The bird is the word

Ern is one of the birders out here in blogland. She posted about what the turning point was for her when she decided she was hooked on birding. Then she asked if any of us would like to tell our stories. Well, here's mine.

About twenty years ago I was living in a house that was tiny. The yard, though, was fantastic. The guy who used to own it had a plant nursery. It was an area that used to be covered in water so the ground was beautiful black muck. Plants grew better there than any place I've ever seen.

There were holly bushes on either side of a side living room window. In the front yard, visible from the picture window, was a beautiful old birch tree. Even though there were many, many plants in this yard, these are most pertinent to this story.

At Christmas time, there was snow on the hollies. When I looked out there was a male Cardinal sitting in the snow. The red against the white of the snow and the green of the holly bushes was so striking that it was breathtaking.

Then, in the spring, I was looking at the birdfeeder in the birch tree. It was around sunset so the sun was coming in on a direct horizontal line. In the feeder were a male Cardinal and a male Indigo Bunting, against the white birch. The sun made them dazzle.

Those sightings were enough to hook me for life. I could mention the funny antics, the bizarre mating rituals, the graceful soaring of the beautiful birds I've been lucky enough to sight. I could tell about the time I saw an American Bald Eagle right on the other side of the street from me. But to say when I first became enamored would have to be from when I lived in that little house on the muck farm.