Audubon At Home > Archives >

Photo © Bill Schmoker.

The Chickadee Connection
by Connie Holsinger

Conservation speaks to me of birds and trees, especially Black-capped Chickadees.

A Mainer by birth, Boston was home for my professional years. I eventually moved to fifty wooded acres on Boxford’s Shaven Crown Hill, a rural farming area just 30 minutes north of Boston. After so much city living, finding myself surrounded by huge white pine and oak trees felt daunting until I discovered the little chirping birds flittering through the pasture at the bottom of our hill. I wanted them closer so I hung my first bird feeder, thus beginning my love affair with chickadees.

My feeding station soon grew from one feeder to four. The chickadees were always first to check out a new feeder, suet ball or birdbath. Bird feeding led to observation and puzzling out the why’s of certain behavior while my eyes scanned the treetops looking for new avian colors, especially migrating Baltimore Orioles and Evening Grosbeaks.

Now I live on the plains northeast of Boulder in a landscape where I can almost count the trees on my fingers. The previous owner coveted Kentucky bluegrass so the grounds stood out lush and green in this semi-arid landscape, even in 2002, one of the worst drought years in recorded history. I didn’t think about this, (since New England water was cheap and plentiful) until we received our first July water bill reflecting 75,000-gallon usage. I was aghast and vowed to rid my landscape of all that water-guzzling lawn. Round-Up was my companion for most of that fall. A design plan finally emerged for a new 70-foot berm flowering with low-water plants that would nourish birds and butterflies. My goal was to have chickadees again.

Photo © Lynn & Bruce Bowen.

July 4th of the following summer, a brilliant Bullock’s Oriole alighted on a blooming Adam’s Needle, Yucca filamentosa, which was teeming with aphids. My attempt to grow dry-loving penstemons failed the first year from too much water, too little plant knowledge. I got smarter by learning the growing needs of my plants before planting them. Late summer brought the scented blooms of Double-bubble Mint, Agastache cana, lasting well into late fall, providing nectar for the southward bound Broad-tailed and Rufous Hummingbirds.

The many months of digging and planting and my husband’s concerned queries “you know what you’re doing with all these plants, don’t you” were forgotten. My landscape was now a wildscape, alive with trilling and flittering creatures including snakes that I’m not partial to.

My chickadees finally showed up the second winter. I’m sure the lure was five Colorado Blue Spruces, Picea pungens, defining my backyard edge, plus uncut seed heads and bird feeders. I have seen eye-popping Blue-keeled Motmots and Scarlet Macaws in Belize, yet, the sight and lyrical chick-a-dee-dee-dee call stills my walk, makes me smile and my heart sing.

Bringing conservation home through wildscaping is about finding joy in digging a hole, and planting Saskatoon Serviceberry, Amelanchier alnifolia, for it's abundant spring blooms and fall edible berries. It’s about making a difference and recognizing that humans and wildlife share the same daily stresses – being safe and accepted, having enough food to eat and place to sleep. It’s about connecting with our roots, getting our hands in that life-giving soil and joining the cycle of life in its many forms. Join me in making your landscape a nurturing wildscape – and welcome your own wild creature that touches your heart.

If you have an interesting habitat tale to share, please contact us.