08.10.2025

They say life slows down as you age. Mine sped up — thanks to a tiny fighter-pilot chickadee who moved in next to my garage.

One of the mysteries about the aging process is that it’s difficult to pinpoint the exact moment when  you either start, or stop, doing something you’ve been doing for years without a second thought.

I can’t tell you the exact day I began asking SIRI for directions that included “avoid freeways” or when parking became the deciding factor in whether I’d go somewhere, but here we are.

I’m still not ready for bus trips to casinos sponsored by the senior center, but have I spent entire afternoons watching reruns of Fraiser while I crochet? Well, a gal doesn’t have to share every secret now, does she?

What I did not expect, let alone plan, to do in retirement was become a bird watcher. In my mind, bird watching was for “old-old” people sitting in rocking chairs on their front porch, or those folks whose bucket list items includes walking the Appalachian Trail. Seriously, who watches birds?

Ah, karma….

This past spring I purchased two tall planters. My intention was to place them right outside my garage door, one on each side, to add some visual appeal.

I also purchased plants that required some creative engineering (including pool noodles and plastic mulch) to stabilize them in the planters.  Now all I needed to do was water them every day and cross my fingers that maybe – just maybe – my lack of a green thumb wouldn’t kill them.

I used a watering can instead of the garden hose because I wanted to ensure the roots got plenty of moisture. Everything was going according to plan. In fact, the plants were flourishing, and I was feeling pretty proud of myself.

Then one morning, just as I tipped the watering can into the planter, a small – and rather irate – chickadee bolted out of the planter. She flew to the top of the roof of the garage and had quite a bit to say to me before she flew into a nearby tree.

I was startled, but I didn’t think much of it. I figured this was a short rest stop for her, and she’d be on her way - except the next morning, the same thing happened. This time, she had a bit of an attitude. It was like she was saying, “For Pete’s sake woman, enough with the water!”

I tried to peek instead the planter, but she flew toward me like a miniature fighter pilot.  It was abundantly clear the plant was off limits. After a few moments, she veered away and I very carefully peaked into the planter. You guess it. There in a perfectly engineered nest were three tiny pearl shaped eggs.

My brain went into overdrive and I felt a wave of adrenaline rush over me. Dear God, I had almost drowned and displaced an entire feathered family!

Time for a tactical pivot. Immediately, I switched from watering can to garden hose, adjusting the nozzle so that it mimicked a gentle rain shower. She wasn’t crazy about that plan either, but trying to convince her that the camouflage offered by the plant only works if said plant stayed alive was an exercise in futility.

As the days passed, she rarely left the nest, I began to worry that she was weak from hunger, so I purchased a suet packet for her. Figuring out a way to keep the squirrels, racoons and deer way from the feeder is a post for another day, but I was determined that no child of hers was going to grow up without a mom because clearly, she was a single parent and sole provider to her little brood.

I tried to give her all the privacy she needed and wanted, but after a few weeks, I noticed there was no activity around the planter. When I looked into the nest, the eggs were gone, and so was my tiny little ‘Dee.

Honestly, I was surprised at how much I missed her. I’d felt responsible for her and was, frankly, a little miffed that she didn’t even say goodbye, let alone thank you (although to be fair, having lived with cats almost all my life, you’d think I’d be used to being unappreciated. Those suet packets aren't free, you know.)

Several weeks later, much like a prodigal child, she reappeared. This time, she took up residence in the planter on the opposite side of the garage. I discovered this the same way I had discovered her the first time – that same chirping of a clearly irked chickadee who had just gotten an unexpected and unasked for bath.

“Hey, Mama, you’re back!” I said to her. This time, she didn’t fly into me when I peered in the planter.  She had built another perfect nest with one even more perfect egg.

We have a routine now, Ms. ‘Dee and me. She sits in the tree with her little one who has recently emerged from the nest, while I water the plants and get their suet packet breakfast together.

A week ago, they were joined by another chickadee. Given the conversations I overheard between Ms. ‘Dee and the new one, I’m going to go out on a limb (no pun intended) and assume he’s the baby-daddy, but who knows.

What I do know is that she, and her extended family of ‘dee’s, finches, and yes, a woodpecker, now call my condo their home.

I check on the entire brood multiple times a day. I take the feeder down each night and replace it in the morning to help ensure it stays safe from other wildlife during the night. I buy multiple packs of suet in advance to make sure she always has her favorite flavors (honey and nuts).

I have become, to my surprise and absolute delight, a bird woman and I can’t wait to learn more about these delightful beings that have added such meaning and purpose to my life.

To be sure, being a bird woman doesn’t carry as much cachet as “childless cat lady”, but give it time, my friends – give it time.

  "Shake a Tail Feather," written by Otha Hayes, Verlie Rice, and Andre Williams.