They’re still coming by to check and peer in the window, wondering where all the food went. The sparrows are coming in too, and as soon as I know they’ve gone to greener pastures, the food will return to the table.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking I will get much better photos by simply moving my work gear outside. Many of the birds are half-tame by now. We have lots of time to mull this over since the sparrows know a good thing when they see one, and are probably not anxious to leave.

Originally, I set up the bird feeding area directly in front of my desk for one reason: to force me to look up from work occasionally. It definitely accomplished that, and for a few months, it has been absorbing to watch the antics of a group of regulars as they flew in daily.

Except for the odd squirrel now and then, the area has stayed free of annoyances. I get to rest my eyes frequently, the birds get unlimited food, I accumulate an endless series of bad bird photos. Until very recently when the sparrows arrived.

Everything negative you hear about house sparrows is true. I actually didn’t mind at first, but they overwhelm not only in numbers but in appetite as well. I thought the towhee was the champ in the chowdown area, but they don’t hold a candle to the sparrows.

Therefore, I have temporarily suspended the feeding. The towhees keep landing on the empty table, peering in at me in what can only be interpreted as supreme irritation. For a short time in the early morning, the sun creates a glare on the feeding table, so I turn the laptop to block it. The towhees crane their necks around the barrier of the monitor, and stare at me.

As soon as I’m convinced the sparrows are gone, I’ll set up again. I just don’t have the time to put up sparrow deterrents.

Sometimes the Seagate 1-TB mounts, sometimes not. Sometimes it dismounts, sometimes not. But I think I’ve figured it out.

A few months ago, it refused to mount on the powerbook. A son worked on it, extracted all my data, made adjustments, got it to show up again on my desktop. Then the thing got temperamental. But a little tinkering here and there, and I think the drive and I are friends again, although with flashes of hostility from time to time.

I’m always on the lookout for bears with character - used ones at garage and estate sales. They sit fairly still for photos, and if they won’t lean the right way, a well-placed heavy rock does the trick. (I know what you’re thinking, but I am very kind to my bears.) Tape sticks to plush badly, but given a little time and persistence, my bears generally do what I ask.

This morning found me at a Palo Alto sale where a very large old bear slumped in a dark corner with a pink pig. Quite used and full of personality, it was, sadly, missing an eye. Rejected.

At the next sale, there were masses of new stuffed animals. Not a good sign. Prices were high, but when I picked up the lone large bear, a woman exclaimed, ‘Name a price! We’re open to anything!’

The fur was suitably old-looking, but it looked more like a dog with upright ears. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, ‘It’s definitely a bear.’ I poked around the face, looking for eyes in all that thick fur. ‘You can trim back the fur if you like, but it’s got eyes.’

So what did we settle on? ‘You can have it for a dollar.’ Sold.

Some birders feel that house sparrows are pests, taking over whole feeder areas. One day I looked up, and there they were, five or six at a time, eating every grain of cornmeal in sight. Having large numbers all at once was such a novelty that I wasn’t bothered at all.

As far as bullying the regulars, no way. As soon as the towhee sweeps in, they all flee. The juncos are bullies themselves, and judging from the racket, have new nestlings to feed, so they’re not going to let a few sparrows stop them. Chickadees seem oblivious, taking what they need, then going to shower in the raised bed sprinklers.

However, a flock will eat quite a lot. In an effort to slow this down this morning, I didn’t replenish the cornmeal, but put out sunflower seeds instead. The towhees have to extract the kernels, which takes a lot of time, therefore, they’re not kicking up the food.

But when I left the room for a few minutes to shoot some photos, a squirrel saw an opening and scattered the seeds everywhere before taking off.

The family member who is a father had chosen Park Chow as his preferred place to dine on the week-early Father’s Day celebration last Sunday. Another family member, the Seattle one, is on call on the actual date, so we made do.

As we prepared to circle the block once more, hoping someone would leave, a slot opened up at just the right moment. After we parked, we realized it would be hard to forget where we were leaving the car.

After supper, I was trying to get a little more work done. It was very quiet, the birds had, it appeared, gone to bed early. Usually, there’s a bout of feeding at this time.

Then some movement caught my eye. Truly, it looked like bubbles drifting down into the yard. I snapped out of my work mode, and realized that they were white feathers being plucked in the oak tree above the lawn.

Now, this sort of thing happens from time to time around here, but not right in front of me. All I could think was, it’s getting dark. I got my camera (zoom was somewhere out of reach), and went outside as furtively as possible.

The hawk was smallish, no more than 20 feet away, prepping its dinner. I could see its underpinnings and tail, plus the upturned feet and tail of the prey. After I got a few shots, I asked a family member to bring my tripod, and I moved to get a better angle.

Of course it saw me and took off to finish its meal in peace. The photos I got were really poor, and I can’t identify either bird.

Sure, he looks innocent here, but he’s merely taking a deep, cleansing breath before inhaling most of the food.

After he and his male peers finished flinging food around, I decided to take another approach. The towhees are the largest birds to come to the feeding table. Part of their food strategy is to scratch around, and I’ve tried to modify this behavior through the judicious use of a cowbell-like noisemaker.

This is a bird that jumps in fear when a big morsel of food (that it has just gotten and dropped) rolls on the table a bit. I thought maybe if I applied a loud noise when it started flinging, it would learn that this was inappropriate behavior. Silly me.

It took a couple of days. Soon, the towhee only turned around slightly when it heard the noise. Cornmeal flew everywhere.

Today, guess who was the first to line up at dawn. (I bring the food indoors at night.) But this time, I moved the cornmeal dish slightly under a flowering plant on the table. The smaller birds could reach the food easily. The towhee could too, but flinging would require some acrobatic maneuvering.

By late afternoon, it had figured things out. Tomorrow is another day.

I know it’s a terrible photo. See previous posts for reasons why. But I plan to sponsor an eating competition very soon between a few of the male towhees that frequent my feeding table.

But first, I need to go out and buy a 50-lb bag of cornmeal and two Costco-sized jars of peanut butter.

She appears to be undergoing the molting, although some sources say this doesn’t occur till later in the summer. The babies are resplendent, Mother needs some spa time.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not real fond of the rat crowd scenes in Ratatouille and The Tale of Despereaux. While there are many who feel that squirrels are very cutesy-poo, I beg to differ. Rather, I consider squirrels to be, very simply, rats with bushy tails, and there are others who agree wholeheartedly. Which is why I scream when one edges onto my birdfeeding table.

But back to rats. Here’s one that found its way into a hapless UK gentleman’s life in a manner most unusual.

I talk to this bird a lot. Sometimes I say, ‘Do you think you can get a little more in there?’ (It can. Because there’s peanut butter in the mix, it has learned that breadcrumbs and seed will adhere to the main gob.)

And yes, I know that little dish serves the small birds well, but is way tiny for the big guys. I’m working on it. To think that once upon a time, the towhees were too shy to come feed on the table. And I’m still trying to figure out how to take decent photos through the window, which has a fine coating of cornmeal from the multiple flingings of these same towhees, despite my constant windexing.

The California towhee’s normal foraging behavior consists of scratching the ground with both feet to uncover tasty bits under leaves and other debris. While this works well in its natural environment, it wreaks havoc in a feeding station.

Yesterday, I cleaned the whole area where I leave bird food. Turns out the raisin bread crumbs gave some of them the runs. As certain family members would put it, kinda like having to go to the restroom before even leaving the restaurant.

Then I ran errands. Upon my return, something had urinated on the table. I suspect the squirrels, which keep watch on my comings and goings. Then the towhees came, and sent the cornmeal flying in all directions. This irritates me no end.

When I started feeding the birds, only a few juncos showed up. Now it’s wildly successful, with accompanying problems. When I leave, I have to cover the food.

This morning when I got back from more errands, I got a glimpse of the departing squirrel, who had managed to remove the cover, which was weighed down with the ceramic seagull. No matter, I have figured out a solution. More later.

This time of year, flower sales go way up, thanks to graduations and other year-end events. Purple and white leis are in all the supermarkets, various bouquets and festive balloons to hand out to happy new grads.

On the way home from Palo Alto this morning, we passed the train crossing at E. Meadow and Alma, site of two recent suicides by high school students. Thursday night, there was an attempt at another. Fortunately, this was thwarted by the mother and a passer-by. A police presence was promised by the local cops, and there they were, two of Palo Alto’s finest on a brilliant spring day.

Between them, you could glimpse the bouquets of flowers piled up.

Next to the feeder table, which is full of seeds and other tasty fare, is another table where I put the seeds I’m getting ready to plant. Well, there’s other stuff there too, an old semi-broken tabletop fountain, assorted hose nozzles, the odd cactus. But right in the middle is a container full of hollyhock seed pods from last fall.

What keeps me from planting them? There were pink hollyhocks and white ones. I forgot which is which. But today, I noted the heavy bird traffic to this table, mostly juncos. They’re after the hollyhock seeds, maybe as a palate cleanser to all that peanut butter and cornmeal.

If I get those seeds planted, there should be plenty of extras to go around by late summer.

Last night, as usual, I went out to cover the bird feeding station. Faithful readers know that we have varmints of various sizes and kinds, all with voracious nocturnal appetites for birdseed and the cornmeal/peanut butter in a bowl.

I use a lid from some forgotten plastic container, and to make sure it stays where it should, I put one of two things on top. One is a heavy seagull ceramic thing that a relative gave me which was headed for the trash till I found a use for it. The other is a heavy rock. Sometimes I can’t face the seagull, even in the dark. I reached for the rock.

It was quite dark. It wasn’t the rock. It was the rock-sized cactus that I bought for a photo session last year. So there it was, stuck to my hand, and all I could do was shake it till it fell off.

My fingers were a little numb for hours after.

It slammed into a window one quiet Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago, dying instantly. As best as I can determine, it was a ladder-backed woodpecker. Other than a small wound on one side of its head, it was remarkably intact.

Of course, I got photos from every angle, and as you can see, its relation to a much larger (possible) predecessor is obvious.

Known as brown milk among my family members, it is proving to be better than your average sports drink for muscle recovery after strenuous activity.

Mr. Towhee is under the apple tree doing his mating dance. I’m not sure about the chickadees, but the juncos are starting to get territorial wherever there is enough groundcover to hide a nest, though you’d think they’d just reuse the old one. Meanwhile the chickadee fledglings are hanging out in the pyracantha, waiting to get a bath from the upturned hose.

If I’m not paying attention, and just aim the hose upward, they can topple off the limbs. Which doesn’t seem to really deter them. But if I get it just right, word gets out, and this afternoon, there were five or six making their happy sounds and getting a shower. As soon as I set up one of the old lawn sprinklers, maybe I can get a movie of them. Well, as soon as I figure out how to take movies with the new camera.

The grub? It defecated a tremendous amount in its container, and I released it this morning.