I never know what the day will bring at Mothering Heights. Sometimes it’s impressive, like the 12-point buck standing in the snow eating my forsythia bushes. Sometimes it’s ironic, like the 50 wild turkeys hanging out in the front yard on Thanksgiving Day (little do they know what skills this old country girl has!). It can even be frightening, like when the Eastern Timber Rattler came out of the deep woods during a drought and faced off with my cat. It was a bag of Whisker Lickins that ultimately induced her to give up the contest. With only 8 lives left, she’s now permanently grounded indoors. At least I got a bunch of coupons from Purina for that little endorsement!

Then there is the unexpected. According to my field guide, barred owls belong in “low, wet woods and swamp forests”, but there he was early in the morning on my mountaintop, settling in for a nap. Not being able to resist a good pun, I named him “Shakespeare”*. On one occasion, I found every one of my bird feeders mangled and twisted on the ground with not even a millet seed anywhere to be found. That was the second visit we had from Cubby the Bear. The first time, he was just a young fellow, not able to reach very high, and more interested in trashcan contents.

None of these daily surprises, however, prepared me for what can only be described as… well… ”Hitchcockian”! It started as a normal morning: stumble out of bed, make a pot of coffee, steam open my eyelids, and check out the front yard feeder activity. But, what opened my eyes on this particular December morning wasn’t high-test java, but rather robins…. thousands of them…as far as the eye could see, on the ground, in the trees, and mid-air. Now, I know they form flocks (although I’d never seen one), and I know they don’t necessarily migrate (although I can’t remember actually seeing one hanging around in the winter), but this sight defied everything I had ever observed about the “harbingers of spring”! I then discovered that the backyard was also carpeted with these red-breasted little critters. The house was surrounded, and the ground was positively writhing with robins. What on earth had brought them here? And another thing…what was that one solitary male cardinal doing hanging around with them? Was he a professional scout? Or some kind of robin groupie? Or, perhaps, was he an adopted orphan, the robin equivalent of the “ugly duckling” story? I pondered, and pondered, but could only come up with one theory that made any sense…obviously, they read the fine dining guide mentioned in my last column.

I guess it pays to advertise.

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* For a photo of “Shakespeare”, see the Wildlife section in the Gallery.