A Scolding Song

I was walking through my kitchen this morning and heard a little bird singing. I looked out the window to see a winter wren sitting outside on top of the empty bird feeder, and boy, was he making a fuss! I'm not sure you can even call what he doing singing--it sounded pretty angry, really! I suspect he is the male of the same pair that nested in one of our urns last year. I wonder if he was thinking "What gives? This place used to have the best service. Hel-lo-o, we're hungry out here!"

I love these little wrens. They are so feisty and have a confident, bright, melodious song. I can recognize most of our backyard birds by their calls now. I suppose most people that feed birds can. Some of the most frequent calls are the buzzing "FEE-bee-bee-be" of the chickadees, the nasal "ankh, ankh" of the white-breasted nuthatch, or even the harsh "thief! thief!" of the blue jay. But this wren really sings, sometimes for minutes at a time. He pauses every so often, just long enough to hear a response, I suppose.

The wrens hold their own even against the blue jays that dominate our yard though they are half the size, and they share the bird feeders nicely with the other small songbirds. I love the way they perch with their tails erect. Almost as if to say, "You know you like me, I'm perky." It never fails to make me smile.

Feeding the birds is my link to the outdoors during the months that it's too cold to garden. By necessity most of their colors are much more subtle than my flowers, but that's okay. Any color, even just a little bit, looks pretty against the white backdrop of the snow.

So, before he or any of our other feathered friends return to scold me some more, I'm off to the sweet little nature shop in Hartville that I love so much to buy more seed. I could spend hours in there. But I won't linger this afternoon because these little guys are hungry and it is awfully cold today.