned that the wind speed from this storm was clocked at 99 mph only a couple of miles from where we stood. And like a typical down-home, Eastern Shoreman, he complained about all the intruders – city folk moving to the countryside.

“I was born and raised down here,” he said, “and even I had trouble knowing where the roads were. All these people move down here and mow all the grass right up to the road to make their yard look nice. Without the grass poking through, how are you supposed to see the road?”

I mostly listened figuring I could learn a lot about the area from him.

The conversation turned to hurricane Isabel a couple of years ago. Where we were standing, Mr. Dawson explained, the water was a good four feet high. He pointed to my house and said the waters were up to the bottom of my windows.

“Looks like we lucked out on this one,” I said.

He agreed.

“Well, I’m getting cold and I’m soaked. I better get on inside.”

I went in and changed clothes. I told Keith all that Mr. Dawson had to say. We reassured each other that most likely, we wouldn’t have much to worry about. Isabel was a record-breaking storm. Even downtown Baltimore got flooded out on that one. The odds of getting another Isabel type storm would be slim, we reasoned, and, besides, we obviously caught the brunt of Ernesto and the floodwaters were way down the road away from our house.

We didn’t have anything to worry about.

I opened another beer and began to unpack. About a half hour after talking to Mr. Dawson, I called Thistle to go outside with me so I could smoke another cigarette. (Ok, no lectures here. Yes, I know – I need to quit smoking.)

I opened the side door and stepped off the step into water above my ankles. Instinctively, I pulled my foot back. “Shit, Keith! We’re in trouble.”

Keith ran to the door. Water completely surrounded our house and was half way up the tires of Keith’s car. I went to the front of the house. The water was up to the top of the porch, and the road where I had been talking to Mr. Dawson a half hour earlier now looked like a river.

The tidewaters found us and came knocking on our door to welcome us.

I checked all around the house to see if any water was coming in. One spot, behind our couch, was damp as if someone spilled a glass of water. Otherwise, there was no water coming in.

I stepped out on our porch and watched the water. I couldn’t tell if it was still rising or not. I needed to know because if it rose only a few more inches, we would have a serious water problem in the house.

Fortunately, Keith likes wine and we had plenty of corks available. I tacked a piece of string to a cork, floated it in the water, and tacked the string taught to the doorjamb.

“There,” I said as I showed Keith my marvel of engineering, “if the water is rising, the string will get loose. If it is falling, the cork will start to slant on end.”

“What good is that? It won’t stop the water from coming in the house. And what about my car?”

He had a point, but it was too late to sandbag the house or move the car. I just needed to know what the water was doing.

Twenty minutes later, I checked the cork. I breathed a sigh of relief. It started slanting downwards – the water level was falling.

We went to bed knowing that for now, we weathered the storm just fine. When we awoke the next morning, the water had disappeared. The tide did run high for the next couple of days, but none of it came close to flooding our house or flooding the roads as badly as the initial storm surge.

For the first time, I had serious doubts about how wise it was to buy this house at such a great deal.


© 2006
Mark Darien
All rights reserved
Please include this copyright notice if you share this article