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BIRD POOP ON MY HAT

March 21, 2013

I am not good at winter. As far as I am concerned, I could just sleep from New Year’s to Easter, fantasizing that the Sandman is erasing away all the wrinkles I had accumulated in the summer before, and then be ready to emerge with Mr. Groundhog when he wakes up from his second nap, all refreshed and ready to dig.  I’m not the only creature that feels this way. Birds don’t much like winter, either, and the ones that don’t fly south are always seeking a warm place to hang out on frigid nights. (Why on earth they don’t fly south is beyond me. If I had a condo in San Juan and no responsibilities here, I certainly would be there during the dark months.)

One such warmish place is our garage. A pair of Carolina wrens (apt, don’t you think?) have discovered that if they slip in before we shut things down for the night, they can cozy up in my straw hat that hangs by the back door and avoid the howling winds and sleety rains.  It isn’t a bad gig, particularly since someone (not me, of course) is always up by the crack of dawn and available to open the garage door so they can fly out and hit the bird feeder for breakfast.  If no one appears in a timely enough manner and they start to get hungry, they stand outside the back door and chirp loudly to remind us that their stomachs are growling. That is, they used to, until they discovered my stash of bird seed in the closet. Now they are content to just stay in the garage 24/7 on dreary days, lolling around in bird seed and snuggling up under my hat, and, in the process, pooping wherever they feel like it, usually in and on said hat, or if they are feeling adventuresome, the cars.

 I finally got out into the garden last weekend because it was one of those glorious March days that fools you into thinking that Spring has arrived and it is time to come out of hibernation. Of course, I grabbed my hat because the sun was out, and I am, after all, a redhead. As you may imagine, I  was much chagrined to discover that not only would I be wearing the dear, old battered straw thing, but also a copious amount of bird poop. But given the choice of a bit of extra weight on my head or a certain sunburn, I chose to brush off what I could and save my skin.  It wasn’t so bad. Kind of a decoration, really.  It made me feel kind of—you know—at one with nature, striding around the farm in my Wellies, pulling up weeds, admiring the blooms that are brave enough to pop out so early, planning where to plant the blueberry bushes, and very much being at home under my poopy hat, under the unexpectedly glorious sun, under the marvelously blue Carolina sky. Can life get any better than this?

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3 Comments
  1. Loved it..I was right there with you
    Enjoying the sunshine. I was laughing because I know who the early bird is.

  2. I can remember those apring days! Was it spring when the boys shot out the ladys car window? What great times we had!

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