Since September started, I feel that I have spent almost all of my waking hours in Room 302, working with my students as they attempt to learn about biology or physics. And, as often happens during the school year, I find myself feeling a bit disconnected from nature.
With every passing day, the daylight hours diminish, and I will soon find myself leaving home in the dark and returning in those twilight hours before sunset; missing out on all of the wonderful events that occur just outside my kitchen door.
While Oct. 29 was a raw and unpleasant day that offered no real opportunity to go outside, Oct. 30 was much better, but at about 12:30 p.m., I found myself with a difficult choice to make: should I set up shop in front of the TV and watch the Patriots, or should I set up shop on my deck and spend time with the birds?
Ultimately, I gathered my journals — the red one for keeping track of bird sightings and the black one for recording a more detailed narrative of my observations — a glass of good scotch, and I sat down in my favorite chair on my deck. This seems to have pleased the gods.
I had managed only a page-and-a-half in my black journal when I felt a strange sensation on the back of my head. Having once lived with a bluebird that liked to execute sneak attacks, I realized that a small bird had landed on the collar of my heavy shirt and was tugging at my hair. An instant later, the bird flew over to the big feeder where I put sunflower seeds. I was certain it would turn out to be a chickadee, for what other bird would be so bold? The answer was simply stunning.
It was a red-breasted nuthatch.
Mouth agape and utterly dumbfounded, I watched as this adorable little creature selected a sunflower seed, and then headed for the trees. The jet-black feathers of the bird’s head immediately identified it as a male, and as he flew off — with my jaw still in its dropped position — I began to silently chuckle to myself. Had that actually just happened, or was the scotch much better than I realized? Then, he reappeared and the real show began.
He popped out onto the deck from one of the lilac bushes and commenced his exploration of this new place. He skittered around the flowerpots that were holding mums, one orange and one white with a blush of pink at the edges of the flowers.
Each nook and cranny was explored with quick, electric movements until he stumbled upon a pile of seeds that I had spread out for the juncos before sitting down to write. When he discovered the seeds, he instantly changed gears from search to storage mode and set about the process of removing and hiding each and every seed.
Past encounters with red-breasted nuthatches have been brief and ethereal — I’d get a glimpse and then the bird would vanish.
In contrast, this little bird would head off with a seed and then reappear about eight seconds later, like a mouse.
This pattern became so predictable that I went inside to retrieve my camera. I knew this was risky, but I had to try.
When I returned to my chair, I was caught out of position. There I was, standing upright, looming over this tiny nugget of living electricity, and he went about his business as if I was nothing more than a tree. He simply didn’t care that I was there.
Once seated, I took an extensive series of photos. He didn’t make things easy on me, however. Every time he appeared he seemed to come from a different direction. I could even venture to say that there were actually several nuthatches present, but I never saw more than one at a time.
He initially flinched at the sound of the camera, but he even adjusted quickly adjusted to that, as well. His determination was so single-minded that I was basically invisible.
Then, it started to sprinkle. The rain threatened to obliterate the writing I had done in fountain pen, so I had to act quickly. Journals and camera were moved inside, but I didn’t want to call it quits. My solution was to move a chair over to the front door of my house, where a small alcove is protected by a section of roof that extends out over the entryway.
To my utter delight, I found myself again in the company of this wonderful little bird. Every time he appeared, he had another seed, and I delighted in watching his frantic attempts to find yet another hiding spot for each little treasure. Flower boxes and the cottonwood tree were all given equal attention, and it was at this point that I did something quite out of the ordinary.
To capture this moment, I retrieved a folding card table and my computer, and set about writing as quickly as possible. I normally write my columns inside, but the extraordinary circumstances of this bird’s appearance demanded something special. If, perhaps, the gods were rewarding me for choosing nature over football, I didn’t want to offend them after such largess. In the end, I wrote this column in record time and my spirit was lifted immeasurably by the unexpected visit of such a wonderful little creature.
Bill Danielson has worked for the National Park Service, the U.S. Forest Service, and the Massachusetts State Parks. He has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 19 years. He teaches high school biology and physics. Visit: www.speakingofnature.com or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.