Written by J. Mitchell Brown
eing a Blufftonian, I have always declared that I do not have much use for driving across that bridge to the Island. But, in fairness, I have realized that at times I am a little harsh on the Island. Regardless, there are a couple of things that the Island offers that I can’t (yet) get around Bluffton and Hardeeville: Sam’s Club and Wild Birds Unlimited.
Sam’s Club, I imagine, will be on this side of the bridge sooner rather than later. I’m actually looking forward to that day on account of my wife says I have a toilet tissue fetish. I can’t seem to go into a Sam’s club without walking out with least a case of the stuff. You may laugh now, but this is one house that will never be without it – no laughing matter! But having a Sam’s Club this side of Mackay Creek will mean I won’t have to block out four hours to satisfy my fetish.
As for Wild Birds, well…I have an addiction. And they’re the ones that support my habit. And during this time of year, especially, I am weak to my addictions. And when it’s over, I feel used and spent. I’ll spend the rest of the year dealing with and managing my addiction, but until this curtain of gold that descends upon me for a couple of months each early-Spring, I’ll be a slave to my weakness.
I’m talking about goldfinches.
I gained my first interest in birds through my grandfather and working next to him in his greenhouses in Lexington. Papa was an avid bird-fan – not a “birder” mind you…as far as I know, he never went around with binoculars around his neck and a notebook writing down things like an Audobon member might – but in true Papa-fashion, he would quietly study and remember things about the birds he saw. He was a big fan of seabirds during his stays at his summer home on Edisto Island, and would spend his time in the evenings carving wood into the shapes of sandpipers and egrets and herons. At home, his fascination and artwork extended to owls in particular, but a fondness for songbirds was ever present. His lush backyard garden was such an oasis for birds, in fact, that for one summer a bright yellow parakeet, obviously someone’s escaped pet, made its home in his dogwood tree.
Though I was not fortunate enough to get my Papa’s artistic talents, he did pass along to me an utter fascination for birds. My wife shares this passion with me and during the five years we lived out on Harrison Island we had a veritable menagerie of birds that we attracted with feeders, baths, and houses. We had the regular gamut of songbirds: mockingbirds, sparrows, doves, titmice, and cardinals. We were honored with yearly visits by all sorts of woodpeckers including ladderbacks, red-headed, and peliated. We had whipporwhills serenade us to sleep each night and a monster barred owl would tease us with his silhouette on occasion.
When we moved to town, I was particularly concerned about my change in bird visitors. All I knew about birds in downtown were the obligatory cardinals that show up at feeders and the scores of buzzards who like to roost in trees along Heyward and Huger coves. The very first thing I did when we moved here – before even opening up the tailgate of the truck – was to dig a posthole for my main bird feeder.
In the back of my mind, I was somewhat worried about the birds out at Harrison Island. Who would take care of them? What would they do? But my mind was immediately put to ease when Laurie reminded me that our friends Hugh, Steve-o, and Angela were all birders and kept their feeders and baths stocked at all times.
For the next couple of months I became more and more discouraged at the lack of activity at my feeders. I trudged across the bridge to go see Virginia at Wild Birds begged from her some information about where my birds could be. She recognized my forlorn look and told me not to worry. “Be patient,” she reminded me. But that was hard for me to do. I was learning how loud the silent absence of songbirds in the morning was. My clients were no longer asking me “What, are you in a zoo? What’s all that chirping in the background?” when we talked on the phone. I went back and forth to the island and brought home new feeders, new food. My panic was rising.
In January, I bought my sister a long thistle feeder for the spring onslaught of goldfinches that inevitably occurred around the middle of February. Each year, we would put out tube feeders and socks filled with pounds of thistle and waited for the arrival of goldfinches en masse. She was delighted with her gift and hung it outside her laundry room window where she, too, has a virtual bird sanctuary. I came home and hung mine high on the second story porch, in the sunlight, and just outside my bedroom window. I thought to myself, “If I can’t attract a goldfinch, then I am done.”
Last year, my sister and I traded bragging rights about our goldfinch population. How many we had on a feeder at one time (I won with 28). How fast a sock could be emptied (she won with less than 4 hours). When the first one showed up (she always wins that one). And when the last one leaves.
The goldfinch (Caruelis tristis) is the one bird that will wear you out if you are serious about attracting them. Seemingly overnight, with the slightest change in the wind, you will go from having quiet feeders to a virtual feeding frenzy. I’ve read that goldfinches flock in the winter time and it certainly seems true to me. Once they arrive, be prepared to keep your feeders full. And after a couple of months, when you are full-on mesmerized by them, they leave as quickly as they come. It is so abrupt, in fact, that I have seen them covering my feeders in the morning and by lunchtime they’re gone. No stragglers. No slow-pokes. They are gone. And not gone-until-tomorrow. They’re gone until next winter. No goodbye note. No “Thanks for the tasty thistle.” No “We’ve got to be going. See you next year!”
But it’s my addiction. And when it’s done, I feel so cheap. So used. But I can’t wait for the little buggers to come back and do it to me again. The rest of the year I will enjoy buntings and house finches and chimney swifts, but for now it is the goldfinch.
The activity has increased around the main feeders over the past couple of weeks. The familiar chirps and tweets of content birds is beginning to fill the air around my house and I am thankful. My sister has had her first goldfinch show up at her house just down the street. But I am patiently waiting for the blitzkrieg that is coming. I am anxious to get that hit that I need to keep me going for one more year.
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