Emily Dickinson, "Hope is the thing with feathers." Video, cardinal landing.

I'm not a Dickinson expert, but my sense is that "Hope Is the Thing with Feathers" is a favorite for many. I like the central metaphor of hope as a bird and the title's focus on feathers--maybe a bird's most fragile feature. However, E.D.'s development of that idea is a little sweet for my tastes, especially compared to the complexity of so many of her better poems.

On the other hand, I get sappy about birds, and cardinals in particular. I stumbled onto the video below while looking for images of cardinal chicks--I'm pretty sure I had one this morning, just after first light, with mom and dad at the platform feeder.

When I consider that chick, that plump grey ball, becoming Mr. Red adult--or Mrs. More Modest Red--one word that comes to mind is magic. Ditto the video's excellent close-ups of a cardinal's landings in some snow. Whatever else he might be, the cardinal as a metaphor for hope is a perfectly reasonable notion.

Hope is the thing with feathers

YouTube - Cardinal landing close up

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Cardinal Notes Continued

Two years ago, Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal adopted an orphaned white-crowned sparrow chick. Below is the adult version of a white-crowned sparrow. The young have less white, but there's certainly no resemblance to a cardinal. Even so, for about two weeks, I watched Mr. and Mrs. C feed the sparrow, which was almost as large as the they were.

As a minor league birder, I didn’t trust my own eyes, so I googled the subject and found confirmation. Then I called the local Audubon chapter: “Oh yes, cardinals are one of several species that adopt orphaned young from other nests, other species.”

The other evening, Mister sat alone on a wire, where he called and called. He faced away from me, and for the first time I saw the back of his neck swell and recede to create each cluster of notes in one long, descending solo after another. It didn’t sound like panic, but why did he keep going and going like that for fifteen or twenty minutes?

I decided that Mrs. was supposed to be home from the movies long ago, and he was worried, maybe a little cross. I worried with him for a while, then gave up—CSI Miami was coming on, a different version of brilliant color.

I have friends who argue about the possibility of altruism in animals—or humans, for that matter.

What’s the evolutionary advantage of feeding a child from another team?

My friends in high evolutionary places tell me that the Mr. Cardinal’s red or the gold finch’s yellow amounts to a double-edged sword: females have apparently found color attractive, so these seeds of brightness are spread farther abroad; however, a colorful Mister is also a brighter target for raptors and cats. What if raptors and cats are color-blind? Do we know?

As for the missing Mrs. C, she was back the next day. If they’d had nasty words at home or if they’d thrown vases at each other the night before, I couldn’t tell. They presented well as usual, with nonchalance. And as usual, they were the last to leave.

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Red Alert: Some Notes on Cardinals

For true birders this will be old news and somewhat mushy. But for novices, maybe the sketches are interesting.

One male cardinal won’t allow another to share the feeders and yard, though they share comfortably with other birds. I think it’s been each spring for a few years that I’ve seen two males challenging each other; maybe the females also stake out territory, but I haven’t seen it.

I have seen a male cardinal face off against a blue jay twice his size and win—much more bravado than physical contact. Still, the cardinal had been at the feeder first and was not going to give ground.

Mister and Mrs. check out the safety of the yard before they settle onto the platform feeder or the grass. One lights on a pine branch or the eaves trough on the garage to stand guard and wait for the other to drop to a lower level. Usually each partner goes to one or two lookout stations before both settle down to feed for a minute or two. Then they leave and come back several times, but the cardinals are usually the last to leave, as dusk almost becomes night.

More than once I’ve watched Mister stuff food into the beak of Mrs., to the point where it’s more than she can handle and has to spit it out or turn away. It’s one of the most comical courtship rituals I’ve ever seen, until I walk around at a mall.