It is fun to watch the birds come in on a cold day at the feeder. They all take turns and share the seed well, without many conflicts other than a big guy with a camera.
“A little bird told me,” my mother would often say. I wasn’t sure if I liked birds especially this one, since it was her source of a variety of information. I wondered for years where this bird talked to her at. A grandparent had a pet who talked, but mostly in Italian. I knew that wasn’t the bird since my mother didn’t speak Italian much. We always shared outdoor love and I was in charge of helping her put up a variety of birdhouses. Her favorite was a tiny wren who often came into one of the houses, so I worried if this was the one. She often talked how the jenny wren sang to her when she was doing dishes. With four boys things often were broken, got into and misplaced and a little bird often filled her in. Finally I asked where this bird was and was told she couldn’t give it away. As a younger sibling grew, soon he was the target of this bird also. Little did I realize that our facial expressions were what gave us away and that bird was one of us, not very good at fibbing. As my children grew I often watched for some of these signs that gave me my information such as rolling eyes or staring at the floor. When they wanted to know my sources I just said,” A little bird told me.” They never believed this could happen.