Day 63: I put out the seed first thing in the morning like I normally do, then settled in to work on Mousie's quilt with my back to the window. It wasn't long after that I heard a familiar and unmistakable "CHURP!" I wasn't expecting Porch Parrot guests, but when I turned around and looked at the feeder, it was elbow-room only, at least six Evening Grosbeaks inside and several others perched in the contorted filbert and on the shepherd's hooks nearby. There were at least a dozen, mostly males, demanding that the Chickadees (equally abundant now) budge up and accord them first privilege. I tend to think of my parrots as fair-weather friends, in the sense that they normally only come around in spring and summer, but then I remind myself that it was a cold January and February when I cared for Friend while his broken wing mended and he was able to be released back into the wild. I'd like to believe that one or more of my winter parrots might be descended from him, for surely these are the offspring of his flock, following the same map to my door and the limitless supply of black-oil seed.
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