Dee-dee-dee: How I love thee, chickadee

My heart belongs to the chickadee. Black-capped or Carolina, I have no preference. Whichever of those perky, petite birds comes into range, I am in thrall and in love.

[Note: This is a repost of the original post from Nov. 8, which I accidentally deleted.]

This morning at the Mercer Meadows Pole Farm, I took an uncharacteristically slow and short walk, needing to get back home in time to consult with our tree guy. The highlight of the morning, up and down the trail, was an abundance of chickadees zipping about the tree branches at the entrance to the Mercer Meadows Pole Farm woods.

On my way up the trail toward the old AT&T Building One site, I spotted several chickadees frolicking in the trees. Try as I might, I could not lock my camera on to one of the Carolinas zipping from branch to branch overhead.

The Building One oval had little activity, so I turned back to head to my car and home. But I had to stop again near the edge of the woods, as the chickadees were again out in force.

I managed to get just two in-focus frames of one of the birds, a black-capped as it turned out by virtue of its buffy sides, in a color scheme similar to what the Jersey Blues troops wore in the American Revolutionary War against Great Britain.

I make no apologies for my admiration of chickadees, who pack more personality into a small frame than just about any bird I know. In my part of New Jersey, we’re in a crossover zone where the black-cappeds and Carolinas share the same air and tree space.

At home, we had to take down a pair of dying maples and a black cherry tree a few years back. Our tree service contractor is going to replace them with an “Autumn blaze” maple and a redbud variety, which I hope will provide habitat for birds. If chickadees happen to be the species that settles in them, no one will be happier than I. 🦅