Saturday, September 18, 2021

Ode To Joy


The more I know, the less I know.

That's the way it's supposed to work. If you have a question that doesn't lead to way more questions, you're not doing it right.

Take this whole subject of birds. I don't feel like I know much about them, even though the average citizen knows even less. I've accumulated some knowledge. But even the birds I know on a personal level, the ones I've observed closely and avidly, are mysterious.

So I don't know what's been going on with Studley Windowson this year. But it hasn't been a normal year. Just as I think I've got him all figured out, he changes it up. Since I started keeping records a few years back, I've discovered he and Marge start flirting, building the mattress, and sending baby Windowsons down the production line on pretty much the exact same days each year, or they don't miss by much. And whatever I don't observe directly (their front door is inches from my window) I can intuit by the interest level Studley shows in mealworms. That is one fine hard-working bird and provider, and although he will happily consume three or so mealworms himself at a time all fall and winter, there comes a day he flies off with them instead, and that's when you know wooing has begun. The mealworm intake ramps up when Marge is on the nest and he brings her lunch. And when the little Windowson goobers poink out of their shells, he grabs a ride on the Mealworm Express. He's zippeting back and forth all day long from wherever we are to the nest, and even later on he waits to grab three at a whack before he takes off. He looks like a dang puffin, fully herringed.

2011, possibly young Studley
This year, though, I was confused. Seemed like things were going along fine, but he wasn't taking as many mealworms, and at least once I saw him take over twenty of them and stash them in a crape myrtle. Every time I thought he was on schedule, there'd be a pause.

When I trimmed Dave's hair and beard, I hung up a bag of it near the nest box. And although I thought I heard Marge hammering the mattress together at about the right time, I didn't see a lot of activity. Just as I decided they were nesting somewhere else, I'd see one or the other of them pop in and out again. Seemed like the thing was happening, but the day the babies should have pecked themselves out of their shells and started squeaking came and went.

Later I watched Studley go into the house empty-beaked and come out with a soggy worm. I saw that a few times. But well past when there should have been little Windowsons. It was almost as though he was using the nest box as a pantry.

2018, first year with bum foot
He was hanging out in the hibiscus with a younger model, but I think that was a kid from last year. The younger model is very interested in this mealworm thing, having observed Studley score plenty, but every time he got a little closer and looked like he might give it a whirl, Studley ran him off.

And he'd still come by for his own personal worms. Not every day, but pretty often. He looked skinny. He always looks like shit this time of year what with the molt and all, and skinny because he's worked his little wingies to the bone. But I finally concluded he did not have a family this year.

On August first, after a few days' absence, he stopped by the back porch for a few worms. Something made me note the date, which I'd never done before. Something was off. He came by August 2nd. And August 3rd. He hasn't been by since.

Most chickadees don't die of old age, they say. They can max out somewhere around eleven, but most make it only two or three years. Something gets them. I've seen how cautious Studley can be. He is constantly looking around. Hides from hawks. Hides from us, if he sees Tater Cat in our window. And he's got experience. Something nipped off part of his foot. Something took out his tail, last winter, although it grew back. It shows he's either good at this survival business, or just the opposite. One of the things I don't know.

And I don't know how old he is. I was checking back, and chickadees have been renting out the nest box every year since we put it up in 2011. I couldn't tell one from another until the year he hurt his foot. Which makes him at least four, and possibly eleven.

A few days ago, I took down the nest box. Didn't know what I'd find. And what I found was a complete new grass mattress, untrampled, with Dave's beard woven in, and with twelve unhatched eggs. Doesn't seem likely Studley was shooting blanks after all this time. Maybe his sweet Marge met an untimely end. I don't know if a chickadee can die of a broken heart.

I know I can't. I'm still here.



34 comments:

  1. Oh, Murr.... I knew this day would come eventually, and here I am crying over my keyboard. I am so SO sorry for your and Dave's loss. And for our loss as well.

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  2. Inevitability doesn’t make it any easier. I have so loved this thread at this distance and can only imagine how sweet it has been for you and Dave. And now I’m crying with you.

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  3. I'm so very sorry. What a heartbreak.

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  4. Oh Studley, we are going to miss you so! Murr, I'm sorrier than I can say.

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  5. This is a heart breaker.... gosh darn it... I will dry my tears and go upstairs and sew. I am so sorry!

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  6. Your lightness of touch - your detail - your sheer empathy...

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  7. Heartbroken. So sorry Murr. We do get attached to these wild creatures. We had a little bright yellow bird (escaped pet finch) one winter at our feeder and he disappeared after a nasty February snowstorm. He was like a drop of sunshine in the cold winter. It's so sad when we lose them.

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  8. What a heart-wrenching ending to our Studley’s story. Rest in peace, Mr. Windowson. You gave it all you had.

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  9. Ahhh, how heartbreaking. And yet...you got four--and maybe ten--years with one chickadee, and that, my friend, is something very special. It's just that when those little feet make contact with your hand, something changes. I sure have been where you're sitting, and I know how it feels. Love you Murre. So much.

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  10. Aw shucks. What a sad tale. But still beautifully written.

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  11. Oh, no. I'm so sorry. I hope he finds a new love.

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  12. Nature being nature doesn't make it any easier.

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  13. Thanks guys. Somehow I was prepared. I put off posting this because I didn't want to bum you all out. But this is what we get for loving!

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    1. I know. But every time I relive this lesson in loving, I have the same response: Not yet! Not yet!

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  14. Aww, now I'm crying. Studley is all alone? I suppose it's too late to try and save the eggs and hatch them? Never thought I'd be crying over a little bird. Will Studley find a new partner?

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    1. The eggs were laid in early May. So yeah, too late. Also, Studley is gone. I'm hoping he died in his sleep on a twig.

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    2. Studley too? Damn! Maybe one of the youngsters will set up home in the nesting box next spring.

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  15. That is so sad, we should all know never to give our hearts to animals or birds but we do.

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    1. That would be a sad kind of half-life, if one never gave one's heart to anyone or anything, for fear of having it broken. A broken heart mends -- eventually. A hardened one never does.

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  16. Well written, as always, Murr.
    Observation, contemplation, involvement, love.

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  17. Darn, that's a tear jerker. Marge gave it her best. Poor Studley. So very true, the more accumulated knowledge we have, yes, the less we know. Now I'm going to take a look inside my bird box. The Bewick family. Hopefully, cleaning in preparation for next year's brood. But I'm bracing myself, because they kind of did the disappearing act on my just when I thought it was time..

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  18. If I hear of a treatment for avian-loss-induced Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, I will let you know at once!

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  19. Mary, Love is never lost. I never laid eyes on him, but your love for Studley, conveyed to us through so many posts, and now his loss, has me in tears. {{{Murr}}}

    Don’t Hesitate

    If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
    don’t hesitate. Give in to it.
    There are plenty of lives
    and whole towns destroyed or about
    to be. We are not wise, and not very often
    kind. And much can never be redeemed.
    Still, life has some possibility left.
    Perhaps this is its way of fighting back,
    that sometimes
    something happens better than all the riches
    or power in the world. It could be anything,
    but very likely you notice it in the instant
    when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the
    case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
    of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.
    ~ Mary Oliver

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  20. "It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer."

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  21. I'm so sorry. That is the trouble getting attached...especially to wild things. All that "better to have loved and lost" nonsense never makes it feel any better. I do hope for your sakes, and chances are good, that one of the Windowson's offspring will take over.
    Thanks for sharing their antics. We will all miss them.

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  22. I should know better than to read your blog at work - usually I'm muffling laughter, but this time I'm trying to look like I'm not crying. I'm so so sorry. 2021 can bite it.

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  23. I’m so sorry, Murr! You have done a wonderful job of keeping Studley‘s memory alive with your blog posts and sharing your experiences of him and his family. I, for one, will never forget the brief feeling of his feet on my hand when you shared that experience with me.

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  24. Oh no....you were a terrific landlady.It is always a privilege to touch the little lives.

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  25. Thanks for all the kind words. It's been a huge privilege to have been Studley's pal.

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