As I walked toward the grove of trees next to the house, carrying a jug of birdseed to feed the hungry birds, large flakes of snow were gently falling around me. It created a beautiful scene as the white flakes fell among the dark green of the pine trees. If you’ve never walked through a woods during a snowfall, you’ve got to add it to your bucket list. You’ll gain a whole new appreciation for the beauty of nature. There’s also a quiet solitude that’s hard to find in our fast-paced, noise-filled world.
As I approached the trees, the birds began talking excitedly, probably warning each other that an intruder had entered their domain. I wonder if birds make the connection that after I leave, their bird feeder is full again and seeds are also on the ground for the ground feeders? Or does the food just magically appear as far as they’re concerned? Can birds make the connection that every time I come and go they have food to eat?
The Chickadees seem to know I have food for them. They’re the only birds that don’t fly to a safer perch as I enter their territory. I’ll often feed them out of my hand. As the snow was falling among the trees, I decided to linger there and enjoy the beauty around me. I poured some seed into my hand and held it out. Soon the flutter of chickadee wings and their chatter, chicka-dee-dee-dee-dee, could be heard all around me. They fluttered from branch to branch checking me out. Then one after the other would land on my hand, grab a sunflower seed and fly off to a branch to enjoy it. Some took the time to look at me for a while after perching on my fingers. Then they’d select a seed and fly off to a nearby branch. There’s a feeling that borders on spiritual, having those little birds sitting in your outstretched hand and making eye contact with you.
We have a lot of birds around our place. Hundreds of them feed on the ground under the feeders every day. If we weren’t feeding them, I wonder how many would freeze to death each winter. On the frigid nights we have for months on end, birds need to expend more energy to generate body heat. Food supplies are harder to find in the winter and without people supplying them with food, many would perish. For all the money we spend on them, you’d think we could claim them as dependents on our tax return.
Lately a big hawk has been circling overhead and sitting in the trees, checking things out. He probably heard about the plump, well-fed birds in our neighborhood.
Which brings me to a question I’ve been struggling with for years. Where are all the dead birds? How many times have you seen a dead bird? OK, maybe a few that played Kamikaze with your picture window, but other than those, have you ever seen or found the remains of a bird… any bird!
Do birds, when they get old and feeble, just fly off to Birdie Heaven, never to be spotted again? Do they circle higher and higher on an upward draft of air until we can no longer see them and “Poof” they’re gone? Or, if we could venture into the interior of some impassable tangle of forest, would we see mounds and mounds of little white skeletons of the millions of birds who went there to die? Only if we’re hallucinating or on drugs!
So, where do all the dead birds go? When you think of just the hundreds of birds that frequent our yard each day it would be a serious ecological problem, not to mention a smelly one, if they all dropped dead at the feeders today. We’d probably need the DNR to conduct an environmental impact study to see how the disposal of dead birds would affect the quality of our water table. So, that rules out burial as a way of getting rid of dead birds.
Which brings me back to my original question, where and how do old birds die? They don’t live that many years, so there must be hundreds of them dying every day, just in our area.
We know many birds are lost to predators looking for a meal. They become part of the food chain. That explains why no remains are found, just some feathers lying around where they met their doom.
But what about those who manage to elude the predators? What about those who survive the harsh winters and don’t freeze to death? What about those who make it to old age? What happens to them?
I’d like to imagine them flying off to join billions of other birds in Birdie Heaven. But, can you imagine what a mess they would make?
Somewhere tonight, as I write these words, another bird has reached the end of its life. As it falls, it completes the circle from birth to death, and enters the ultimate recycling plan that helps sustain life for others.
I hope my providing food for them during the harsh winter months, makes their lives a little easier while they’re here. Did I help or harm my fellow travelers while I was here? In the end, that’s the only question that really matters.
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