Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

The feeding station isn't just for birds. Gray and sometimes eastern fox squirrels, opossums, chipmunks, raccoons, cottontail rabbits and white-tailed deer all partake of the offerings here.

I put out enough corn to constitute a treat for the deer who know about it. Maybe four cups a day. I enjoy watching them come in so timidly.

Here's Boss Doe, snow on her coat. She's looking a wee bit pregnant, a bit rounded.

Please don't miss her eyelashes and face whiskers, the longest of anyone's. She's also got some impressive white chin whiskers.

The bucks are looking a little disconsolate, now that they're dropping their antlers.

Besides the slightly Roman nose characteristic of bucks, he's got a nice pedicel scar just above his eye.

Pedicel scar, a little closer. Pretty how the snow is frozen in mid-descent by my wonderful Canon 7D.

I'm greatly encouraged to find a high count of 30 cardinals at the feeder so far this year. Last year I had to work to find seven! I will probably never know what happened to the cardinals in 2013-14, but many people reported steep declines.

30 will do. Favorite cardinal shot in some time. Look at the snowflakes clinging to his whiskers. It's a whisker post.

Yes. I'm looking at you. I'm the Seed Lady. You know me.

All these photos are taken from my drafting stool, just looking out the studio window. When we bought the house in 1992, there was no studio. And there were no trees or shrubs. No birches, no spruces, no arbor vitaes. Nothing had been planted near the house but for one dahlia, and a trumpetvine that had sprung up and climbed up under the shingles. That, we eventually got rid of.

Everything else we put here, and all the wildlife has come in because of it. This is just the span of an hour or so on February 16, 2015.

As I watch and shoot photos, two deer come in. One looks familiar, very familiar. Barely bigger than her yearling son behind her. I know that doe.

It's ELLEN!!

this taken 1/29/15, her first appearance this winter. Hi baby doe!

Garrett Makes a Home

I can't tell you how fabulous it is to be enjoying our fourth full day (by the time you read this, a full week) of Garrett. All I can do is show you. Every time I see him my heart leaps. It's like new love. There's something about his colors that make all my happy neurons fire at once. It's enough that he's beautiful, but he's so funny and cute, too, so inquisitive...I've been letting myself think that Charlie's come back to keep me company. 

It doesn't hurt to think that. I miss Charlie, my sweet little green goofball, every single day. And having a bird around again, even if he's flying free outside, helps fill that hole just a little bit.

Garrett is so bright, so cleanly marked, so outlandishly unexpected among the grays, browns, olives and occasional blues of winter.

I still think someone left a toy on the deck railing when I see him decorating it.

You know, one of those toys that squawks when you squeeze it.  The resemblance is rather apt. Garrett's  CHUBBEH.

  Zick being Zick, I began to worry the second night of Garrett's stay where he would sleep. I would gladly give him Charlie's climate-controlled aviary. I get so attached, I forget that woodpeckers are fully capable of making their own homes.  

So Garrett is sitting in the mulberry tree just outside the studio window on a gloomy afternoon and I'm staring at him and he launches off in a fanfare of black, white and red but I can tell by the way he's braking he's not going far. I run to the next window with my camera and get there just in time to see him do this:

He's taken up residence in a broken birch stub just off the back corner of our house! These were the first gray birches we planted on moving here in 1992. Of course, being birches and host to every insect and fungus on the planet, they're dead now. But we did not cut them down.  We let them naturally deliquesce. And if you are looking up that word right now, know it is one of my favorites. Ever.

One trunk bit now lies on the back deck railing, serving as Garrett's Zick Dough feeder. And the one still standing is his bedroom. Awwww!

I was not the only person who noticed him going into the cavity for the first time. Three Carolina chickadees began scolding like mad, their dee dee dee’s reaching a crescendo each time Garrett's head popped out of the hole.  Perhaps the night roost had changed hands and was now chickadee property. We have a surfeit of chickadees this year, probably thanks to the fact that our backyard pair fledged NINE from a faux birchbark Gilbertson house not 20 feet away. (With a little help from me; I fostered three orphans into an existing brood of six).

Tough tits, chickadees. This is my house now.

 Before long his crimson head popped out and then he disappeared again, coming back up with a bill full of punky birch wood!

Garrett was excavating, making himself a home. This cavity, I knew, had been the night roost for a downy woodpecker last fall. Nothing quite like having a downy woodpecker almost pith you when you peek into a mystery cavity right at eye level…you don’t forget that.

Ptoo!! The wind carried his sawdust away.

 Up and back he went, bringing the fill out and scattering it with a quick shake of his head.

Ptoo!

I'm standing atop a desk in the studio, shooting through glass, loving every second of The Garrett Show. I spent the entire MLK day Monday, dawn to dark, documenting his every move. One could do worse than be a woodpecker documentarian; one could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Finally, he was done. He squiggled out of the rather tight space.

Enh! Enh! Too much PB and lard...

and perched for a long time, looking fondly at his new house. Red-headed woodpeckers are at once the flashiest and most phlegmatic of woodpeckers, sitting for long periods in one spot. Garrett spends a good portion of his day in just this position, staring into his boudoir.

It is a fine house, and you are a fine bird. I see you feel welcome here. That was our intent.

Stick with people who let dead wood stand in the yard until it falls down by itself, who think it has its own beauty. Who know just what a woodpecker likes.