Dealing with Daweena

["Kristin Purdy" <kristinpurdy at comcast dot net>]

Why is the arrival of Daweena--the Ute indian word for last snowstorm of 
the season--always a surprise?  Mark Eubank of KSL-TV even told us last 
night during the weather report that we might have snow this morning.  
But as I looked outside bleary-eyed and blinking, I felt mildly 
surprised to see 4 or 5 inches of Daweena's white brilliance covering 
everything.  The roofs of the seed feeders were piled high.  The aspens 
and crabapples bowed over politely and heavily under Daweena's weight.  
A thick white layer was melting on the red surface of the hummingbird 
feeders.  It was time to deal with Daweena.

Dealing with Daweena required head-to-toe Gore-Tex, rubber boots, and a 
wide-brimmed hat because she was still flinging down her spring fury.  
First things first--put the roof rake together and save those trees.  As 
I lifted the rake high into the bowed foliage and shook the branches, 
Daweena came raining, plopping, thudding down on me time after time.  
But the limbs, with their new and delicate leaves, seemed to sweep 
upward with a flourish and looked proud once again.  Onward to the 
juniper.  

The juniper was as bowed over as every other shrub or tree, but I 
changed my mind when I got there.  Daweena had modified the habitat 
under the juniper and made it better.  For the first time in 4 years, 
two pairs of California Quail have been prospecting for nest sites in my 
yard.  The juniper stands next to one of the feeders where the quail 
love to scratch.  I left the shrub as it was--temporarily providing many 
dark and secret places for quail to scratch the bare earth beneath.  The 
warmth of the day would release the juniper from Daweena's restraints 
soon enough.  

During a brief trip into the house for dry gloves I looked out to one of 
the feeders to see the first birds of the day--Lazuli Buntings.  Betsy, 
can you believe I had THREE Lazuli Buntings in my yard at the same 
time?!?!?  Blame Daweena.  The buntings don't come to my feeders in such 
FANTASTIC numbers in good weather.  I mixed a little safflower seed--the 
buntings' usual preference--with black-oil sunflower to give them the 
boost they needed to deal with Daweena.  

I made other rounds of the yard to give every bird species a chance.  I 
sprinkled quail mix and cracked corn under every hedge and shrub.  The 
robins got serviceberries spread over a patch of bare ground, the 
orioles got fresh nectar and orange segments in their feeder, and the 
jays got whole peanuts to satisfy their habit of cache and carry.  
Everybody got a new saucer of water on the deck, and I filled it with a 
silent admoniton to the robins, "Don't bathe in the drinking water this 
time!"  Those splashy robins can empty a saucer with just one bath.  

As I approached the hedge near the bowed juniper, I heard a pair of 
quail murmuring to each other.  The murmuring did not sound like, "Oh, 
goodie!  Here comes breakfast!"  It sounded like.  "Something's coming!  
Something's coming!  Dear, let's get out of heeeeeeeeerrrrrrrreeeee!!!"  
And so the pair scurried from the hedge to the juniper, and I later 
watched them from a window above, scratching up the cracked corn and 
seed under the bowed branches.       

After refreshing my hummingbird feeders and putting out a couple extras 
in odd and obvious places--hanging off the front lamp post, sitting on 
the deck table--through the glass I heard the little boy I was waiting 
for--a male Broad-tailed Hummingbird.  He zinged over the feeder on the 
table and didn't seem to understand the red snow shield.  But soon he 
found one of the usual feeders in an aspen.  After a short drink, he 
landed on an empty suet basket and shook and shook and shook--perhaps 
still releasing himself the night's torpor--a hummingbird survival 
strategy to deal with Daweena.  

>From inside the house I could also hear the sound of Daweena releasing 
her grip--water rushing through the rain gutters.  In a final tribute to 
the spring storm, I peeled off my snow-soaked outerwear, flipped on the 
fireplace, curled up with the cats, and toasted Daweena with a glass of 
sparkling cider.  Here's to you, Daweena--you gave it your best shot, 
girl!  See you again next year (and I hope, no sooner).

Kris

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