FOUR STRONG WINDS and a FUNERAL

Sunday was the worst, with round-the-clock 60 km/40 mile-per-hour blasts off the lake. The wind took the lilac bush in its teeth and shook it like a rag toy, then slung the birdfeeder into the yard, where it skittered across the crusted snow. This morning I picked up the pieces, and determined it was repairable with some wire and duct tape.

All day Sunday a mixed group of smaller birds tucked themselves away on some bushes in the corner of my neighbor’s house, keeping as much out of the wind as possible. A brown-streaked Cooper’s hawk kept hanging around, counting on its very presence to frighten the birds into flight, and thus becoming a meal for the quick-winged accipiter, but if it caught anything on the wing, any showers of feathers would have been whisked away before they could tell their story.

This morning I discovered one small casualty – a beautiful little female redwing blackbird among the lilac suckers. No sign of predation; nothing disturbed. Perhaps she was old, or ill, or maybe the night was just too cold and she succumbed to hypothermia – something that takes many birds each winter. I’ve left her there, perfectly laid out as she was, for her confreres come and pay their respects. And they do; here’s how I know:

Once when I was driving in the Alberta foothills, a flock of goldfinches flew in front of the truck I was behind. I could see what had happened (you never tailgate on those dust-choked backroads if you want to breathe) and gently braked. A female had been hit and dropped straight into the dirt. Instantly, a bright black-and-yellow male turned, flew back to her and perched on her lifeless body. A few other goldfinches gathered at the roadside, waiting for news. He cocked his head, shifted his tiny weight a few times on his slender feet until he had assured himself of whatever it was he sought regarding her, and then they all flew off. Before leaving myself, I scooped up her still-warm body and laid her in some of the weeds she’d loved in life.