Mother's Day 2023

Above is a picture of my mother with her mother, from May 1954...long before I was born.

One of the many quiet and consistent stand-out memories I have of my mother is the pleasure she took from her long sits on our front porch. Our small neighborhood of 17 houses was a square block tucked up against woods on three sides, so we were not a pass-through to anywhere. Traffic was minimal, the comings and goings of neighbors regular and predictable, and she found special joy in the activity of birds. She had a couple of feeders that she kept well-stocked, and for a while there was a homemade platform at the kitchen sink window for tossing out bread and nuts and getting a good closeup of feathered friends.

The bluebird house delighted her as it was a nesting home for many successive generations of those beautiful creatures. Finally having a sporadically inhabited house of my own in this busy downtown spot is a selfish pleasure but a small tribute to her as well. The photo above, from this past March, captures the exploring bluebird when he took a lunch break at the suet pellet feeder.

At the peak, I had around a dozen active feeders of varying types: wild bird seed, suet bricks, suet nuggets, hummingbird nectar, and a platform (which also is quite comfortable for squirrels). Those hungry consumers had me refilling the seed feeders a heckuva lot, and I was coming home from Costco with three or more 40-pound bags at the time.

Alas, with those bulk bags having jumped from $16.99 to $27.99, I have gotten out of the game for now. There’s still a supply of suet nuggets stored up but the evil invasive starlings find them much too attractive. The birds remain active here even without the plentiful feeders, with robins nesting in the corner of the porch again, finches setting up a home in the crepe myrtles, and bluebirds popping in and out without definite signs yet of commitment.

(Photo Actually From May 2020)

And the running count this spring of getting splattered by bird poop out on the driveway from the overhead flight path now stands at two. I think that equals the grand total of shithits from the entire preceding 19 years. I count myself fortunate that we are not yet in a season of juicy berries.

Happy Mother's Day!