Bloody cold out there this morning… not that I have much right to complain, since my judgment is made from looking out the window and one trip in shirtsleeves to refill the bird feeder, but I can easily see and feel that it’s bitter. I’m sure my wife, who went off to work, will attest to that, but I don’t want to provoke any comments, however justified they might be.

Windy, which is the real killer I guess, since I’m probably at the warmest place in the Maritimes, at about -9 degrees Celsius at the moment, while the temperature drops precipitously toward a -25 in Northern New Brunswick. They can have it, snowmobiles, trails, winter fun and all.

The little birds are clustered outside on the food tray, feathers puffed out while the snow blusters around them. In spite of the cold (or maybe because of it) they still have the energy to fight for position as though some of them could protect the pile of seed for themselves alone through the rest of the winter. Some kind of little finches are there now, I guess, not one of the few breeds I can identify, since I’m new to this bird watching stuff. There’s a flock of Grosbeaks around as well, and they take over for a time, while a few little Chickadees manage to flit in and out when no one else is looking, or come down onto the deck below for the scatterings.

I mounted a seed tray on the top of a long smooth pole to protect it from the raccoons, though the neighborhood squirrel still manages to climb it. Yesterday there was one little bird who took over the tray and fended off all comers by raising his wings and running at anyone who arrived. Funny to watch. He kept this up for quite a while, until a Blue Jay suddenly soared in and onto the tray, outclassing him in the weight and likely even arrogance classification and he shot off to a tree.

A flock of crows has now arrived in a tree outside, since I threw a lot of stale bread and one muffin (that mildew managed to grab hold of before I did) onto the shed roof. Even the Jays stand back when the crows arrive, though the crows stay away from the seed feeder because it’s too close to the house for them. It seems the larger the birds get, the more afraid of us they seem to be… the little chickadees will eat beside you if you are on the deck. If we throw out anything really significant onto the shed roof, like the carcass of the Christmas turkey (nothing to waste), the crows will be around, checking a million times for danger, and then even they suddenly pull back enough to make us look out expectantly as a seagull descends unhindered from the heavens above and dwarfs all the toy birds as he takes whatever is there.

I digress. Cold. Cold.

Not that I didn’t do my time, growing up on PEI and suffering through a few nights when they announced that it had been “minus thirty-five last night in Miscouche” (a short distance away, original home of my paternal grandparents, and for some reason always the coldest spot in the area). That was in Fahrenheit at the time, of course, but they differ little at that range, since minus 40 equals minus 40 on either scale.

And I spent a year in Resolute Bay, 60 miles from the “north magnetic pole”, where it reached minus 57 in our dark February, and stayed at about minus 40 most of that month, and remained frigidly cold until “spring” finally came at about May.

Sometimes you have to wonder why we live around here, and my wife often says that out loud. And this is the “banana belt” compared to much of Canada, unless you want the constant rain of the B.C southern coastline. Some of our friends have taken on the “snowbird” role and are spending much of the winter in Florida, fighting their way this year through a New Brunswick early January blizzard to get into the states and southward. But I don’t desire that lifestyle; maybe it will come, certainly enough of them take it on to make some Florida neighborhoods Canadian territory through much of the winter.

Part of our trouble is that we don’t “dress for it”. That was me going out to the bird feeders… no coat on, no gloves, and Crocs on my feet (with holes to let the snow in). I can’t say that I felt it colder in Resolute at fifty below, because we were dressed for it or we wouldn’t / couldn’t / shouldn’t be out. Layers of clothing under a parka with fur edging, complete with a wire in the parka edge that could be bent until only your eyes showed through. Fully lined mitts (certainly NOT gloves) that came halfway up your forearm, with a patch of fur on the back to wipe your nose on. Full boots with removable felt liners. We were ready, and we did OK.

I recall a young fellow (though I was nothing more myself, being only 21) who had just arrived as an airport worker, and who felt that bundling up like that was just not “cool”. We watched him working bareheaded one day, helping to unload a cargo plane, ignoring the almost constant comments from anyone who passed to “Get something on your head!” The following day we arctic veterans watched in cruel amusement as he came into the cafeteria with both ears bandaged against his head, suitcase placed near the door, waiting for a morning flight south and at least unemployment, if not disfigurement.

The little birds keep on, half a dozen in the food tray, another seven or eight swinging in the wind on the perches of a little house feeder (just watching them almost gives you motion sickness), seeming to almost enjoy themselves… good food, friends flying in from all over… I guess they are dressed for it. Most days a bright Cardinal sits back in the trees and watches, waiting for a chance to make his quiet way to the feeder when the others have left.

I suppose they take it one day at a time. They say that animals have little awareness of more than the present, but I’m sure that somewhere in their being is a basic instinct that this is all only temporary, and as the earth continues its tilt we will in a matter of time see the snow disappear and the green shoots emerge from the warming ground.

I bloody well hope so!

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