It’s been a remarkably dry winter on the edge of the Great Plains. Snow’s left for the moment – roads are dusty, birdsong is gone and everything’s drenched in brown.
A few years back, I bought a cheap bird feeder, filled it with seed and watched sparrows scuffle like anarchic minions. A few songbirds visited, but the riot on the parched soil beneath them kept most away.
Last week, I saw a dozen or more birds drinking from a small puddle dripping from plowed snow. They jostled, squabbled and bounced off each other trying to get to water.
I bought a cheap black tray designed for small plants in plastic vases. I leveled a spot and poured in a bucket of water. I faced it east to catch sunlight so the water, if frozen, would melt.
Days later, I found a platoon of robins drinking from the almost empty and leaf-littered tray. I refilled it. Sparrows landed close before I was finished. Starlings perched on branches above. Now I check it daily.
I pray I’ll never be so thirsty. Birdsong’s back.
Birds. Amazing Birds.
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