Adventure in Bird Feeding

(This happened more than a decade ago--a different home, a different cat.  I wrote this draft right after the event, but am only now sharing it.  It is all true.)

The bird feeder had been a gift.  Not an unexpected or unwelcome one.  I had dropped a couple hints after hubby and I moved into the upper unit of an urban duplex.  I thought it would be nice to have a bird feeder of some sort on our balcony.  Entertain the cat. I wasn’t much of a bird watcher, but I had no objections to seeing them flit about.  Back, about a decade and a half before, I had two felines and a home in the country and a bird feeder by the window. The cats loved it.  They would spend hours staring, their tails thwacking back and forth.  I figured my new cat would also enjoy it.  

We installed the birdfeeder in the corner of our balcony railing where I had a perfect view of it from my chair.  It was my bird feeder after all.  For the first week, nothing.  Not a pip, not a wing.  Nothing.  I knew there were birds around.  I’d seen dozens of them in the alley when I’d walk home from my volunteer gig in the neighborhood, but they did not seem to explore.  Then there was a little gray bird with black and white markings.  He would zip to the feeder, never land, grab a seed, and fly back to the tree that was between our balcony and the street.  Big tree.  In the summer all we saw beyond our balcony was green.  In the winter we’d see a tangle of branches and then some brick buildings beyond.  

The view from my chair.  You can just make out the birdfeeder in the upper left corner.

Eventually the alley birds did find it.  A whole flock of little brown birds cleared the thing out in one afternoon.  I filled it again, and it was half gone when they stopped coming as frequently.  First there was the hawk that parked in the tree.  He seemed to be focused on the squirrel that was also in the tree, but the birds, I guess, decided that between that predator, and the one with the whiskers on the other side of the glass, there were better places to be.  Competition moved in across the street.  Two bird feeders in the front yard.  Close to the bushes on the ground.  Less exposed to the wind.  Less room for large birds of prey to swoop in.  No felines popping up disturbing the feeding.  The brown alley birds only came when seed was low across the street.  Before a cold snap, I topped it off and enjoyed seeing the gray bird with the black and white markings swooping in and out. 

We got a snow.  No one ate for days as the whole feeder was covered with several inches of fluffy whiteness.  Then the snow on the base melted and a few investigated and the whole gang came back.  The feeders across the street were perhaps empty or covered over, so now they were all on my balcony in the bitter cold.  That food was gone.  Well, not gone.  There was still plenty of food, it is just that it was in an ice cream bucket in my kitchen and not in the feeder.  I felt bad for the birds. It was going to be a task to get it filled, but I didn’t anticipate any difficulty.  Go out grab the feeder, fill it, and bring it back.  What could go wrong?

First I had to move the cat.  With no birds to watch he found the nice pile of blankets and cushions that were keeping some of the draft out from the balcony door.  He was all curled up and giving every impression of not wanting to get up.   He had to be moved.  I went over and slipped my hand under him.  My not-nearly-as-warm-as-the-blankets-and-the-pillows-and-his-fur hand.  He gave me a “What is your problem?” look  and meowed and nipped at me.  It was so cold and dry that I got several static shocks in the process and I knew he would probably bear a grudge for some time, but I believed he’d be happy once his feathered friends returned.  He always made this funny meeping sound when he first noticed a bird at the feeder and then he’d run over and crouch low with his tail whipping back and forth in his fervor.  When the birds flew away he’d pop up to watch them.  It was amusement for him, which in turn was amusement for me, and really that was what the bird feeder was all about.  It was, after all, a gift to me.  

The cat having been moved under protest, I was able to stack all the blankets and cushions on a chair that I pushed away from the door, (or should I say doors? There was after some repairs a storm door that actually latched shut.  When we first moved in, the way we kept the door from banging around on a windy day was with a shoe lace we tied to the latch handle that had to be brought though a gap between the frame and the  main door and wrapped around the door knob on the inside.  It worked as a lock in its own hundred-year-old-house-with-original-door kind of way). So I would have enough room to have leverage to jar the door open.  The door itself was a pathetic affair.  A victim of being painted too many times and not quite closing with ease while at the same time never having an air tight seal.  It had an old single pane window that, thanks to the now fixed storm door, was not frosted over.  I held the door responsible for the living room being the coolest room in the house during winter.  The dryness helped with how tight the door was, but the snow that had accumulated around its frame melted and froze again did not help.  The door knob itself is a bit of a challenge.  You want to grab it firmly, but carefully, as the metal covering holding the knob to the door did not quite reach the base and if it jiggled the wrong way you’d give yourself a terrible pinch.

So I was careful, and grabbed the door knob and pulled.  Nothing.  I almost gave up.  Pulled again.  It gave a little, so I braced myself and pulled hard.  At first it did not budge. Then budged too much, and my elbow jabbed into the new stereo that had for reasons that still mystify me, was placed on top of some shelves that were rather poorly placed by my husband, what with there being a door there and all. The stereo was not damaged, but I did push it and that caused some things on the other end of the shelf to go careening to the floor.  That was enough to send the cat scurrying out of the room.  Worse, I hit that particular little spot on the elbow that causes shock in the entire arm: the proverbial funny bone.  

The good news was that the door was now wide open. My elbow shock was mitigated by the shock of the arctic breeze that now was filling the living room.  I decided that the five steps, maybe ten, to  the  birdfeeder was not too far and the snow did not look deep so I dared to go out in my slippers.  I had not bothered with socks.  After all, I was just going to grab the feeder and come right back in to fill it.

Hubby, the chair, the cat, the old door, & the ill placed bookcase.

First you have to realize that the step down to the balcony was rather deep.  It did not look deep because of the snow, which was several inches deeper than the half inch that I imagined, and even deeper right below the door making me miss judge the depth, and I had that terrible thing that happens when you think you are planting your foot, but there is nothing solid for it to rest on for another five inches.  The shock of it and the snow on my bare ankle was enough to cause my knee to buckle and there I was on my hands and knees on my balcony.  The cat investigated standing at the door and sniffing at me.  I was already cold and out there so I thought I may as well get up and grab the bird feeder.   That is when I realized that one of my slippers had come off and landed sole-side-up in the snow.  I managed to stand up keeping my bare foot out of the snow.  The birds needed to eat, but I needed better footing for that to happen.  

Using my bare hand on the iced over wall next to the door to steady myself,  I bent over and grabbed my fallen slipper and then quick as I could, put the snow filled slipper on my foot.  BIG mistake!  I got myself back inside, closed the door, but failed to close the storm door that now banged shut with a gust of wind, and since the latch was fixed, actually stayed shut.  Well at least something was working right.  I ripped off my slippers and shook out my hands and chanted in a most useful breathy way, “cold cold cold cold cold…” as I made my way to the kitchen to find a towel and some cool water and try to warm up.  I sat at the chair at the end of the table and was greeted by a blast of cold air from the vent next to the sink. But I did not care.  Any minute the air would become very warm and very dry.  I rubbed my hands together and then rubbed my feet.  I got up and propped the slippers up on a towel on the seat of the chair so they could get the full benefit of the kitchen vent.  I headed to the bedroom.  This time I was not going to be unprepared.

I was looking for some socks when I heard something fall in the kitchen.  I figured I had propped my slippers precariously, but when I returned to the kitchen I found the cat looking smug.  One slipper on the floor and the other next to him on the chair.  I had arrived just in time to see him take his paw and push that slipper out of his way.  He seemed quite satisfied with the thunk it made on the floor, and then he settled himself down shaking each paw before he tucked it under his ample chest.  The guy was a  heat hog.  We had always known that.  

I went back to my sock search and found the thermal hunting socks that I usually only bothered with when I had to commute to work on sub zero days.  Next I headed to our unheated  back steps and grabbed my coat and scarf and boots.  The boots were dry so I figured I’d put them on inside where it was warmer.   I had my mittens too, but knew I’d need to take them off once I got to the feeder.  While it was a nice bird feeder, it was a bit cheap and plastic and getting the lid back on could be tricky.  It took just the right angle.  I didn’t think I could manage that with anything on my hands, but otherwise being bundled up I figured I could just fill the feeder outside and not risk making a mess in my apartment.  

I ventured out this time, not jamming my elbow, not misjudging the snow depth and where the step was.   I had the ice cream bucket with seed and a scoop in hand and believed I was ready to feed some birds.   Somehow from where I had fallen before to where the bird feeder was on the corner of the balcony, the surface of the snow went from being soft and fluffy to being hard with a glaze of ice.  Even with my boots, I lost my balance and ended up grabbing the icy balcony railing—feeling smart because I had mittens on, and then feeling stupid because my right leg shot out and somehow managed to get between the balcony vertical rails.  The fall also caused me to drop the ice cream bucket that fell open with the seed remaining in a bag but the scoop skidded under the rail and dropped to the ground below, lodging itself in the middle of a snow pile next to our front walk .  This I would not discover until after a very awkward extraction of my leg from the rail.  Now despite my learning from the slipper incident to dress better, I still stupidly figured it was such a short task, that I had not bothered to tie my boots.  I carefully extracted the leg hanging over the ledge, but a dangling boot lace had caught on a nail sticking out from the gutter and simply refused to let go.  There was no way to reach the nail with the boot still on my foot. I was not at all certain that the boot would not fall to the ground below if I took it off.   I sat there stunned for a minute and then carefully pulled my foot as far as I could towards me, being limited by the length of the boot lace.  With my hands I reached through the rails and took hold of the boot and slipped my foot out.  If I had not been a gymnast as a child this would have been quite impossible.  I was able to set the boot down on the icy ledge and then maneuvered to my knees without my exposed foot touching the snow.  Before I reached through the rails to extract the boot, I had a stroke of genius.  I tied the opposite lace to a rail as insurance against it falling.  

I then reached forward.  The rails were too close for my head to get through them, but I reached as far as I could with my arm.  I needed more give, so I reluctantly untied the boot from the rail and was probably a spectacularly ridiculous sight as I waved and yanked with the boot to dislodge it, all while trying to keep the foot that only had a sock on from touching the snow.  I failed completely on both counts.  The lace wouldn’t give, and I again was getting quite cold.  I decided to retreat.  I tied the opposite lace to the rail again and went back in, needing to step in the snow with just a sock or risk falling again on the slick surface.

I got back in and found another sock.  Warmed my foot.  Grabbed one of hubby’s boots and tied it as tight as I could, hoping that it would not come off.  I also tied my other boot. I grabbed a pair of scissors and went out again.  I had no choice.  I had to cut the lace to free my boot.

I was not taking any more chances so I steadied myself with the rail and squatted down and cut the lace and grabbed the boot.  I took it to the door and set it inside along with the scissors.  I then decided that those birds were getting seed.  If I was going through all this I was going to get more out of it than just a cut lace on my boots.  

I ventured over to where the ice cream bucket had landed and was happy to find that the seed was still there.  I then carefully made my way to the shepherd hook that held the feeder and slid it off the hook and set it firmly in the snow.  The scoop was gone but I figured I could just pour it from the bag.   

It now became clear why the seed had not spilled out when the bucket had dropped.  I had never opened that bag.  It was brand new.  I considered what to do.  I just did not want to have to make another trip back to the door for the scissors, so I decided I could just rip it open.  I was not quite able to do that, so I found a seam and gave a good pull and then it burst open, seed covering me and the balcony and spilling down to the sidewalk below.   I did not spend much time lamenting the spilled seed. The birds would eat that too. There was still some left in the bag and I was then determined to get some in the feeder.  I removed the lid from the feeder.  It sounds simple but it was not.  My fingers were cold and the plastic had little give with cold the temperature.  I finally got the lid off and filled it with what was left in the bag.  It only went up about half way.  More struggling to get the lid back on and finally I hung it up and got back into the house without further incident.   Before I removed my coat and mismatched boots I went down the back stairs and outside to retrieve my scoop from the snow pile in the front of the house.   I took a few moments to look up at my accomplishment.   I could see the lace dangling from the gutter nail.   The birds had food and I had a ridiculous story to tell.    

Our home a few years later when we had a new balcony door, a new cat, and gave up on feeding birds and just hung decorations from the shepherd's hook.  The boot lace was removed when the house got painted.