I was just in a fine state of gloom. The country seems to be falling apart, there’s the possibility a clown may win the presidential election, terrorists are popping up everywhere, our police are increasingly heavy handed, it’s hotter than the gates of Halifax out in the sun and my aging knees are cranky. Then a flash of red knocked me out of my peevishness.
The flash of red is from a Red bellied woodpecker. My work table has a fine window view of our backyard. The grass is a riotous selection of weeds, although neatly mowed for now. The yard is bounded by a privacy fence six feet tall, old and a bit saggy (like some of the neighbors). In the middle of the yard is the dead wreck of a citrus tree, with old branches propped up teepee-like, providing a nice spot for bird feeders.
Among our regular customers is a family of Red-bellied woodpeckers. Mom and dad woodpecker have two kids who are flying well and yelling louder. Dad has an amazingly bright red on the top and back of his head and it is that red streaking for a feeder that caught my gloomy eyes a few minutes ago. I grab my binoculars and view dad and see him loading up on peanuts (shelled, and of course unsalted). I could swear he looked around guiltily before snarfing up a couple himself, before flying back to those hungry kids. In fifteen minutes there was glee and drama. The drama was a mockingbird harassing a large crow, like a video of a World War One biplane harassing a 747. The glee was a bunch of Blue jays discovering the peanuts I put out this morning. There have been cameo appearances by the Collared doves.
The old fence is a highway for squirrels, They regularly walk it, usually with the grace of a ballerina but one has about as much grace as a clam doing the Texas two step. The fence is a gladiatorial arena for our population of Cuban anoles. The male anoles can inflate their throats, showing a brightly colored patch of skin, and so they flash brightness at each other. It reminds me of some of the pride-full and fact-empty commentators on CNN talking past one another.
More flashes of red. There’s a family of cardinals who have raised three or four youngsters. Dad cardinal is a nervous crimson, but the kids are still all beak and pale. They hit the feeders with a flighty intensity.
Then there is what has grown from seeds spilled from the feeders—pearl millet and sunflowers. The millet looks remarkably like corn till it opens with fingers of seed. The sunflowers are tall and in the morning brightness glow like small suns.
This is on a bright Saturday morning. There’s blood in the streets of a nation I admire. There’s sadness in the streets of another nation I admire. There’s hurt in the nation’s heart and farce opening up in a great city by Lake Erie. There’s healing out there in that weedy yard.