This post is part of a project in the works; "An Ogemaw County Year". The blog and eventually the book will encompass nature noticing, research and facts over the course of a year with a watercolor painting for each entry. Originals and prints will be available via the website as they are completed and prepped and the book will be available upon completion.
The air is crisp and biting as winter lays its heavy hand on the landscape. Snow blankets the ground, a muffled layer that glistens in the pale light of the afternoon. The trees stand silent and still, their bare branches etched against a gray sky. From the warmth of the kitchen, I watch as the chickadee flits through the trees, its tiny body a blur of black, white, and buff.
It's a black-capped chickadee, a regular visitor to the feeders in the backyard. But today, those feeders hang empty since I forgot to fill them yesterday in a rush of holiday preparations. The chickadee lands on a branch near the back door, its bright eyes scanning the scene with keen intelligence. It hops closer, its movements quick and deliberate, then pauses to stare directly at the window as if urging me to notice.
Chickadees are known for their curiosity, a trait that sets them apart from many other birds. This little one, with its oversized head and endearing mannerisms, embodies that spirit perfectly. Unlike more skittish species, chickadees are bold, often coming close to investigate anything that catches their interest. Today, it seems, that includes the absence of its usual meal.
I step closer to the door, and the chickadee doesn’t flinch. Instead, it cocks its head to the side, watching me intently. There’s something almost magical about this tiny bird, braving the harsh winter with such tenacity. In the wild, chickadees are a symbol of resilience. Despite their small size, they endure the long, cold winters of Northern Michigan with remarkable adaptability.
These birds have a fascinating life cycle. Chickadees do not migrate, choosing instead to stay in their northern habitats year-round. They survive the winter by caching food during the warmer months, hiding seeds and insects in tree bark, under leaves, or in crevices. Their excellent memory allows them to retrieve these hidden treasures even months later, a skill essential to their survival.
The chickadee at my back door is likely searching for more than just food. Chickadees are social birds, often found in mixed flocks with other small species during the winter. They use their distinctive “chick-a-dee-dee-dee” call to communicate with others, each note carrying information about the presence of food or predators. In a way, this little bird is not just feeding itself; it’s gathering resources for its entire flock. Researches have stated that when Chickadees call “chick-a-dee-dee-de”, the more dee dee dees at the end means there is more of a threat.
Its curiosity also extends to its surroundings. Chickadees are known to investigate any change in their environment, be it a new object, a different sound, or an empty feeder. This inquisitive nature is part of what makes them so special. They are quick learners, capable of adapting to new situations, and their boldness often brings them closer to humans than most other wild birds.
I head to the garage for a bag of sunflower seeds, knowing the chickadee is watching my every move. As I open the door, the bird flits to a nearby tree, not out of fear but out of habit. It’s used to this routine, and it knows that soon, the feeder will be filled again. I scatter some seeds on the snow as well, a little extra offering for the bird that had the courage to come to the door and remind me of its needs.
As I step back inside, the chickadee wastes no time returning to the seeds, pecking eagerly at the small black kernels. It’s a simple scene, but one that echoes a sense of connection to the natural world. This tiny, curious bird, with its bright eyes and bold spirit, is a reminder of the need not only to eat but to connect with others.
I watch as the chickadee grabs a seed, then flits away to another tree to open the seed. I smile, knowing that this little visitor will return for another seed and then another, brightening the cold grey day.
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