FEEDING CHICKADEES
A thing never to be forgotten:
Filed away in my memory bank
deposited richly
gathering interest by leaps, bounds,
and flights
and even now perfectly recalled
A thing never to be forgotten:
Filed away in my memory bank
deposited richly
gathering interest by leaps, bounds,
and flights
and even now perfectly recalled
Incredibly light landings
The memory of chickadees
in remote northern Wisconsin
feeding from my hand
on a frigidly cold but sunny day
It wasn’t just yesterday
but it could be
The man
who taught me how
to call them into my hand
is probably dead now
maybe feeding chickadees
somewhere
We were cross-country skiing
to call them into my hand
is probably dead now
maybe feeding chickadees
somewhere
We were cross-country skiing
through woods near Pembine
in the remote back
of a potato farmer’s cabin
in the remote back
of a potato farmer’s cabin
I took some lovely spills
on the then-new boards
which amused my friend
(those skiis, by the way,
were wooden skiis,
Scandinavian, extra-wide
with trail-breaking hinged steel edges
They still hang above the rafters
in the basement
because you never know
when I will need them again.....)
Seeing a clearing ahead that broke the woods
- it was the nearest neighbor’s hermitage -
we saw the gruff old man calling birds
in a falsetto voice
Sliding nearer
on the much-too-good-for-me Bonnas
we saw a flock of Chickadees
taking turns flying into his hand
one at a time
perched in cues on nearby branches
The air was cold
He had no gloves or mittens
as he encouraged the birds
into his outreached hand
They arced back and forth
flying away with a sunflower seed
to crack it against its branch
and take another turn
The man asked me if I wanted to try
Giving me some seeds while he held some, too
he called the high sound of the chickadee:
chick-a-dee, chick-a-dee, chick-a-dee-dee-dee
Two birds came
into both our hands
Then I tried it by myself
and it worked
This is what I remember:
When a bird landed surely on my finger
I could feel the warmth of his feet
as he trusted me for his food
on that bitterly cold day
and I could see
Seeing a clearing ahead that broke the woods
- it was the nearest neighbor’s hermitage -
we saw the gruff old man calling birds
in a falsetto voice
Sliding nearer
on the much-too-good-for-me Bonnas
we saw a flock of Chickadees
taking turns flying into his hand
one at a time
perched in cues on nearby branches
The air was cold
He had no gloves or mittens
as he encouraged the birds
into his outreached hand
They arced back and forth
flying away with a sunflower seed
to crack it against its branch
and take another turn
The man asked me if I wanted to try
Giving me some seeds while he held some, too
he called the high sound of the chickadee:
chick-a-dee, chick-a-dee, chick-a-dee-dee-dee
Two birds came
into both our hands
Then I tried it by myself
and it worked
This is what I remember:
When a bird landed surely on my finger
I could feel the warmth of his feet
as he trusted me for his food
on that bitterly cold day
and I could see
the tiny bursts of air
emerging from his small nostrils
emerging from his small nostrils
so frail a creature
An indelible enactment
with a hermit friend years ago
[dd 1-24-08]
An indelible enactment
with a hermit friend years ago
[dd 1-24-08]
photo taken by my friend; it's my hand
She wasn't falling so could carry her camera
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