Home : Do It Yourself : Humorist Al Batt tells us how his brushpiles attract birds to his backyard

My Brushpiles, My Beautiful Brushpiles

I live in the country.

I have to.

I have brushpiles.

No, that's not some kind of medical disorder. I have brushpiles.

When branches fall or when pruning is done, I pile the debris. Bits of wounded trees allow my brushpiles to grow. When I take down my Christmas decorations, I toss the old Christmas tree into a brushpile. Christmas trees bring so much joy; I want to do something that will make the old trees feel useful during their declining years. Friends, relatives, and complete strangers add their old Christmas trees to my brushpiles, and I encourage them to do so. There is purpose to my madness: The brushpiles attract birds-they make wonderful habitat for sparrows, juncos, towhees, and chickadees.

I find the brushpiles appealing, but not everyone finds them so attractive. I fear that if I lived in the city, my neighbors would soon have a petition asking for the removal of either my brushpiles or me-or both. That's why I live in the country.

The other day (that's when most things happen in my life— the other day), I saw another visitor to the brushpile— a female Cooper's hawk. This bird is an accipiter that feeds on smaller birds. Our feeders are like fly-through restaurants for hawks, and the Cooper's is a real flier.

I love seeing this hawk, but I enjoy seeing it at someone else's feeder. I love my feeder birds.

As I watched the hawk hop about a brushpile in search of a proper hiding place from which to spring a surprise attack, I spotted some smaller birds flitting around behind and above the Cooper's. Looking through my binoculars, I quickly discovered that the fussing birds were chickadees. They were scolding the hawk for trespassing-and driving it off.

The hawk flew away without any lunch and the chickadees returned to the feeders.

Why do chickadees do this—this act of supreme bravery or stupidity?

I'm guessing for the same reason that men like me stand by a window in our homes when there are tornado warnings, while the rest of the family cowers in the basement.

The chickadees and I like to see what is going to get us.

Al Batt lives on a farm near Hartland, Minnesota. He is a speaker, humorist, television and radio personality, storyteller, and newspaper columnist. His mother thinks he's special.