The Magic of Snowy Days: Backyard Birdwatching

“Birds are flyin’ south for winter. Here’s the Weird-Bird headin’ north… He says, ‘It’s not that I like ice… It’s just sometimes it’s kind of nice / To be the only bird in town.'” — Shel Silverstein

Welcome to the Blog today, Friends.

It’s been an indoor couple of weekends around here—first ice, and then a proper snowstorm. Here in South Carolina, especially in the Upstate, that’s a very big deal indeed. We don’t see ice and snow very often, so when it arrives, everything slows down. The roads quiet, the landscape softens, and home becomes the very best place to be.

A fire crackling, something warm in hand, and a cozy window seat quickly became my favorite spot. From there, I had a front-row view of all the backyard activity as the storm rolled in.

That’s true for our feathered friends as well. Snow is just as unusual for them, and it was fascinating to watch how they responded. While the flakes were just beginning to fall, the cardinals appeared almost immediately, as if on quiet patrol. They perched nearby, watching over the feeders, waiting patiently.

Their feathers were puffed out to the fullest, making them look as though they were bundled up in the most charming red snowsuits. The males, brilliant against the white backdrop, were especially striking. The females—more softly colored but just as lovely—had donned their own winter wear, fluffed and round, perfectly prepared for the cold.

There was something deeply comforting about watching them from indoors, knowing they had a reliable food source and a bit of shelter nearby. Nature carries on, even when the weather surprises us, and these small, resilient creatures reminded me of the quiet beauty found in simply observing.

Snow fell steadily, the world hushed, and for a little while, everything felt peaceful and still. It was one of those moments that encourages us to slow down, notice the small things, and be grateful for warmth, home, and the simple joy of watching life unfold just outside the window.

“In winter all the singing is in the tops of the trees where the wind-bird with its white eyes shoves and pushes among the branches.” — Mary Oliver

There was a waiting line in the trees surrounding the feeders, as orderly as rush hour—at least in bird terms. Branches and nearby bushes were dotted with hopeful little figures, each one perched patiently, watching for an opening. One bird would flutter away, and another would immediately swoop in to take its place.

At times, we counted as many as forty birds gathered in the area around the peanuts and sunflower seed. It was bustling and lively, full of quiet drama and soft wingbeats. Even those who didn’t seem particularly hungry clearly didn’t want to give up their spot. A good seat at the feeder was valuable real estate, snowstorm or not.

From inside, it was endlessly entertaining to watch their determined little routines—the patience, the persistence, and the unspoken rules of turn-taking that somehow everyone seemed to understand.

“Little bird in the fallen snow / The warmth has gone / The leaves have flown / But the nook of a tree in a welcome wood / Will always make a cozy home.” — Laura Jaworski 

We had lots of ground feeders too. They were a mixed bunch and didn’t seem to mind the snow at all as they went about foraging for their dinner. Beneath the feeders, the ground became its own little gathering place, dotted with busy birds hopping, scratching, and pecking through the white. They moved with purpose and confidence, as though a dusting of snow was merely an inconvenience, not a deterrent. Now and then, a flurry of wings would scatter them briefly, only for them to return moments later, determined not to miss out. Watching them, it was clear that winter—or at least a Southern version of it—was no match for their persistence.

One of our resident squirrels decided to take full possession of the corn feeder and settled in as if it were a personal dining room. From his lofty perch, he dropped pieces of corn down to the squirrels waiting below, who gathered eagerly at the base.

It appeared to be a deliberate act of efficiency… or perhaps mercy. I imagine they simply didn’t want to perform the necessary gymnastics required to reach the feeder on such a snowy day. Even squirrels, it seems, appreciate a slower pace when winter briefly visits the South.

With his tail pressed tightly against his back, this squirrel was clearly the king of the castle, surveying his kingdom from atop the little wooden house. He paused now and then to brush the snow away, determined to put everything in order so he could maintain a secure footing.

From his elevated post, he guarded his food carefully, watching for any would-be encroachers. Nothing escaped his notice. It was his domain for the moment, and he took his role very seriously.

In the animal kingdom, there is always a predator or two slinking quietly in the background. In our yard, that role belongs to a stray cat who is, without question, a truly beautiful animal. His coat catches the light, and he moves with a silent grace that’s hard not to admire.

Even so, when the birds are feeding, we do our best to scare him away. We want to give our feathered friends every possible advantage. Still, now and then, he succeeds. It’s not something we enjoy witnessing, but it is part of the natural cycle of life—one that continues whether we are watching or not.

The Crimson Shield: A northern cardinal’s plumage “burned like a small fire in the cold, gray world,” acting as a shield for its chick against the icy wind.

The cardinal looked especially majestic against the blacks and grays of the winter landscape, his brilliant red feathers standing out as snow drifted softly from the sky. He was like a living ornament, perfectly placed in the muted scene.

It was a lovely thing to take a few quiet minutes and simply watch—seeing how the different species seemed to work together, each finding their place, making sure there was enough food for all. There was no fighting among this group of birds, just a shared understanding and a calm sense of order.

“I’ve jumped in, got the paint, started and now I wanna fling myself through the window.” Anonymous

This is how the people spent their snowy days—painting the dining room. While the birds carried on with their winter routines just outside the window, we were busy inside, brushes in hand, giving the room a fresh new look. Sometimes I think I’d rather be a bird… but definitely in warmer weather. More on our renovation project in the coming weeks.

Thank you so much for taking time to join me here today. Nature is always all around us, even when we’re tucked safely indoors, and it’s such a gift to pause for a few moments and enjoy the quiet, bountiful reminders a snowy day brings.