Fighting Reflections

A cardinal, a window, and a lesson in perception

🐦‍🔥The Cardinal Is Back

“Guess who’s back?”

My husband’s message came through my AirPods as I ran early one Saturday morning in May. Then, in quick succession, two more messages followed. One was an image of a cardinal in mid-flight, attacking a window that I would later view on my phone. The other said, “It’s our crazy cardinal friend from last year who won’t stop banging the window. Tippi (our cat) is going CRAZY!”

Ten or so minutes later . . . “OMG! The Boy (our neighbor’s outdoor cat) just jumped as high as the window and nearly caught the bird. Feathers are flying!”

Thus began the return of our daily sound effects. Beginning at first light and continuing off and on throughout the day until full dark falls, we hear the thuds, the whams, and the kerthuds of the colorful, but crazed, cardinal attacking either the bay window or the large picture window at the front of our house. 

I added window clings “guaranteed to prevent even the most aggressive birds” from attacking the windows, but the sounds and the grotesque bird droppings that demand frequent cleaning tell a different story. Watching the cardinal attack from the outside while my 18-year-old cat keeps a vigilant watch—as though her aging joints were a force to be reckoned with—I frequently find myself shaking my head, wondering what on earth the bird thinks he is accomplishing other than a headache. 

From a biological point of view, I get the cardinal’s motivation. He’s naturally driven to fiercely protect his mating and nesting territory during this time of year. When he catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window, he thinks another male is encroaching on his territory. So he attacks by charging and pecking the glass. Then, when he sees his own aggressive movements, he thinks the “intruder” is attacking back. This causes the cardinal to get even angrier and more aggressive, perpetuating the endless cycle of attacks.

The Problem Isn’t His Determination

 I admire the bird’s determination. The problem is not his determination; it is his perception. He isn’t fighting another bird. He’s fighting himself. 

🪟When We Keep Hitting the Glass

How often are we like the determined cardinal? How often do we keep mulling over and returning to the same argument, the same disappointment, the same heartache, the same resentment, and so on? How many times have we tried to change someone who is not yet ready to change? Yet our perception and determination trick our minds—and hearts—into thinking we can. 

We convince ourselves that “If I explain it this way, one more time, then they will finally respond this way.” 

“If only I try harder, then this will finally happen.”

“If only I push, pull, arrange, help . . . just a little bit more, then this will all fall into place.”

And yet, nothing changes. Like the cardinal, we keep hitting the glass. We may have warnings and interruptions that should cause us to reconsider—much like The Boy tried—but our misguided perception has convinced us otherwise.

The cardinal has lost countless feathers. His droppings, no doubt increased by his own anxiety, are piling up alongside those feathers for me to clean up. The bird spends untold energy defending itself from an enemy that isn’t there.

Humans, myself included, do a very similar thing. We spend untold amounts of emotional and mental energy, lose precious time, and sacrifice our peace trying to defeat “something” that may only exist in our minds due to our perceptions. Sometimes the “enemy” is not another person, as we may think. Sometimes the so-called battle is with ourselves, our assumptions, our fears, or even our need to be right. The toll is real. The bruises are real, even when the battle is not.

🧐Seeing More Clearly

The cardinal lacks the power to recognize his own reflection. Humans can. We have the power to pause and ask: “What if my perception is off?” or “What if my focus is fuzzy and I am not seeing correctly as a result?” 

This may mean stepping back in order to stop “banging our heads,” as it were. It may mean taking another look and examining the situation with a fresh perspective in order to identify what is really there.

I am reminded of my most recent eye exam.  “Do you prefer A or B? Is C clearer than B? What about D?” the doctor asked as she adjusted the lenses.

The doctor went from one eye to the other until finally she revealed the view with both eyes properly adjusted. What a difference in clarity that made when I was asked to read that bottom row for the third time.

Wham! I hear the cardinal as I write this. Kerthud! Ugh, that flash of red hurts my head in sympathy for this poor bird. His endless resolve to keep fighting causes me to feel tired for him. 

Every morning, since that first Saturday in late May, Mr. Cardinal is back, convinced that his rival still exists. I watch him and wonder. How many of my own battles have looked exactly the same? How many times have I mistaken my own reflection for a rival, misperceived the reality of a situation, or spent so much energy fighting glass?

The cardinal has become a daily reminder that sometimes the most important change is not changing what stands before us, but changing the lens through which we view it. 

Cardinal Song and Snowstorm Memories

“A bird does not sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.”–Maya Angelou

Photo by Skyler Ewing on Pexels.com

“Stethie, you should always feed the red birds when it snows. You want them to stay near you.”

Papaw spoke these words with his sincere eyes imploring mine on a snowy winter day.  I was living with my grandmother and him during my first two years as an educator, and during this time, I came to realize what bird-lovers they both were, especially during the winter months.  

When I prodded him to tell me more, I don’t remember his precise answer, but I do recall that he talked about the cardinal’s beauty and goodness, especially when compared to the Blue Jay– the species for which Papaw was NOT a fan.  I am certain he gave me a more detailed explanation about the importance of cardinals, but like so many memories, only the basic understanding of his words remains with me.

A long image of 2016 snow, when my daughter would periodically go out with a yardstick to measure the snow’s depth.

I was reminded of this feeling on a recent January morning, the day after precipitation conspired with plunging temperatures to instigate a snow storm as the inches of fluffy white accrued.  With the arrival of dusk, winter’s hush settled over the surrounding hills and valley in which I live, as our yard residents, the cardinals, chirped their familiar song of, “cheer, cheer, cheer,” wrapping my family and me with a serene sense of quietude.  My mind floated with the flakes, and I began quickly flipping through the pages of snow days past. 

Remembrances of my youth-self entering the backdoor of my childhood home after hours of playing in the snow.  I would be ensconced inside layers of snowy, wet clothes, and my play-shoes were sucked into clear galoshes that would break me out into a sweat as I struggled to take them off.   In rapid fire succession, my mind meandered from my own childhood snow days to more recent reminiscences of my daughter’s days in the snow.  

One of the last times, I believe, my daughter “played” in the snow with friends during college.

Those seemingly not-so distant days of watching her teach our beloved dog, Rusty, how to pull her through the yard on a red sled, and the way she taught him to play “catch” with snowballs.  Rusty would catch the snow, then proceed to eat it, slinging slobbering snow-froth with every shake of his head.  Like the 8mm films my grandfather once proudly recorded and presented, my family memories reeled on . . .

Get the yardstick and measure again, that’s another inch more for sure.

Why haven’t they called school off yet?

Spoon under pillow, pajamas inside out and backwards;

It’s what they said to do for a guaranteed snow day tomorrow

Screams of delight with morning light; I’m really out for the whole day?

Dog tracks follow girl tracks, two pals capering about the sparkling white

Snow persons with carrot noses, button eyes, tree limb arms, and purple cap; “Can I have a scarf for it too?” 

Sled rides down the neighbor’s hill, “Rusty, pull, boy, pull!”

Grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup, comfort food to warm a rumbly tummy.

Wet clothes in dryer; boots and damp dog by the fire until

Back outside she goes with a whoop and a holler, “Come on, Rusty! Come on, boy!” 

Tail waggin’, he’s hobbles into action; wherever she roams, he’ll go

More hours spent, giggles and barks galore; “Oh, Rusty! You silly boy!”

Hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies for her, and plenty of kibble for him.

Get out the crockpot, and make some veggie soup; I hope we have saltines.

Steph, how ‘bout a glass of wine?

No, really, I shouldn’t.

Well, maybe just a glass that turns into two

Jigsaw puzzle covers one end of the table, making the edges first.

Scrabble tiles are intersecting lines; Are you sure that is a word?

May I stay up a little bit longer?

What about a movie? There’s a new one I hear.

Can we read two chapters tonight? 

But we’re at a good part. How‘bout one more chapter, pleeease?

Covers piled high, snuggled up under chin; the day, like all good things, must end

Sigh! How swiftly the hands of time spin.

The next morning, I stood at the kitchen window, coffee mug in hand, watching large flakes drift down, observing my cardinal friends, and drinking in their sing-song calls.  There are three cardinal couples living in different parts of our yard; they took up noticeable residence this past spring.  They have yet to leave, and I can’t help but take comfort in their presence. 

Gone are the days I look out the window and see my daughter playing in the snow.  She has no interest now that she is the same age as I was when I lived with my grandparents.  Nor does Rusty, her once faithful companion, romp and scamper in the snow; he has since passed on to heavenly yards of the great beyond. Still, I stand there a bit longer, and I can’t help but wonder what the coming years will bring.  Certainly, the answers aren’t in the sentimental past. Nonetheless, the cardinals keep singing, in spite of the seasonal changes, serenading their song of gratitude.  Perhaps, therein lies a profound melody of truth.

Photo by Tina Nord on Pexels.com

When Cardinals Appear . . .

“When cardinals appear, angels are near.”–Unknown

Tink, plink, tink. It’s 6:00 am, and the first light of the dawn is beginning to show.  While the actual sunrise won’t occur for another 40-50 minutes, I hear the newest members of our neighborhood at it again. If this were a school day, I would have been awake.  However, on this occasion, it is the weekend, and I typically give myself permission to sleep in until 6:00 or 6:30.  Ugh! 

Boink. Doink. Boink.  The sound varies depending upon which room I am in.  Persistent.  Insistent. Relentless. All members of my household, human and feline, have moved from fascination to annoyance to down-right sympathy for our neighbor’s continuous need to pound, rattling both the living room picture window and the master bedroom window.  Don’t they ever get tired?

Our newest neighbors moved in around the beginning of April.  John, my husband, Maddie, our daughter, and me, did not really think much about them.  Each couple, one across from the front of our house; and the other, across from the bedroom end of our house; seemed peaceful and pleasant enough.  In fact, both pairs could often be heard singing to one another, especially during the first light of morning and the last light of evening.  The practice seemed like such a romantic thing to do.  Clearly, they were deeply in-love, or at the very least, highly infatuated with one another.

Furthermore, we couldn’t help but notice both males have a predilection for parading around dressed in bright red with flamboyantly styled hair.  While their female partners dress more subduedly in colors of brown and buff, they do appear to try to complement their male counterparts by donning caps with red feathers and hints of red skirt their lower half.  On an odd note, both couples seemed to only own black facial masks. 

Not long after both couples moved in, we also noticed they each had the habit of dining outside.  While that wasn’t particularly unusual, given the mildness of our early April weather, it was the habit of the males feeding the females that was most striking.  In fact, it appeared as if they kissed first, allowing the female to take the food from the male’s mouth.  What love birds both pairs appeared to be!

When their habit of banging around first began, the two pairs could be observed pounding away with great intent.  This, hysterically, drew great attention from both of our lacidzical cats.  Our feline companions could, with great regularity, be found wherever our neighbors could be seen industrially belting away–so curious were our cats’ desire to see our neighbors’ carrying-ons. 

By the second week of April, however, it was only the male partners that appeared to knock around–not that we were truly keeping tabs on them.  Meanwhile, their female partners were only occasionally detected outside of their new home.  It was whispered that the females were holed up inside privately nesting.  Although, it was reported that one couple, during this same week, was observed publicly engaged, in their odd practice of kissing-before-swapping-food-mouth-to-mouth.  

As I write this during the third full week of April, both couples seemed to have somewhat settled.  While the males can sometimes be heard plinking away, they are blessedly less active than when they first moved in.  However, the tune of the pair’s vocalizations still fills the air at the day’s beginning and end.   The rarely seen females can be heard from inside of their home singing a wide repertoire of choruses, while the male confidantes still proudly sing the same ol’ melody, over and over, right outside their home.

John, Maddie, and I recently stood at the front picture window looking out at one set of our newest neighbor’s home. Rumors were continuing to circulate regarding the state of the hidden females.  Most fodder contended that due to all of the hanky-panky-dining-habits, both couples must be in the family-way.  After all, what is to be expected from all of those acts of public display of affection and strange exchange of food?  Bunch of granola-eating hippies if you ask one commentator!

Of course, John and Maddie, used to my crunchy, granola-eating, tree-hugging ways, seem to have come to terms with our newest neighbors who munch, mouth, and swap nuts, seeds, and berries.  

“What’s one more plant-based eater in the neighborhood?” Maddie teases.  “You can make friends with them, Mom.  You know, swap recipes!”

John, more prone to roam the neighborhood, than Maddie and I, claims the latest tittle-tattle accuses both couples of sometimes eating insects and spiders.  

“Supposedly, someone watched one of the males spewing an entire bug into the mouth of his partner.”

Maddie cringed with disgust.  I quickly reminded her how some people do go on and on about things for which they have little to no knowledge.

“Yeah, but eating bugs is just, well, gross.  And, I thought eating nuts and seeds was weird . . . .”  

As Maddie walked away from the conversation, one of our new male neighbors determinedly drummed a window as if for effect.  At this sound, I walked closer to the window and waved my arms above my head.  I looked at him, as he moved towards his home.  I am fairly certain that, since the windows were open, he could hear me through the screen, so I told him to stop. 

“It’s like banging your head against the wall, Buddy.  It’s not productive.  Your partner needs your protection; I get it, but you’ve got no worries with us.  We’re cool if you guys have kids out-of-official-wedlock.  I mean, it’s my understanding that you and your partner have been together for life.  The neighbors you’ve got to worry about aren’t us anyway.  The more menacing neighbors are on the hills and in the woods around us.”

I thought he was listening.  He cocked his head from one side to the other, keeping his black mask in place. (Boy, does he take this COVID crisis seriously.)  However, right as I thought my message was getting through his tiny bird brain, (I hate to be rude, but seriously, our new neighbors are TOTAL bird brains.) he flitted away as if my words meant nothing to him.  

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you meet our hawkish neighbor on the hill!”  I exclaim to him, but I am expending energy on one who doesn’t want to listen.  Hmph!  Just like a male to not accept advice.

I am not sure that I would call our newest neighbors angels, and in spite of their red wardrobe, I wouldn’t refer to them as devils either. One thing is for sure, from the looks of their homes, all bound up tightly like twigs of a nest, I think our new neighbors are here to stay for a while.  Maybe Maddie is right, perhaps I should ask them for their granola recipe.  After all, if it inspires all that kissing, it might be worth trying!

“Cardinals may protect a territory size of 1/2 to 6 acres during breeding season. Males will chase other males and females will chase other females from the pair’s territories.  Cardinal birds often fight with their reflection in house windows and car mirrors.” –Wild-Bird-Watching.com

As seen on Instagram @ forrestyoga