I've always loved a snow storm. I get excited at the thought of it happening. The bigger and more threatening the satellite image, the better. I revel at the idea of staying inside all day (I intentionally chose to leave out that part about shoveling). Well, I got my wish (a few times over actually), and in between periodically checking work e-mails, I snuck outside because there was an absolute feast going on at the bird feeder.
First, let me tell you a bit about this place. The house I live in abuts a town forest that, while not huge, is connected to other reservations and protected areas that accounts for some significant space (at least around these parts). Every once in a while (though, sadly, more often as of late) you'll spot deer or a coyote. At night in summer you can hear squealing fisher cats on their hunts (or see one moseying around your front lawn). What I most enjoy, though, are the birds. My grandparents always fed them. My grandfather kept the bird feeder full at all times (a huge, triple-barrel one, no less) and the birdbath full of fresh water. My grandmother scattered raisins around the yard and sang to the robins from her kitchen window as they hopped around snatching them up.
First, let me tell you a bit about this place. The house I live in abuts a town forest that, while not huge, is connected to other reservations and protected areas that accounts for some significant space (at least around these parts). Every once in a while (though, sadly, more often as of late) you'll spot deer or a coyote. At night in summer you can hear squealing fisher cats on their hunts (or see one moseying around your front lawn). What I most enjoy, though, are the birds. My grandparents always fed them. My grandfather kept the bird feeder full at all times (a huge, triple-barrel one, no less) and the birdbath full of fresh water. My grandmother scattered raisins around the yard and sang to the robins from her kitchen window as they hopped around snatching them up.
