We haven’t seen finches at the feeder for several weeks—at least six or seven. Actually, th
e Sig-O maintains that there has never been a finch at the feeder. Conversations about the topic go like this:
Me: Look, a gold finch
Sig-O: Where?
Me: Oh, it’s gone.
Or
Me: Look, hon, finches
Him: Where?
Me. There, on the feeder.
Him: Those aren’t finches.
Me. What are they then?
Him: They’re just birds that look like finches.
Well, we all know how he is.
I was in agreement with him, though, until Monday morning. While I was sitting in the family room sorting photos and watching President Obama’s Fiscal Responsibility Summit on C-SPAN, a swarm of finches descended on the feeder. There had to be seven or eight, fluttering around, playing musical perches. I saw goldfinches, some house finches and some purple finches, mostly females.
We’ve also been visited recently by some colorful sparrow-sized chestnut-backed chickadees, who are suet-eating fools. I could spend a lot of time watching their trapeze-act antics as they land on the suet cage and try
to push each other off.
I’m happy to see the birds but I have mixed feelings. In spite of the recent series of storms that have come through, leaving quite a bit of rain, I think their appearance means we’re approaching spring. . . and it’s much too early, and much too dry. Still, they are a delight to see.
The cloud of finches stayed for about forty-five minutes and then flew off. They must have a routine. Maybe they only come to our house on Monday mornings.