The Great British Birdfeeder

some words about birds

I started paying attention to the birds when I was depressed.

It wasn’t a conscious decision. Before then, the birds had blended into the background. Now, their colour and movement popped into relief with a strange urgency.

The first bird was a chaffinch. Its colour was probably what caught my eye. It was patrolling the sheep field across from my Airbnb, on the lookout for worms after rainfall. I got to work watching and identifying other birds around me using some antiquated binoculars left for guests.

Once I got the hang of it, I realised there was an entire world of sound and community around me, wherever I went. I got obsessed.

When I got home, I set up bird feeders in my garden. They’re the first thing I look at in the morning. And whenever my laptop demands I take a break—every 20 minutes—I step to the side of my desk and look down at them.

It's a reminder that a bigger, chirpier world exists beyond this glowing screen.

Here are some notes on frequent visitors.

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Pigeon. In a perpetual state of wide-eyed surprise. Which is strange, considering nothing interesting has ever happened to it. Enjoys perching on the narrowest edge and waiting for other birds to do the hard work, before sweeping the ground. Permanently horny and not afraid to act on it, to the dismay of all birds and humans. Sounds like a flustered old lady when relocating from one fence to another.

Ring-necked dove. The cute cousin of the tubby pigeon, wearing an understated grey one-piece with a black choker. Nearly always seen in pairs. Largely a ground feeder; doesn't care to ruffle feathers. Seemingly oblivious to the world. Has a very popular subreddit dedicated to its abysmal nest-building choices.

Sparrow. Upbeat, optimistic and always happy to tell you what's going on. Shows off its British credentials by queueing on the fence before hitting the feeder. Has an answer to everything, and that answer is cheep. Fledglings look like a furry grey ball with a head growing out the top. Will eat anything but particularly fond of fat balls.

Starling. Groups of starlings are called murmurations when twisting and twirling in unison. But when arriving at the feeder, horde is more appropriate. They come and go with the subtlety of a blizzard and seem incapable of eating without trying to peck each other’s eyes out. The starling form is squished—except for the oversized, straight beak which is very handy for getting at suet blocks. Males have iridescent green and blue coats; petrol in a puddle, flecked with spots. Females are less noteworthy, a familiar injustice in the bird kingdom. When not screaming at each other, Starlings can produce an unbelievable variety of sounds—from human voices to R2D2.

Blackbird. The cultured romantic. Males wear rich black with an orange eye ring. Sings the most beautiful songs. Fond of hopping, head down, tail bopping. Usually seen rummaging with a partner. Pretends to be above the birdfeeder but will occasionally give it a go. Often makes a hash of it, on account of being made for hopping, not hanging. Most often found on the ground as the Starlings make it rain seed. A fine ally in the battle against garden snails.

Goldfinch. A fussy customer, requiring expensive, black seeds. Has migrated from sunnier climes and its vibrant plumage ensures you know it. Often heard warbling in the distance, and bobbing up and down on the wind, to the tune of said warbling. As soon as it lands on the perch, it is a quiet, content feeder.

Robin. Rarely uses the feeder, but is happy to skim the ground for falling crumbs. Usually appears alone, on account of having extreme personal space issues. The only garden bird to rival the blackbird’s song.

Blue tit. A small, frantic feeder, trying to look in every direction at once whilst cramming its beak full of suet.

Great tit. Often heard before it’s seen and easily identified by its see-saw, tea-cher call. Has more self-assurance than the smaller blue tit, undoubtedly due to everyone referring to it as "great". The stylish black cap doesn't hurt matters either.

Magpie. Large, striking and subject to an inordinate amount of song and rhyme. Will attempt to use the feeder, but is too large, resulting in a flapping cacophony. That said, it is smart. Sometimes waits on the ground, eyes up the suet block, and then launches itself, beak first, to knock off a chunk. Its Latin name is pica pica, but sadly it doesn't sound anything like a Pikachu. Enemy of nesting blackbirds, and now, me.

Carrion crow. Not invited to the party, and frequently reminds everyone of it by dive-bombing the proceedings.

Honourable mentions

Rat. Technically not a bird, but has been known to scale tall bird feeders to dine on suet and seed. This can be prevented by installing a baffle or, if you happen to have one, an inverted cone of shame as usually worn by your…

Cockerpoo. Only seems to care about the size of the bird. Historically charged down pigeons but is becoming more tolerant with age. Primarily on the lookout for the rat or, better still...

Grey squirrel. Birdfeeder vandal. Enjoys lifting feeders and dropping them on the floor, eating it’s fill and then fleeing the scene. The reason most feeders are now tied to the main pole by twine. Hasn't yet been caught in the act.

Sparrowhawk. Only sighted once—it took a bird in the air with such a noise that I heard it over a running circular saw. I peeked over the garden fence to see the predator on the floor, savage yellow eyes pinning me in place before it flew off.

Seagull. A seagull once extracted the entire BLT filling from my sandwich, outside of a train station, leaving me with two slices of bare, brown bread in my hand. Despite this skill, it shows no interest in the free buffet at the feeder. It is however happy to heckle other feeding birds from nearby rooftops.

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash