Jennifer Sands - A Bird in the Hand

Today was we-need-to-leave-the-house day. Christmas has come and gone, and with it went all of my energy until this morning, when I finally felt normal again. Kaleb and I had dentist appointments first thing this morning, and I used that as the perfect opportunity to venture out. We first went to a used bookstore, so I could buy some books for Kaleb’s classroom (sorely needed) and just a few for ourselves (unavoidable). That was followed by lunch out, and then we went to the Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary. We love this spot, and we were all excited to be back. We have fed birds here before; they encourage feeding of the songbirds on a few of the trails. We’ve had good luck a few times, and there is nothing like having a wild (somewhat tame, I suppose, but still wild) bird land on your outstretched hand.
Today, as soon as we stepped from field to forest, we were surrounded by songbirds. They fluttered in the air around us and landed on nearby trees. We had never fed birds in this particular spot before, but they seemed to be signaling that they were there for some handouts, and who were we to argue? I took the little bag of birdseed from my pack, and making sure that each handful was heavy on the sunflower seeds, we stretched out our palms for landing pads. Nearly instantly we had visitors. The whir of wings past our ears would announce an explorer, come to check out the offering, by swooping low and then perching on a twig indecisively for a moment. A heartbeat later he would be in our hand, tiny talons wrapped around an index finger, head cocked to choose the glossiest seed.
We fed the birds at this, the start of our hike, and all three of us had many visitors — all chickadees save for one brave titmouse who landed on Kaleb’s hand. We then walked on, meandering around to the rock grotto over what was, unbeknownst to us, a temporarily closed trail. It was mostly covered in thin ice and standing water. Treacherous walking for most, muddy and wet for all, but delightful for my boys. The boys slid and ran and laughed and stomped and teetered and skated their way to the adjoining trail, where we came upon a rope across our trail, with a sign saying “Trail Closed”. We shrugged, ducked under, and walked on to the grotto, stopping so the boys could bang on the pond ice with sticks once or twice or ten times.

After clambering around the rocks in the grotto we started our walk back to the car, when we came upon another section of trail where songbirds sat eagerly in the trees. We got out the birdseed to try our luck once again. It was so cold and they looked so hungry, after all. Instantly we were besieged. This time it was mostly chickadees at first again, but then a brazen nuthatch joined their ranks. His breast was a lovely pumpkin orange, which was a life bird for me! I had only ever noted white-breasted nuthatches, and this was a red-breasted. He visited our hands many times, perching confidently and tossing nuts aside with his long beak, looking for just the right one. A chickadee hopped from hand to hand like a diner at a lunch buffet. My boys waited patiently, holding up arms with tireless muscles, eyes widening and dancing every time a bird would alight. Each time my heart would thrill as I heard the ruffle of wings or looked into a shiny, black bead of an eye. Such tiny, light creatures, such miracles of the air. Like bubbles, they float and amaze. And although we were the ones with gifts in our out-stretched hands, each landing felt like a gift offered back to us.

When the birds were finally sated, we walked the rest of the way up the hill to the field by the car. I couldn’t help but take the boys’ hands, and swing them happily in mine. They skipped beside me and I remarked aloud how lucky I was, what a perfect day I had had. A used bookstore, lunch with my boys, a walk in the woods, and birds in my hands. Now THAT’S a day.