Mr. Hand : Mr. Spicoli, you’re on dangerous ground here. You’re causing a major disturbance on my time.
Jeff Spicoli : I’ve been thinking about this, Mr. Hand. If I’m here and you’re here, doesn’t that make it our time?
Cameron Crowe, Fast Times at Ridgemont High
The first clue that it wasn’t “my” backyard was when I noticed the birds sharing my hummingbird feeder. The hummingbirds use it for the syrup and the other birds use it to drink water from the moat. The moat is tiny, maybe an ounce of water, and the feeder is tucked away in the corner of my house, far from from my regular bird feeder. Not only did they find it but they repurposed it. I can only envision them seeing the hummingbirds flitting around it and deciding to investigate what the hubbub was all about.
The hummingbirds get heavy use from that feeder. It’s 99% Anna’s hummingbirds with the occasional Rufous passing through. My years of research and I’ve two very strong theories about Anna’s hummingbirds. (1) They hate other Anna’s hummingbirds, and (2) they hate me. At some level they must understand I’m the guy what fills the feeder – when it’s empty they hover and stare into the house. But the most egregious thing I can do in the hummingbird universe is spend any time on my deck. First they buzz me and then they sit on the electric wires and chirp at me.
I have a much more congenial relationship with the birds at my bird feeder. I get a wide variety of very plain birds. It’s a joy when the towhees pass through since they bring a little bit of color and it’s always nice to see the nuthatches just because they eat upside down (why? Because they can!). I still get a kick watching the chickadees dart in and out, so quickly you’re convinced there’s no way they could’ve picked up any feed, and the sparrows patiently waiting on the crook for their turn. I’m convinced every one of them knows every square foot of my backyard better than me. They have a way of leaving editorial comments too – the feeder will look empty and when I go out to refill there will be a layer of millet at the bottom, untouched. Note to chef: less millet, more sunflower!
Then there are the birds that try to get at my feeder and fail. Flickers, for instance, are convinced it’s just a matter of time before they figure out the feeder. They hang on the carriage and try to swing their head around to reach the tray. Now I know that, in evolutionary terms, they are as smart as they need to be. But, I can’t help it, they come across as slightly stupid. Stellar’s Jays, take a different tack, sitting on the seed catcher and staring furiously at the tray just out of reach above them. I can just imagine that Stellar Jay brain working at 100% capacity trying to figure out the winning approach.
Of course, there are times when the stupid shoe is on the other foot. I was on my deck once and a junco plopped down on the railing across from me. When I finally looked up the junco was looking right at me. I was looking at the junco, the junco was looking at me, and when I looked over his shoulder there was a cat about to attack my feeder. I got up and chased the cat away. The junco flew off, but not before giving me a “we gave you one job …” stare.
and now a few words in defense of the Seattle Weather
The other old-retired-guy hobby I’ve latched onto is recording rainfall amounts (Interested? Go to https://www.cocorahs.org/). Here’s my data for the last water year. A water year goes from Oct -> September. (Why? Because they can!):
No need to see the detail here. Green indicates some rain (darker green means more rain), yellow means I missed the day and empty indicates no rain. You can start to see trends: November to May has a lot of days of rain but not a lot of heavy rain. In Seattle rain in the forecast means it will rain sometime in the day but not rain the whole day. I’ve lived in Minneapolis and I’ve lived in Milwaukee and Seattle winters are just as tough, albeit in an entirely different way. Just like the saying “it’s not the heat it’s the humidity,” in Seattle in winter “it’s not the rain it’s the lack of sun.”
That’s only one side of the story though. Notice July and August. Eight weeks of no rain whatsoever. Sometimes that opens the door to stretches of 100-degree days or poor air quality due to surrounding forest fires, but usually it’s eight weeks of perfect weather. This is why it’s common for tourists to say “When I visited Seattle I got really lucky – the weather was perfect!” Well of course, you visited during our perfect weather window.
So, moving forward, what is the correct response when you hear someone says all it does in Seattle is rain? In your best Seattle accent, “Au contraire mon frère!”
