Simple wonder

Last weekend I was assigned the task of priming and painting our bedrooms. The previous owners had decided to use bold, garish colours, which meant that I was doomed to prime and reprime before I would even have the chance of adding some of our own "style" to the house. Somewhere between coats one and three I ran out of primer and had to go to the nearby Canadian Tire to pick up a fourth gallon of the stuff. i decided to treat myself to a mental break and picked up a bird feeder for our backyard.

Now, here's where my foolish notions kicked in: I thought it would be a delightful surprise for Lynn, because we've only been living in this house for a couple of months and so far we haven't even looked at the backyard. It's just a pile of snow, with a stand of birch trees off in the distance. Not much to look at, and certainly no wildlife. I imagined sitting at the dining room table, drinking freshly brewed coffee, and watching the birds (chickadees, finches, cardinals, and jays) gratefully cluster around the feeder.

I also imagined Lynn holding our yet-to-arrive baby by the patio doors, pointing out the birds and beaming as s/he gurgles in response. And of course our poor neglected cat Spook would find some comfort in pressing himself against the window, switching his tail as each tantalizing feathered treat flits past. Yes, this bird feeder was going to be an excellent addition to our family, one of the touchstones of our day-to-day experience.

After hanging the feeder in a relatively safe and visible location, I scattered some seeds on the ground to attract the birds' notice and waited with great anticipation.

And waited some more.

By the time Lynn returned, three days later, not one bird had shown up. Not a single seed had been taken. My offerings had been spurned; my surprise for Lynn was not the hub of winged life, but simply a hunk of plastic and metal swinging in the wind. Spook noticed nothing. I turned my mind to other things, ignoring the slight disappointment and accepting that any birds that had survived the winter so far had probably already located sufficient food supplies.

Fast forward to this weekend; I'm painting once again (albeit with actual coloured paint, not merely primer), and casting a defeated eye upon our bird feeder when... lo -- in the birch trees in the background I see birds darting from tree to tree. Can they see this source of sustenance only 75 feet away? Yes! A black-capped chickadee flits by and lands on the feeder! My heart leaps, and I hope that this is not a secretive bird, but one that will sing his song of found food to all his brethren. After taking a single seed, he departs, and I am left to wonder whether this is just a chance visit. Will the seed be to his liking? Will he return?

For the rest of the day, every time I wander past the window I look hopefully at the feeder. To my delight, two and sometimes three birds visit at a time; all chickadees, but all welcome. I try to show Spook, but he seems more interested in the window frame; he does not develop an awareness of life on this side of the house.

Not until this morning, when, sitting at the breakfast table with a fresh cup of coffee, I spy a visiting bird at the feeder. Scooping up Spook, I hold him towards the window -- and as the chickadee flits from stem to stem, his body stiffens and he moves smoothly onto the sill. His tail twitches, and the picture in my mind acquires a little more colour. Now, all that it needs for completion is the return of Lynn and the arrival of our baby. I can't wait.