It has been quite the winter here in New England, what with only a few inches of snow through mid January and then just a few monster storms since then, leaving us buried in historic snowfalls. Just another argument for that thing they call, climate change. Although much attention has been given to the weather, we must not forget our fine feathered friends lurking in the woods.
When I was younger, these winter storms meant snow days from school and earning a cup of hot chocolate with cookies from the elderly neighbors for shoveling them out. Although the weather forecasting is far more sophisticated today, the birds always seemed to know when the storms were coming. They'd be eating feverishly at the feeders in preparation beforehand, and they would be the first to signal that the excitement was winding down by their reappearance. That's when my mother would announce, " it's time to feed the birds". Before we'd even get things plowed out for ourselves, we'd have to find the feeders and dig them out. It was a ritual that these avian creatures had come to expect from us in those times of atmospheric upheaval.
Although my parents are no longer here to care for the birds, the birds are constantly looking for them. They come and go with nary a "peep", but we know they are out there somewhere, hidden in the understory created by this "wicked" winter. Now that this most recent storm has passed, it's time to feed the birds!