Willow Glen Resident

Letters & Opinions

This summer, nature became a bit too natural

By Moryt Milo

"We have got to close the bedroom window. That bird is driving me crazy," my husband said. "Just turn on the fan so it's not hot. This way we won't hear him, and he won't keep waking us up at 5 in the morning."

It could be argued that our noise problem began 16 years ago when we first moved into our home. The property didn't have enough trees or vegetation for my liking, so I started planting. I put two ornamental pear trees in the back yard. I added a lilac bush that has since grown into a tree. We planted an apricot and lined the fence with boysenberry plants. In the front I planted lemon, apple and orange trees, along with a Douglas fir.

Since then everything has matured, including the figs that were gifts from bird seed droppings, a palm tree that was also an arboreal present, and the lemon and orange trees that were already on the property.

It appears that in my zest to create an oasis for my family, I also did so for everything that flies and scampers. Every year we have nests of birds and squirrels, with raccoons and possums passing through. There are also plenty of butterflies and bees, which my flowers, vegetables and fruit trees appreciate.

But this year nature has gone wild.

At first I was thrilled. With the arrival of warm weather, a western tanager--the males have magnificent coal-black wings with sunshine-yellow feathered bodies--and his mate chose my yard to nest. Then families of finches, wrens and scrub jays--our regulars--claimed their trees. Nest-building was moving along at a blistering pace. Even a straw hat hanging on a nail under the backyard porch turned into a home for a pair of birds. One massive scrub jay was boldly hopping over to the cat bowl on a regular basis to steal food.

This cawing, singing, cooing and frantic activity is usually quite tolerable, but for some reason this year we have one insane mockingbird that has trumped all the other tenants.

This bird never shuts up. He is out there 24/7 mimicking every bird on the planet. He plants himself on our antenna and goes through his routine and, just when you think he is exhausted, he flies to another spot and starts all over again. We don't even need that antenna thanks to cable, but I'm sure taking it down wouldn't deter this fellow from singing his wings out on the roof or any one of those trees I planted.

I keep hoping this bird will come down with an extreme case of laryngitis, or his own unique version of avian flu. But so far no luck. One night, the crazy bird was trilling and chirping to his heart's content at 3 in the morning. My husband, in dire need of sleep, went outside and threw a stick up into the tree hoping to scare the late-night crooner off.

The next day Ray said, "I think I got rid of him. I heard him fly away when the stick bounced off the branches."

I didn't want to disappoint my husband, but I had my doubts. From what I had witnessed so far, this bird was one determined character. He definitely had some sort of Pavarotti complex going on.

That evening as the air started to cool and the sun began to set, guess who returned to serenade us during dinner? I looked at my husband, who merely raised one eyebrow and said, "Make sure that window is closed tonight."

But with the relentless heat, there is no way I am closing the windows, which means we are stuck with this bird's serenading medley until he decides to fly off and entertain another family.

Moryt Milo is the editor for the Willow Glen Resident. She can be reached at 408. 200.1051 or via email at mmilo@community- newspapers.com.

Moryt Milo is the editor of the Willow Glen Resident. She can be reached at 408.200.1051 or via email at mmilo@community-newspapers.com.