When days began to warm up, my little oasis exploded!! Leaves sprouted deep green, bees balm bloomed
vibrant purple, flax swayed beautifully blue, currants and honeysuckle winked
with the brightest yellow and white. The
air hummed with new growth and the bees flew circles, drunk on pollen. As the season progressed bushes replaced
their flowery finery with bold, rich berries.
Currants glistened, ripe, plump and burgundy, honeysuckle popped
succulent red and elderberries clustered deep majestic purple. For years I thought about harvesting my
currants and doing something Betty Crockerish with them, but it truly never
happened. Alas, year in and year out the
berries, once glistening and ripe, would shrivel, dropping to the ground
unused, forgotten and wasted. Not one
single rabbit, squirrel or even bird enjoyed their sweet taste. This year everything changed.
The trees and bushes in the oasis serve as a safe haven for many animals, but especially the birds. They lite on the branches, chatter, sing and seek shelter from neighborhood cats. One morning I noticed a fairly young robin, still sporting speckles on his breast, perched on a branch of the closest currant bush. His head tilted first left and then right. He fluttered his wings a few times and seemed intent on staring at the berries. You could almost see the conversation going on in his brain.
“Should I? Shouldn’t I? They look so good!! I am sure one wouldn’t kill me.”
In an instant he reached out, tugged one off the branch and swallowed it. A look, I have never seen on a bird, engulfed his entire face. He was lit up. I swear he smiled, beaming with pure and unadulterated love!! In the next instant his beak was a blur as he dove into the currants. Backing down the driveway I smiled as his head continued to plunge into the bush, burgundy currant juice beginning to stain his dark beak.
The first taste of those sweet/tart berries changed
everything for that little robin. It
became an obsession. Every morning and
every evening he would be back in the branches wiggling his body into the
depths of the bush, searching for the most delectable currants. As weeks passed we noticed an astonishing metamorphosis
occurring. The young, once sleek bird of
flight, had transformed into a round fluffy tennis ball with stick legs and
tiny wings. His attempts at flight left
us diving for cover on more than one occasion.
His labored sounds made us think we were being attacked by a small
bomber. As his girth increased, his wing
span seemed to decrease. Small tremors
would rock the block every time he landed. I would watch him stand in the grass looking
at the currant bush. He would turn his
head and body and make as if to walk away but then would clumsily fly to the
closest branch. There was no doubt in my
mind the poor little guy was addicted.
Word got out, as inevitably happens with a wonderful secret,
the berries were edible. Soon our bushes
and trees began to sway and dip with the weight of half the bird population in
Laramie. Our robin seemed
frustrated!! He would eye his friends,
almost with hatred. Puffed up he would waddle
indignantly toward fellow birds as they sampled his stash. It wasn’t long until we had the fattest bird
population on the north side of town. More
birds were walking then flying. Flight
included only short bursts from the ground to the bush. Those who were not complete
gluttons could manage a short flight to the top of the fence. It wasn’t long and our poor currant looked
bedraggled and droopy. Almost all the
beautiful, lush berries were gone. A few
solitary berries could be seen deep within the bush, saved only because they
were lodged tightly in the branches where tennis ball robins couldn’t fit.
Robins are not the brightest birds. For a few days they hopped around the sad
currant bush, wistfully eyeballing the branches, hoping for a miracle to
produce more currants. I shook my head
as not more than 10 feet down the alley were two, much bigger currant
bushes. A few more days passed and somebirdy
opened his eyes, saw the berries and blew the whistle. The sound of wings, the thud of large
aircraft landing and the chirps of satisfied little birdies once again graced
the yard. The remaining two bushes began
to bow under the weight, branches bending and touching the ground. Once again our yard was filled with fat
tennis balls with wings.
One morning as I was leaving for work I noticed that the
beautiful bunches of elderberries remained, pristine and untouched. Bunches glistened beautiful in the early
morning light; dark, almost black with hints of deep red and purple. Not a single berry had been touched by our gluttonous
bird population.
I could imagine the conversations taking place on the fence
or ground.
“Hey does anyone know what those are?”
“No idea, do you?”
“Not a clue!!
Somebody should experiment and try one.
They look so good.”
“Are you kidding? I’m
not. Remember what happened to Roger’s
last little experiment? He was sick for
weeks.”
“But man they look so good!!
Hey where is Frank? He’ll try
it. Dude eats anything!”
While I was at work that conversation, or something like it
must have taken place. “Frank” or an
equally fearless bird plucked up the courage to experiment and tried one of the
succulent elderberries. Realizing he
didn’t die or get sick, the elderberry bush became an all-you-can-eat buffet. I wasn’t sure if one bird or multiple birds
made it through the buffet, but by the time I returned from work the bush was
naked!! Every single berry bunch was
gone. Nothing remained. Not one single berry. The only clue there had once been berries
were the bare tiny branches that had once held the clusters together.
The remainder of the summer saw birds in and out of the currant
bushes growing increasingly rounder. It
wasn’t long before the morning light and crisp air signaled summer was
ending. Our ground-bound robins began
to show panic between bites. The colder
weather meant the flight to warmer area codes was imminent. That jaunt is difficult in the best of
circumstances, but near to impossible when you have doubled your body weight! There needed to be salvation or they would be
forced to weather the arctic Laramie winter.
Thankfully, salvation came in the form of a much trimmer,
almost military robin. He organized the rest of the flock and began
what looked like calisthenics; dip, duck, dive, roll, touch those feet, use
those wings, crunches, sprints – first on legs and then with wings. Have you ever seen a robin sweat? Well, these birds were sweating! Before long the tennis ball roundness began
to disappear and wing spans increased. Migration ready robins once again
emerged.
Fall is in full force now. Frost is in the air and the
bushes look even more pathetic with the leaves falling to the ground. Periodically, a stray robin will stop and
wistfully look at the naked branches. I hear
chirps as they glance at the bushes and am never sure if it is sad because the
berries are gone or a blissful chirp reliving happy memories.
The first snow will banish the remaining robins from Laramie
for the winter, but I can just imagine the discussions that will be held in
those southern bird baths.
“Frank, remember the berries?”
