Spring is for the birds

I changed out the dirty winter snowmelt in a couple of bird baths in my yard today, and within the hour birds had heard the news and were stopping by for a shine. A female cardinal was quickly dipping her head and flapping like mad to get under her armpits, I suppose, which must get pretty rank for all the work birds do in order to fly. She was all puffed up and tossing water everywhere, making a show by hopping onto the rim of the bath, then back in, then back to the rim for a look around to see who might be watching. I didn’t see any males noticing her, but maybe they just hadn’t heard the news that the pool is open.

In any case, other birds soon stopped by, wrens and chickadees and sparrows mostly, but they had to wait their turns. I’ve noticed that birds seem to be pretty strict about having the bath to themselves, nothing casual or romantic, just one bather at a time. After the cardinal was done, a blue jay stopped by and drank from the bathwater, which is fine by me because blue jays are bullies, constantly yelling at everyone. Hopefully he got a little taste of some cardinal poop.

Spring has always been one of my favorite times of year, but ever since I put some bird baths and feeders out back, I love it even more. Spring is when the birds come back, and not just the usuals. Migrating birds just passing through will pop in for a bath and a bite to eat and be on their way. I’m not a birder, but I’ve seen house finches and goldfinches, eastern bluebirds and apple red birds that aren’t cardinals whose names I forget, lots of varieties of woodpecker, and many more. I love how they turn their heads around every which way so quickly, not in a paranoid meth-addict sort of way, but in a way that alerts them to threats and also to possible friends. It makes them seem so aggressively curious. Birds are also much more chatty in the spring as they seek to pair up and make more birds.

In the afternoon I walked to nearby Crystal Lake, and, in a first since I moved to this neighborhood nearly four years ago, I saw and heard loons on the water. Evidently they got tired and decided to make a pit stop here on their way back up north.

I bet every kid dreams at some point of being able to fly. They may not dream of being a bird, but still, it’s some variation of a bird, like a bird with a cape in spandex with an “S” on the chest. Birds are truly incredible among beings: they soar and ride upon nothing but the wind. Birds are inspirational. People write songs and poems about birds. People model aircraft after birds, and many other designs. We all once wished we could fly, but as you get older, you start to realize that sometimes just a bath is really nice. Sometimes a bath is just enough.