Flocks of guests - the feathered variety.

The quiet “shoulder time” has arrived and the skiers are still home doing their Christmas shopping. The manic summer has softened in my memory, sort of like the way the body conveniently forgets the pain of childbirth, naturally tempering it with time so that one day you will do it again. We have been for our holiday of two weeks and we celebrated a birthday when we got back – without a soul other than us and two dozen oysters at the inn. Now there is a smattering of reservations here and there, just enough to keep the heat on (literally) in the building. We wave goodbye each Sunday to the weekend visitors and then our week is our own until the following Friday evening – for now. Even the lake is quiet. The ducks and geese have migrated, the black bear population is searching for dens to settle down into for the winter, the groundhogs have gone to ground and even the perky little chipmunks have made themselves scarce. Our evenings close in and it is dark by 5.00pm and I snuggle under a homemade quilt in our cozy innkeeper’s apartment to read the next good book undisturbed. The hub of activity right now is the bird feeder outside my kitchen window. We constructed Model B after the hungry bear ate its predecessor last Spring. The new design has a rain/snow cover over it and natural tree branches for the birdies to work at the sunflower seeds inside the feeder. The pulley system is also out of reach for Mr. Bear, but we plan to take the whole thing down around the time he will be out and about again. We have had Junkos, Chickadees, Tufted Titmouse, White Breasted Nuthatch and the most thrilling a female Cardinal – no male yet this year. They come chattering and bustling in flocks and work the seed holes until dusk. After the unusual seven inches of snow in late October they must feel an urgency to eat and store for the frigid months ahead. Its great being an innkeeper – isn’t it?