There are few more ideal quiet times for me than sitting on my Ikea Poang chair staring out the back sliding glass doors at the backyard woods and feeders. We have two feeders in the back—one with thistle seed and the other with sunflower husks. We gave up years ago on a less expensive millet mix as the birds decided to scatter rather than eat it in search of sunflower seeds. And after years of experimentation and feeders, I have been able to create feeding stations that are squirrel-proof.
Too many large birds trigger the weighted perch to dip, covering the seeds with a metal strip. This morning a wide array of birds are taking their feed. Bluebirds, thrushes, sparrows, finches, chickadees, snowbirds and the occasional blue jay fight for a space on the feeder’s perch. As they fight for position, six tiny finches belly up to the seed tray like tradesmen at a counter in the local diner. They sit, eat and chirp in happy abandon.
But as suddenly as they gathered, the birds resting on the ends of the perch scatter to the skies replaced by a flash of feathers and wings. A red-tailed hawk has dived toward the feeder capturing the last-to-leave finch in its talons. Pulling up from its dive, its black-tipped wings spread out like a comforting hug (though it is anything but) halting any potential retreat. Retracting its wings it makes its grab and leaves as quickly as it arrives, prey in tow.
The feeder is silent and alone. Unlike other times when the birds are in a waiting queue as would gourmets lining up at a fashionable restaurant, nothing approaches the feeder. They realize that the perch is not a resting place but rather a serving plate. Within five minutes a few tentatively return to the spot to feed, but more jumpy than normal. In another 10 minutes they are all back, accepting the fate of their perch-mate, scattering seeds and filling their bellies.
