small stone: The bird feeders

Red. Yellow. The bird feeders have been swinging back and forth, back and forth, since late this morning when I anchored myself to the kitchen sink, fixing wraps for lunch, cooking soup, washing floors, scrubbing cooktops. Back and forth, back and forth.

A lone house finch, red head almost matching my red feeder, is first to arrive, joined by a bachelor gold finch, somber in his dark, dirty yellow winter mantle. They nibble on the black oil sunflower seeds methodically and philosophically, until the dopey sparrows drive them off with their constant nattering and frantic moments of group panic.

A pair of sturdy juncos roll their eyes as they popcorn around the base of the feeder picking up dropped seed. "Dopey sparrows," they seem to say.

And finally the chickadees arrive. They dive bomb the feeders, grabbing one sunflower seed at a time, rapidly retreating to the safe haven of our backyard hedge to savor their winter bounty. As the afternoon goes on, I can see they're the culprits, the ones who have my bird feeders swinging to and fro.

Before dark, I take the trash out. The dopey sparrows are nested for the night, the finches well hidden in the cedar straight back from the house. But from the hedge I hear one last wistful chick-a-dee-dee-chick-a-dee-dee-dee.

Thank-you-a-dee-dee-Delightful-lunch-a-dee-dee-dee.

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About small stones. . . a little writing exercise I've happily copped from Euphenia over at Little Dogs on Long Leashes!

Looking for love in all the right places

Nyjer thistle seed socks.

Easily one of the best investments we've made in recent years. Our dividend? A lively, colorful colony of American goldfinches, aka spinus tristis, Eastern goldfinch or wild canary, who have taken up residence in and around our garden.

It's spring, and the gentlemen, in particular, are making their presence known -- quickly trading in their dull ochre winter coloring for a bright lady-pleasing yellow. And although the finches won't nest and start their broods till late June-early July, the guys aren't wasting any time.

Although usually somewhat circumspect, using the foliage and branches of the cherry tree for protection, our male goldfinches proudly perch on the top branches of the tree these days, puffed out like feathery lemons. (I counted about 8 a couple of days ago!) They fill the backyard with a light, reedy song -- letting the ladies know they're ready, willing and able.

Even our incorrigible gang of sparrows seem a bit subdued by the goldfinches' springtime transformation. At least for now.

The finches push back

It's Veterans Day. And as a slave to the state, I have the day off.

I actually love this holiday. Not everyone gets the day off, so when Veterans Day falls on a week day, you can get all kinds of things done -- like shopping at Fred Meyers and getting a hair cut -- without a crush of people around you or ahead of you in the appointment book.

It's also a day I set aside to make Johnny's Spaghetti Sauce with Meatballs. This is not a difficult recipe, but it does require about five hours of your day, starting with its assemblage and concluding with 4 hours of fragrant simmering. It is worth every nanosecond. And on the stove as I write.

Since the recipe involves making, shaping and browning about 8 zillion meatballs, this gives me plenty of time to stand at the kitchen window and watch life unfold around the birdfeeders.

Today started normally enough with our shameless flock of sparrows dominating anything and everything edible. A relative newcomer to our garden -- a house finch -- appeared in all his scarlet glory but was raucously rebuffed by a team of these incorrigibles. Really. Sparrows are the most impossible, yet entertaining, birds.

Grrrrrr. Note to self 1: Must learn how to get rid of sparrows. Note to self 2: Ha ha ha ha ha.

Next on the scene: Our regular little male goldfinch appears, who I will call Leonardo for the sake of the story about to unfold . He tries politely -- several times -- to grab a ride on one of the nyjer seed socks only to be firmly dismissed by the sparrows.

Grrrrrr. Note to self 3: Must learn how to get rid of sparrows. Note to self 4: Ha ha ha ha ha.

Leonardo retreats to a branch, calmly surveying the ongoing sparrow orgy -- somewhat sadly, but (I have to admit ) with a bit of calculation in his beady little eyes. Exit Leonardo.

What happens next becomes an unexpected, but epic, avian version of "The Gangs of New York." Leonardo returns about 15 minutes later -- with about 6 to 8 of male goldfinch ganstas in tow. The most we've ever seen in our backyard. They flock to the seed socks, staking their culinary claim in defiance of the sparrows. The sparrows respond, wings beating furiously, pecking madly at any seed sock interloper.

The finches push back -- giving as good as they get. And then, as if some magical switch was flipped, the melee stops. Suddenly, sparrow and finch, in harmony, go back to the most important business of the day -- feeding. Together. Sharing seed socks. Making room for each other. Playing well in the proverbial birdfeeder sandbox.

Damn. Maybe the surge COULD work. If executed by goldfinches.

Later, satiated with nyjer seed and the satisfaction of peaceful coexistence, the sparrows and goldfinches depart for their respective nests and perches.

And once assured the coast was clear, our faintly perplexed house finch, in all his scarlet glory, returned for a quiet afternoon snack.