October of 2025 was a difficult time in my life. I was home all month as I recovered from abdominal surgery, and I was definitely out of sorts. My first brush with mortality had me feeling a bit untethered and I was also in a lot of discomfort. Basically, all I could do with myself was sit and rest. My doctor said that I had to make sure that I got up and moved around on a regular basis, so I decided to carefully walk down into the meadow behind my house where I could do a lot of sitting in my Thinking Chair.
That year, the month of October was absolutely spectacular. Day after day was cold and clear, which made for some remarkable birding conditions. By Oct. 9, 2025, I had already set an October birding record that would go on to the status of nigh-unbreakable. Everything was working above and beyond any expectations I could have had. It was a wonderful distraction from everything, but there was one development that left a lasting mark on me. You see, I had begun a love affair.
It all started innocently enough. I arrived in the meadow at about 7 a.m. every morning and I stayed there for two to three hours. I became predictable, reliable, and familiar to the birds and there was definitely a positive wave of building relationships with different individuals. All the chickadees became my “best friends,” but no amount of time allowed me to make a breakthrough with the titmice. For some reason, they remained cautious and a bit aloof. And then, she arrived.
Again, it all seemed quite innocent at first. A pair of white-breasted nuthatches had spent the summer months visiting the feeding station that I had installed. It was a simple platform feeder that provided me with a spot to put out offerings of birdseed and the nuthatches had taken full advantage of my generosity. They had four fledglings to feed and in no time at all, the entire nuthatch family became friendly regulars. But things changed once the fledglings grew up enough to take care of themselves.
Suddenly it wasn’t the birdseed on the feeding platform that garnered the attention. Instead, it was the birdseed on the top of my baseball cap that became so fascinating and irresistible that, in effect, I became the feeding platform. The chickadees had already figured this out, but to the nuthatches it appeared to be a revelation. Soon, there was one bird who visited me more than any other – the female.
She generally landed directly on my head, but occasionally it seemed that curiosity got the better of her. In those moments she would land on my shoulder, right next to my left ear, where I could clearly hear the soft noises that she would make. It sounded like she was whispering sweet nothings into my ear, so I responded by offering her special treats. Nuthatches love peanuts, so I broke some of them into small bite-sized pieces and placed them on my hat. They instantly became her favorites.
I never knew her name, but she became a real comfort to me. Here was a wild animal that was willing to trust me so much that she would land on me and linger while she selected the choicest morsels that I had put out for her. It was a magical time, which made its ultimate end very sorrowful. Eventually, the temperatures became so cold that visiting the meadow was no longer pleasant. I often wonder if she missed me on that first day that I didn’t show up for breakfast.
I returned to the meadow for the summer of 2026 with high hopes. I was sure that the nuthatches would remember me and resume their visits to my head, but that didn’t happen. There was a pair of nuthatches that had another family of babies, but they seemed more like strangers to me. It wasn’t until late September that they started coming closer and I was always anxious to see when they might remember our friendly relationship from the previous year. The problem was that I was back to my regular work schedule, which greatly curtailed my time in the meadow.
Then, on Oct. 10, it happened. There was a heavier-than-normal thump on my head as a bird landed and then I heard the distinctive note of a nuthatch. As the morning wore on the heavier thumps became the most common and I was eventually able to hold my cell phone in front of my face and wait for the next visit. This bird had no concerns about my movements, or about the strange thing that I was holding. Time and time again I was able to take photos and it only ended when I finally had to go up to the house.
The bird that visited me so many times was an adult male. This was exactly what happened last year, so I hold out hope that the female will appear once again. I have all her favorite treats prepared and ready to go. Now all I need is time and cooperative weather. The clock is ticking, and the weather is being difficult, but with luck I will once again hear those soft sweet nothings being whispered into my ear. Don’t tell Susan.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 29 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit www.speakingofnature.com, Speaking of Nature on Facebook, or the Speaking of Nature Podcast.
