Squirrels would climb down the handle and plop themselves in the tray to have a good feed. I'd move the umbrella to peripheral branches to make it harder, but they always found a way. |
Near the bird feeder is a lump of suet in a mesh bag. If I put it on a thin enough branch, the squirrels couldn't get at it. |
Anyone who's ever tried to feed wild birds knows about two other things: squirrels and mice (and maybe rats).
I've been through this cycle before. First, the initial enthusiasm (birds! nature!) Next, the expensive squirrel-proof bird feeder that is emptied by squirrels in half an hour. Then the clincher -- the growing evidence of rodents feasting happily on fallen seeds every night. I know all this, so when I decided to feed the birds this winter, I vowed it was temporary. Once the snow was gone, so would be the bird seed.
But I'd forgotten how a bird feeder brings a garden alive. How many more birds there are flickering through the trees and singing on the branches. How they dive-bomb the seed tray, like mini-airplanes doing touch-and-go landings, all jostling for their place in the queue. How squirrels can hang upside down by their back feet to reach a seed tray, or dangle from it by their little front paws when things go awry. Sometimes there are birds dive-bombing and squirrels dangling all at once; what a pity to miss all the action.
After advice from Wild Birds Unlimited and Mr. Google, I now have a little wooden bird feeder that holds a gelatinized roll of bird seed covered with pepper sauce. The gelatin prevents the seeds falling to the ground for the mice. The pepper sauce -- supposedly unnoticeable to birds -- is anathema to squirrels. We will see how it works.
The new bird feeder in the witch hazel tree. It has a little roof to keep the rain off, and a little floor to catch seed. I left the umbrella up for awhile to protect it from precipitation. |
Little birds like this have been among my visitors this winter. The illustration is from a bird book. |
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