Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, October 1, 1995 TAG: 9510020011
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV2 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: STEVE KARK
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
For instance, though it has been close to three weeks now since we saw our last hummingbird, it still felt like we were rushing things when we brought their feeder in last weekend. After all, there might be hungry stragglers.
Besides, set to dry next to the pan we'd used to heat the sloppy joe leftovers, the feeder looked out of place in the kitchen sink. It was like we'd stuck Smokey the Bear's hat in there with the greasy pots and pans.
Most of our birds remain year-round, and those that don't will be back in the spring anyway. Still, I hate to see them go. The woods always feel a little emptier when they're gone.
I suppose it's all in the way you look at it, depending on your point of view. After all, birds have been migrating for thousands of years. And if we're lucky, they'll continue to do so for thousands more.
Bird migration is easily one of life's grandest spectacles. Twice each year, millions of birds fill the skies as they fly between breeding and nonbreeding areas.
Geese call softly on the wind as they pass overhead in that lovely and perfect V. A flock of robins twists and turns in dense, cloud-like formation, flying in unison as though united by some secret accord.
Who would blame us for wanting to keep them here?
As far back as I can remember, migrating birds have signaled approaching winter and the accompanying inconvenience of cold and ice. When they go, the birds take more than themselves with them.
They fly off to verdant fields and hot sun. We are left behind to watch as winter shrivels our gardens and woods, and cracks the earth with its icy fingers.
On the other side of the coin, though, one man's loss is another man's bounty. After all, the birds spend only half of the year here in the New River Valley and the other half somewhere else. Those folk on the other end have just as much claim on them as we do.
There's probably a Costa Rican farmer standing in his bean field at this very moment, wondering when "his" scarlet tanagers will return from the north and fill his trees, once again, with their bright songs.
Who can say that any migrating bird is a native of any particular place? Are these North American birds that winter in the tropics? Or are they tropical birds that spend summer in North America?
I suppose it depends on where you live. And in the end, it becomes an issue of personal philosophy, a question of whether one sees the woods as half full or half empty.
There really isn't a clear-cut answer; it depends entirely on your point of view.
by CNB