HILLSPEAKING
from The Anglican Digest 

TRANSFIGURATION A.D. 2003

I CANNOT think of a better way to start the day than sitting on the back porch of the Farm House sipping my first cup of coffee and watching a dozen or so birds flit between the feeder and the birdbath.
    In the brief time that it takes for me to finish that cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal I will have seen blue jays, cardinals, chickadees, finches, grackles, juncos, red-winged blackbirds, robins, tufted titmouses (let's not get into an argument about the proper plural), two kinds of woodpeckers, sparrows, and wrens.
    Occasionally I'll see an indigo bunting or a redbird, but they tend to be shyer and do not often come to the community meetings.
    As I write this (in early spring), the martins are just beginning to settle in to their apartments.  We try to get the houses up by mid-March so the scouts will see them and know where to lead the group.  We can accommodate about fifty families and in most years the houses are full.  The martins, however, do not gather around the bird feeders although we will see them, most often in the evenings, gathering for a drink.  I cannot see the houses from our breakfast table but I can hear the martins discussing their plans for the day, and from the supper table we will share in their reports to their kith and kin.
    Another bird whose conversation can readily be heard from the back porch is the crow.  The crows do not crowd around the bird feeders and seldom do we see one at the birdbath, but their calls back and forth from the trees in Hallowe'en Park are plainly audible.  They are especially noisy when I walk the Silver Cloud Trail with my canine and, occasionally, feline companions.  Then they precede me tree to tree warning that we are coming, and a rear guard follows to announce that we have gone and the coast is clear.
    Whether cawing at me, flitting from bird feeder to birdbath, or singing their hearts out, all birds are welcome -- and so are you.  Come see and hear for yourself.