Sit quietly in this garden and the birds will come. One need not hide, nor hold one’s breath. There is enough here that is different, enough not-lawn and enough not-patio that the birds, hungry for a habitat that has been paved over, will come.
My neighbor said there had been no crickets here for some years before we moved in. I gave them someplace to live, someplace beyond the reach of mower and shear.
The mockingbirds always harassed Zeke this time of year, swooped at him abruptly from the wires and eaves, but he paid them no mind even as they near landed on his back. They defend their nests fiercely. Today one divebombed a Steller’s jay again and again, forcing the jay to run for cover, a glint of bright blue beneath the Adirondack chair. The mocker was relentless: jays are notorious nest predators. Swoop at the jay, and it wold land on the peak of the shed and turn. Swoop again and it alit in the oak. Swoop, and onto the eight-foot rebar coil I use as a trellis. The jay feigned uninterest, unflappability, but at last while walking among the parsley seedlings in the garden bed the mocker caught it by surprise, and it flailed for a moment on its back in the compost, black talons clutching air.
A pair of housefinches calmly watched the whole agonic encounter from atop the grape arbor.
We give the birds a bit of seed and a bath I fill each day, but they were here before I started feeding them. The oak brings them, waxwings and tanagers, juncos and warblers, woodpeckers and ravens, and they forage the moistened soil of the herb garden for sowbugs and snails. Watching the finches this evening I stood behind the rosemary, thinking myself concealed, and came a flash of yellow: a lesser goldfinch, male, watching me from a branch at eye level not two feet from my face. We eyed each other for a moment, then he flitted over to the new birdbath, drank his fill of water, flew off toward the creek.
Living in New York City, seeing any birds is a pleasure for me. A Mourning Dove laid an egg in my window box the other day, then left it alone. It looked very luminous and was the highlight of my week, seeing it on the soil. She has returned yesterday, and is sitting on the egg amongst the dried sticks and new sprouts of the thyme and mint. We are moving from the city in three days, back to San Luis Obispo, and I am looking forward to more birds. I have to clean out the apartment, but I don’t want to disturb the dove. I have been furtively moving things out of the kitchen, and will leave the planter on the sill when I go. Hopefully the next person will enjoy the dove’s progress as well.