Mourning Becomes Spring

Although --or perhaps because-- it took a while to arrive, winter has been reluctant to leave. So a couple of weeks ago, I made a batch of Julie Zickefoose's suet dough for the birds. And I hung it out in the suet holder that Sharon sent us in a little packet of goodies for our 21st anniversary:

It sat there, as hopeful as a ball of suet dough could be, for the downy woodpecker I saw a few yards over on Swanwick, and the cardinal I heard crying "rick-rick-rick" a few doors up on Kingswood.

But I think it takes a while for birds to know that there's something good waiting for them. And someone else got to the suet before the woodpecker and the cardinal:

Oh well. Maybe next year, if I start the suet dough early enough so they know there's a treat nearby.

Meanwhile, a whole other reward appeared today: one of our pair of mourning doves. He (I'm guessing it was he) was a bit skittish when he saw us but, as in every year, he'll get used to us. I was happy to see him, and happy to hear him.

On his last visit here, a couple months before he died, Dick said how he loved to hear the mourning doves on our porch and lawn -- it reminded him of growing up in Centralia where he always heard them. He said that their sound was one of the things he missed most in Newfoundland.

I have always loved the mourning doves. I don't think I realize how much I miss them until they come back every spring.