Saturday, we woke up to 3/4s of an inch of snow, 22 degrees, and that delicious quiet that comes from no cars on the road, and no plows either. This town doesn’t even own a plow. Any amount of snow makes it a holiday. Here, ours was a crunchy snow, the kind that turns to ice the next day if you drive or walk over it too much. But no one cared on Saturday.
Oregon State students who generally go home on weekends, stayed put. Every piece of earth or pavement with a downward bent was busy with sleds, trays, skis, snowboards, anything a person could slide on, the faster the better. On my walk, I watched a half-naked young man skiing like a water skier behind his roommate’s pick-up. Nuts, but I laughed when I saw him swooping back and forth down Jefferson Avenue. Early in the evening, students skated with sneakers on the parking lot across the street, while we old folks (Brent and me) watched delighted from the warmth of our second-floor bedroom. Joy was palpable everywhere, as though everyone needed it.
But Sunday was different. The crunchy snow turned slippery and dangerous. The quiet of Saturday was quieter still as everyone hunkered down.
We spent the day filling, defrosting, then filling again our hummingbird feeders while the little terrorists torpedoed us, protecting their turf and begging for more. In between, we scattered Cheerios, Oatios, Cinnamon Crunch (from the health food store, like a bird would care), raisins, apples, almonds, and breadcrumbs, hoping other birds would find us. It didn’t take long. Grackles Jays, Ravens, Crows, Robins, and other small birds I didn’t recognize arrived en masse as though we’d broadcast a smorgasbord on their network – which of course, we had.
Towards the end of the afternoon, when all of us were content and used to one another, I sat on the porch, watching it all. The only sounds were wings unfurling, nuts cracking, chirps, swoops, and taps. I sat for a long time. From my perch, I watched one of several hummingbirds come and go, come and go, come and go, resting on the frozen metallic crow Brent put on the fence last summer. My view of the tiny bird was between two posts that hold up the porch’s roof. When I looked at my photographs this morning, I couldn’t help but project my own moods into the hummingbird’s. I love that the crow is smiling. Regardless
The only photographer in the world to catch a Hummingbird perched on a Crow's head. Ok ok... not a real Crow, but just the same - a very cool picture.