With our unpredictable weather, the seasons can be slippery in New England. Spring is notoriously tardy in these parts and winter has the bad habit of showing up unannounced at inconvenient times. Nonetheless, the flora and fauna of the region manage to keep a tight schedule.
Door Number 12 is for the birds.
December 12, 2025
The arrival of fall is a busy time for the inhabitants of New England. Humans are rushing to coffee shops in search of pumpkin spiced brews, the wildlife is preparing for the long winter ahead, and birds are migrating to and from the neighborhood. Avian migration isn’t something everyone associates with fall. The birdwatchers and the hunters do, but for the rest of us, migration means a mad dash to Florida or to the thermostat. For those interested in avian goings on, migration is as exciting and beautiful as the fall foliage is to leaf peepers.
I began to notice fewer birds as October waned. Then November brought the first of the flock of bluebirds that winters in the neighborhood to our bird feeder. Now that December is ensconced, those who will stay for the duration have marked their territory and settled in. It’s like college move-in week in Boston without all the abandoned mattresses on the sidewalks and trucks jammed under bridges on Storrow Drive. The population has turned over and the neighborhood is more settled.
I marvel that so many birds come down from Canada and stay here until spring. Then it occurred to me, for what we spend on top-shelf bird seed, we could probably put them through college. I sometimes wonder who’s the real birdbrain. But the tuition-like fees for seed, mealworms, and suet pay joyful dividends when flashes of blue streak by the windows, the tree branches are decorated with soft, blue plumage, and little puffs of grey, reddish brown, and beige bounce around the greenery in the window boxes, hiding seeds and looking for a place to sit for a moment.
With the winter solstice nine days away, the promise of snow grows. The cardinals, blue jays, and bluebirds paint a canvas of white with colorful pomp and circumstance. We’ll continue, eagerly, to buy them more high-end sustenance to reward their decision to winter here. As the old, silent film queried, what price beauty?
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