The Little House Cafe

The temperature here in North Central Texas is currently colder than the northern half of Montana. The last time we rose above freezing was about 3 a.m. Tuesday morning. We had an ice pellet storm on Tuesday, which has congealed into a solid sheet of ice coating the streets and driveways. Most of the schools in the area have been shut down since then: the streets are simply too slick for safety. To add insult to injury, 5 inches of snow were dumped on us overnight.

The intense and continuous cold has led to an avian crisis: the birds need food. Lots of it. With temperatures dropping near single digits, the tiny birds that normally frequent our feeders can lose a significant part of their body weight in one night trying to keep warm.  Fortunately for my bird buddies, the school where I teach has been closed for 4 days, allowing me to maintain a pretty continuous buffet. Awesome Husband estimates that over 300 birds have dined at the Little House Cafe, where we've gone through about 30 pounds of black sunflower seed in 3 days, and too many cups of cornmeal/peanut butter suet to keep track of.

Over 100 in this picture alone, including a growing flock of red-winged blackbirds

Our usual friends were there. Tufted titmice, chickadees, mourning doves, and cardinals know where to turn for a meal any day.

"Please: fewer pictures, more seed."

Their enthusiasm brought in some birds that are less familiar. The red-bellied woodpecker hangs around the trees all the time, but it's only since the weather chilled down that he came to the buffet line. He was initially attracted to the whole peanuts we were putting out for the blue jays, but he soon learned to like my homemade suet. His first approaches were timid and quick, only peeking over the edge of the railing while he perched vertically. Now, he hops around like he owns the place, and visits every day.

Shot with one hand holding a heavy camera, through a window & screen, in low light. Better than expected.

I'd been wondering where the Harris's sparrows were. They always arrive later than the other birds, like a mid-winter present. I saw the first few on Tuesday, sporting their characteristic black beret and bib. So far, nine of them have showed up.

Harris's sparrow, with a brown-headed cowbird looking on

Fox sparrows were unexpected guests. I've seen a few of them in the woods, but never in a close-up. They're bigger than I'd expected, just about the size of a cardinal, with gorgeous brown and grey feathers on their backs. Their bellies are streaked, with a smeary black spot on the chest. They have a distinct little double-scratch they do when they're searching for food: they jump forward, then scoot back a couple of times. It's not so effective when they're on a layer of ice, but it's awfully cute.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I AM stunning."

These chipping sparrows are enjoying the shelter from the biting north wind, nestled inside an overturned flowerpot.

"If she really loved us, she'd plug the hole that lets in the wind."

After a party, there's bound to be a little debris. Each evening, the deck is littered with the detritus of the day, evidence of a lot of hearty meals.

If it was easy, it wouldn't be fun.

When we first moved from The City to The Country, I knew a few birds. Really, who CAN'T call a cardinal or a blue jay at first glance? Imagine my surprise when I found that not all birds are as easy to put a name to!

Once tucked away in the Little House in the Not-So-Big-Woods, I found that I liked having proper names for things. It's much better to talk about the Southern Prickly Ash than about "that tree with the weird pointy bark." It's the same with birds. I'd rather say "Look, there's a chipping sparrow" than "Hey, there's that little sparrow-looking thing."

So, with field guide in one hand and binoculars in the other, I set out to look for distinguishing marks on everything within sight that grew, crawled, slithered, or flew. I discovered the agony of trying to analyze the subtle difference in shading between 2 almost identical birds in the guide, and then apply it to a real live one: a bird that doesn't want to sit perfectly still in the exact pose as the exquisite picture in my hand.

Case #1 (Photo courtesy of Ken Blackwell, from Flickr )
Even I knew it was a woodpecker. I didn't know there so many kinds. It did have a red head. Perhaps it was a red-headed woodpecker! (I'm logical like that) Except...it wasn't. It could be a red-bellied woodpecker. What does the book say...hm..."...distinguished by the wash of pale red on the belly..."

The belly??!!?? It's a woodpecker! Their bellies stay pressed against the tree trunk! I can't remember how many times I followed the infernal winged things from branch to branch, binoculars making circular indentations around my eyes, quietly moaning "pleeeeaaaaassssse turn around!" I'm sure it got to be a game with them. "Hey, watch me hop up on this branch, but I'll turn away from her so she can't see my front side!" The bird that was finally careless enough to let me catch a glimpse of that rosy glow must have been heckled by all of his friends.

Case #2

(photo left, courtesy of Don Sutherland, from Flickr)
Again with the woodpeckers! "Hairy" or "Downy"? Check the all-knowing Reference Book. "Hairy woodpeckers are larger." Refrain from throwing Reference Book across the yard. That description would be great if only I could persuade one of each to perch side by side on a tree trunk, so I could do a little comparative measurement. When there's only seeing one, it's less than useful. I did finally find a mention elsewhere that you can differentiate them by the ratio of beak length to head width. At that time, they started hiding their heads.

(photo right, courtesy of Anne Elliott, from Flickr)