The cold and dark New England mornings make it challenging to spring out of bed. Birders and nature enthusiasts around town know that there are feeders to be filled, and by daybreak the juncos and chickadees will be down in the dumps if we don’t get going. So, out I go to fill the feeders with sunflower seeds. We keep the seed in barrels and I try to make the task even more appealing by plunging my whole forearm down into the barrel and feeling the rush of seeds filling in all the spaces.
This is something we learned as children when my folks would go down Mountain Road to the large grey building near CVS, a former grist mill, which sold hardware and feed. My parents would be in front, admiring the tubs of flyswatters and yardsticks and chewing the shopkeepers ears off. Meanwhile, the four of us would be unleashed in the warehouse visiting barrel after barrel of feed, all awaiting our grubby little arms. The alfalfa smell from the rabbit pellets wafted across the room and the cracked corn , thistle , sunflower and grass seed all waited for our careful examination. We couldn’t possibly leave without visiting each bin and immersing our arms into the depths of the seeds and delighting in that sensory experience . I’m sure we ended up back home with all sorts of rogue seeds in our hair and orifices, but no one seemed to mind. So each morning, I start with that same ritual, on a smaller scale, as I top our feeders off and scatter some on the ground for the birds who prefer to dine on terra ferma.
In the pitch dark mornings, I use my trusty head lamp to light the way. This past week I was lucky enough to spot a flying squirrel at our feeder under the cover of darkness. He was grayish brown with a white underbelly and two large eyes and a flattish tail. He started when he saw me and glided up the tree. These are our smallest squirrels in Connecticut and there are two varieties. They do not actually fly, but use a flap of skin called a patagium to glide from branch to branch. These nocturnal rodents spend most of their lives in trees, making nests in cavities. They change nests frequently, unless they are raising their young, and are open to sharing their sleeping quarters. What’s not to love about that? They are omnivores and feed on lichen, seeds, moss, berries, fungi and insects. Their diet is so cutting edge; it seems that they have been proponents of the paleo diet, before it became trendy.
These mornings I tiptoe outside, headlamp strapped on and lurk around our yard in the wee hours. I am hoping to catch another glimpse of our nightly feeder. And, on the days when the flying squirrel has chosen to dine elsewhere, I drown my sorrows by immersing as many of my limbs as possible in seeds Actually, I might need a bigger barrel. But for now, my morning routine includes immersion therapy and it’s free!