A Conversation About Local Color

This past week was harsh. Ice prevailed on any surface that hadn’t been heavily salted by road crews or home owners. The bright sunny days now carry enough heat to melt a good portion of the ice, but wherever it didn’t evaporate, it flowed and refroze when the solar heat dispersed. A similar fate befell the snow on lawns and fields. The crusty top layer somehow got thicker and sharper and more reflective as the melt/refreeze cycle went on. The snow became so glazed that I could see reflections of trees, not just shadows. Each morning when I came in from dog walking I had to change from my nifty automatic darkening glasses to a different pair to be able to see anything, and sometimes it took my eyes a while to adjust from the glare.

 But the spring events are beginning, regardless. The longer days are triggering changes in behavior among my furred and feathered neighbors. I have a pavilion area with bird feeders and another fenced area with suet holders. During the “regular” winter, both have lots of visitors. During this past week or so, even with the bitter cold, activity has doubled. This is where the color happens. A month ago I would have been delighted at a visit from one red cardinal or even one of those rascally blue jays. Today there is a feathered rainbow flashing around all the feeders. There are six fully mature red cardinal males, another half dozen females and juveniles, and half a dozen young males, fully colored but not yet fully grown. The quarrelsome blue jays shove everybody else around, being the beautiful bullies they are. They all hop around the bird feeders and cling to the suet holders.  In the early morning when the sun bursts from the Eastern horizon, I can look into the cedar from the second floor window and see a crop of blue and red and black and white feathered chests puffed up to gather warmth. They look like festive ornaments tucked between the needled branches.

 I consider black and white to be colors, too, and the many woodpeckers share variations of black and white markings accented with vivid red caps. The carnival of color doesn’t include the bright goldfinches yet, although I see them among the mixed flock in their winter disguise.  I do get impatient waiting for them.

The bigger birds show off on a larger scale than my little yards can provide. It’s when I’m out on the highway that I begin to notice more activity among the Canada geese. Many overwinter, but don’t get boisterous until mating season approaches. Then I start to hear their vocalizing, some time before I see a pair winging overhead, discussing something urgent between themselves. Their colors are subtler, but exquisitely arranged.  Love is in the air for many of my avian neighbors, even in the bitter cold and ill-tempered wind. They obviously read a calendar written in a language I don’t know.

I can appreciate the gorgeous buff color on the chest of the sharp-shinned hawk. The little birds avoid this predator, but I enjoy his company every day as he stands on the same branch, feathers fluffed, and soaks up the warmth that finally comes from the rising sun. It’s been a long winter for all of us, and the bluebirds will be back to accompanying me on our walks when the hawk goes back to his normal patrol. They have already begun house hunting.

And I have moved on to searching for pussy willows and crocuses and red winged blackbirds.