Bird feeder is a relative term. At least that is the case around here. A few mornings ago we spotted the first rabbit to visit the feeders. Normally, all we see during the winter are rabbit tracks crisscrossing the gardens.
This rabbit just sat there nibbling on feeder droppings impressively indifferent to the blue jays that plopped down beside it from time to time – and equally nonplussed by the various species of squirrels that monopolized the main feeding station just 10 or so feet away. We have red squirrels, gray squirrels, and the occasional black squirrel. There are times when the feeding station looks more like a squirrel jungle gym than a bird buffet.
There are so-called squirrel proof feeders. I have one, but it depends on which species one is referring to. The red squirrels, nimble little gymnasts, fit through the mesh easily and enjoy sitting there nibbling on sunflower seeds feeling quite protected from the more rambunctious birds, having discovered over time that the self-incarceration approach works quite nicely.
The gray squirrels feed at the base of the tree when I have been thoughtful enough to pile some seed there to make life easy for them. However, as soon as they lay that store bare, they scramble up the tree, cling to the feeders and utilize various methods of dislodging seeds from behind the mesh they are to big to squeeze through. They manage to eek out enough to make the effort worthwhile.
Every once in a while one is ingenious enough, or lucky enough, to get the top off the most accessible feeder, the one with the non-screw top, and stick its head down far enough to plunder all the black gold it can.
There are ways of ending these visitations. But I have no intention of doing so. One old codger suggested spraying fox urine around the base of the tree. I am not sure where to get such a lovely elixir, although I have been told that one can find anything on the Internet. I think I’ll pass. There are days when it seems as if we are hosting a squirrel Loya jirga. I admire their tenacity and their willingness to use whatever means necessary to get their winter grub. When they start bedding down in the house that will be another story. That would get me to cleaning the .22 and setting up shop on the deck in the Adirondack chair to get in some wintertime target practice. That might just be a way to get me to finally sample some squirrel stew. No hurry at this juncture. Fact is, they really do not eat all that much and their shenanigans are fun to watch. Watching them chase one another is a treat. Out West squirrels are sometimes called flickertails and there are few amusements equal to watching an especially furtive gray or red sit there flicking its tail to and fro as if keeping in time to some primal rhythmical pattern.
I have thought from time to time that I might get one or two of those saucers that are supposed to prevent them from getting at the feeders, but I never do. It is a combination of procrastination, cheapness, and an honest fascination for, and appreciation of, the entertainment they provide.
Early on this winter I strung a wire between two trees and hung two of the smaller feeders in the middle, thinking that would keep the squirrels at bay. One morning breakfast table I looked out and saw a red scramble up to the hook holding the wire at one end.
It sat there for a few seconds, obviously gauging the effort required for a leap. After a few flicks of the tail it took off, landing close enough to grip the bottom of the closest feeder with its claws. An amazing bit of gymnastics.
All I could do was sit there in awe. A week or so later I took the wire down, put the feeders back with the others, and resigned myself quite happily to being a feeder of squirrels and birds. We never banked on a rabbit joining the dining club. It has been here twice and we have no reason to believe once a nearby eatery is discovered it will be spurned. We just hope the word does not spread too far. Ever since reading Watership Down I have had a warm spot in my heart for rabbits. Just hope they do not take advantage. I do not mind feeding a few; a whole warren is out of the question.
Gabby still gets her jollies by barking and scraping her front toes on the windowsill when she sees squirrels. Her serious squirrel chasing days are over – and they know it. But the old girl still gets her dander up and that is reassuring. Despite her geriatric state I am sure she still has squirrel dreams.
Columns
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Bird Feeder?
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From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
Time to bring you up to date on Fly Creek’s happy clambering into Spring. First, the eatery scene. “Is Jerry’s open yet?” The answer is, “Oh, yes!” The porches are freshly stained; the lawns a uniform green, and the hop vines are already climbing the posts on the covered side deck. Blue and I went up there to lunch earlier this week, and I celebrated spring with my traditional bacon, onion and Swiss cheese hamburger. We two sat on the deck, enjoying the broad view and some spectacular clouds marching across, up toward Schuyler Lake.
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In These Otsego Hills: More from 1986 ...
This week we continue with the discussion of telephone service from the pre-dial days. On March 12 we noted that: “No one has yet produced a telephone directory from pre-dial days, but Doug Preston of New Hartford recalls that some business (which one?) in the village had the phone number 7.”
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Home Notes: Celebrations abound at the Thanksgiving Home
April was a month of celebrations and much to appreciate. We had a 90th birthday celebration for Wanda Noyes on April 4 including her family and friends. Personal care staff Dee Bouck worked with residents to hand paint Easter eggs for the tree in the activity room.
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In These Otsego Hills: 1986 continues ...
This week we continue our journey through the columns of 1986 with the answer to the question “for whom, according to tradition, was Hannah’s Hill named?”
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Book Notes: Baseball book features local contributors
Baseball is part of the nation’s fabric. Most kids have a memory of the game either from playing Little League, attending a major league contest or meeting a favorite player. In Cooperstown that feeling is magnified since we are the official home of baseball. We get to see firsthand what has made the sport the national pastime.
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From Fly Creek: Ya really wanna know?
SETTING: Fly Creek General Store. CAST: Assorted seated geezers, drinking coffee. [Door opens, enter heavy-set geezer; walking slowly with wide stance, maybe prostatitis.]
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In These Otsego Hills: Returning to 1986 ...
For the past several years now we have undertaken sharing some of the area’s oral history we have collected over the years that we have written this column. Therefore, this year, we would like to go back to 1986 to share that rather unusual year. Those who were here then no doubt remember that it was that year that the village celebrated the bicentennial of its founding.
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From Fly Creek: For reasons unknowable
[Jim’s reached back to 2002 to share one of his favorite columns.] My father was born as the last century began into a river village in tidewater Maryland. He told me once of a man there in his boyhood who, like so many, made a thin living tonging for oysters in the cold months and, in the hot and humid ones, crabbing and raising vegetables.
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In These Otsego Hills: CCS balancing act ... side two
Last week we shared a number of activities in which students at CCS can participate. We thought it was an impressive, if not overwhelming, list. And we are indeed pleased that the young people of our area have these opportunities. However, we think it is also important to keep in mind that these undertakings do have a cost associated with them. They are not free. In fact there are, no doubt, those who would say they do not come cheap.
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From Fly Creek: A graceful crowd
Make of this what you will, friends. I feel I’m really meant to share it with you. Despite good medication for my Parkinsonism, every four or five weeks I can sensethe symptoms building up on me, giving me more than ordinary trouble. Lately it’s been falls, and last week brought a typical one. I’d gone out to get the paper, moving along with penguin steps on the snowcoved ice patches, and usingmy spike-tipped cane the waya climber uses an ice axe. But circumstances overcame me. Parkinson’s wipes out the possibility of multi-tasking.
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In These Otsego Hills: This and that and the other side ...
We note that the CCS Class of 2012 is presenting its senior class play, “Snow White” by Tim Kelly, this week with performances 7:30 p.m Thursday and Friday, March 29 and 30, and at 11 a.m. and 7:30 p.m. Saturday, March 31. All performances will be at the Nicolas J. Sterling Auditorium at the Middle/High School.
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In These Otsego Hills: That green thing ...
Of late we have noticed that our email inbox has been much busier than usual. In fact, we find ourselves hard pressed to keep up with all the various messages we receive. As a result we suspect we have not answered some in as timely a fashion as might be thought appropriate.
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From Fly Creek: What you need to know
In their last Sunday’s bulletins, all 84 churches of Otsego County were to have carried announcements of an important meeting; most of them did. But because the announcement is so important, and not just to the churched, here it is again.
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Book Notes: Living the magic of ‘Hoosier’
A lot of people consider “Hoosiers” the best sports film of all time. The 1986 classic follows the exploits of a fictional small town Indiana high school basketball team in 1952 as it attempts to achieve the impossible dream of a state championship. The story is inspired by the true life achievement of the 1954 Milan team, who with an enrollment of only 161 students shocked big city power Muncie Central on a last second shot to win the state title. It’s the kind of sports story that represents something that is hard to grasp unless you live in a small town.
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In These Otsego Hills: The most perfect village... home to heavy industry?
We suspect we would get a whole lot more accomplished if we spent less time thinking, pondering and musing about things. In fact, there is a good possibility we might actually have completed our goal of cleaning the basement if we only focused on the task at hand, instead of trying to figure out the world around us. It almost makes us wonder if it is possible to think too much about things. We certainly hope not because should that be the case, we are in deep trouble.
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Up On Hawthorn Hill: The past in the present
Clichés abound about the value of photographs. Most are probably true at least to a certain extent. What I do know about an image is that it represents something of the past that is not the pastitself. But that is the power of any image. It represents something that once was. The beauty of an image, revisited, is that it functions as a catalystfor reliving in the present a past experience. My own view, one that I thank the Spanish writer Jorge Luis Borges for, is that all we ever can experience is the present.
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Home Notes: Workshops held for Thanksgiving Home residents
We welcomed Linda Keller, Ph.D. of the Bassett Research Institute and Ida Baker of NYCAMH who presented a six-week workshop for residents and staff.
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From Fly Creek: Late-winter hamlet news
Well, at least I’m “guessing” it’s late winter now — in the winter that wasn’t. But, if not snow, I can provide a flurry of Fly Creek news to share with you, scooping Associated Press, Reuter’s, and United Press International, not to mention all local news services except our General Store.
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In These Otsego Hills: Waiting for spring to have sprung ...
Difficult as it to believe, both January and February seem to have flown by and we find ourselves turning the calendar over to the month of March, which we have long thought is one of the more dreary months of the year. Of course, as in the pastthere are signs of spring as reflected by the tapping of the maple trees. For many years, the trees sprouted buckets to capture their all important sap. However, we now know to look for the sap collection lines that are strung from tree to tree.
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Book Notes: Kennedy: a unique individual
It’s been almost 50 years since the Kennedy assassination shocked the nation. Since then much has been written about President John F. Kennedy and whether he would have achieved his destiny (whatever that may have been) if he had lived. It is said he inspired young people in a way that has never been equaled. And there is the notion of Camelot, espoused by his widow Jackie, that there will never be a time of hope and promise like that again.
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From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
