I’m convinced my daughters are conspiring to have me committed. It all started when they discovered that my interest in birding had gotten so out of control that I have started naming the birds that frequent my 18 zillion birdfeeders. But, first, let me explain. My backyard is literally Harriman State Park (New York). I live on an isolated mountaintop with no barriers between me and the local wildlife. After awhile, you get to know the regular visitors and their quirks, and it just seems natural to give them a more personal identity.

One chilly winter day, Dr. Daughter (the Veterinarian) and I were sitting in the “birdroom” (a.k.a. Guestroom) having afternoon tea, and watching the busy flight pattern outside the glass doors. “Oh look!” (says I) “there’s Beauregard and Magnolia!” Once I explained that these were a pair of wrens that had been hanging around for the last three years feasting on mealy worms and safflower seeds, I got “the eye roll”. This was a gesture both of my girls inherited from their Dad, and I get it a lot. Undaunted, I continued. “His full name is Beauregard T. Wren, of the Carolina Wrens, and they are a very genteel Southern species.” Another more pronounced eye roll.

A few minutes later, Dr. D. pointed out a pair of Cardinals. “Oh, yeah”, I responded. “That’s ‘Spellman’ and ‘Richelieu’ ” This drew an eye roll and a head shake. “There’s another male that sometimes hangs around with them, too, ” I continued undeterred. After a few moments of silence, I guess curiosity got the better of her, and she said, “OK, I’ll bite…what’s his name?” Like a cat ready to pounce, I paused long enough to be annoying and replied, “What else? ‘O’ Connor’ ”! Eye roll, head shake and soft groan. A trifecta!

Oh yes, I’m sure they make fun of me behind my back. I can imagine the phone lines buzzing with phrases like “Mom needs a life” and “She spends too much time on that mountain”. But, I also think there’s a part of them that enjoys the silliness. It was the same Dr. Daughter, after all, that suggested a name for my resident chipmunk. As we watched him running back and forth, amazed at the expansiveness of his cheeks packed with fallen birdseed, she blurted, “Let’s call him ‘Dizzy’… You know, like Gillespie? ”.

I was so proud.