the weeds, just as the occasional
sharp-shinned hawk takes notice
of activity at the feeders and comes
tearing through to scatter the feeding birds, and perhaps nab one.
I observe a lot of this action
while bird watching from my deck,
and I often note—a bit smugly—
that it takes place in my small
suburban house lot not because
I have worked to bring it about,
but precisely because I have not.
I also derive satisfaction from the
fact that this bustling bird spot is a
five-minute drive from decidedly
unnatural Interstate 95 and its mil-
lions of cars and trucks zooming
summer night, between the notes
of the wood thrush, and despite the
constant thrum of all those insects
that I rear for the birds through
my laissez-faire approach to yard
maintenance, I can—if I really
concentrate—just barely make out
the highway hum. a
Tom Conroy is press secretary
for Yale University. He watches
birds year-round in the woodlands
and along the shoreline near
his Connecticut home. He also
regularly visits the Yale library to
enjoy the elephant folio of Audubon’s Birds of America on permanent display.
