Believe Them to be Redwing Blackbirds

March 6, 2010.  Saturday.

Situation:  Moi and I both work tonight.  I take Mway out about 3:30.

State of the Path:  Much, if not most of the snow, is gone.  There are still patches of snow in our lower back yard, in the old orchard, and around the ridge around bug land.  The path is muddy, especially by the wigwams and around the seep in bug land.  The dead brown vegetation lying on the ground is interspersed with green clumps of grass, as well as moss, here and there.  I do not hear any birds at this hour when I first step outside, but as I get closer to the creek I hear more chirps and sucking sounds.

State of the Creek:  Finally, as I’m standing at the log and barrel jam on the creek, I see, up among the higher branches of the oaks ahead of me, dozens of black birds.  At first I don’t know what they are – but I believe I can make out now and then patches of red on the birds’ wings.  Finally I walk toward the oaks, scaring the birds into flight.  I can make out red patches on some of the birds wings – surely, I believe, these are redwing blackbirds.  The state of the creek is much the same as it has been the last few days, the water flowing steadily, fed by the slow melt of the snow.

The Fetch:   As I walk up toward the clearing, I feel almost too hot in my snow suit, wool cap, and mismatched garden gloves that I’ve been using as snow gloves all winter – but I will wear this outfit for as long as I can stand it, to help protect against the deer ticks that lurk in the field. The clearing is almost bare, only a patch of snow here and there.  I stand at one end and toss the stick as far as I can, toward the electric pole, toward the cement rubble, back down toward the strawberry field – in the fashion I was throwing the stick before there was snow on the ground.  I lose count how many times Mway fetches the stick – more than three, less than ten maybe.  I catch sight of Moi in the back yard, checking the sap from our maple beside our swimming pool.  On one fetch, Mway carries along back with her stick a dead brown golden rod stem, caught between her body and the stick.  After her last fetch, as usual she runs back to the house with the stick in her mouth, and I follow with only my walking stick, impressed with how long these two sticks – almost equal in length – have lasted now.